She was about to leave her hiding-place feeling certain that he had deserted her. Her joy at his return was very great as may be well imagined.
Before she could speak the scout exclaimed:
“Quick! mount one of the horses and foller me. I hev left the graycoats in the lurch up yonder—all but this one and he’s for company. Come on!”
Scarcely waiting for Mara to gain a seat upon the nearest horse the Wizard Scout rode ahead.
The captive Confederate was beside him grimly biding the time when he could give his vigilant foe the slip.
The loose horses were kept along for a time when one by one Old Fatality let them go, not caring to be bothered with them longer than he could safely avoid.
Nothing was said by either of the party, each being occupied with conflicting emotions.
To Mara the scenes of the past few days seemed like a horrible dream.
In the midst of her anxious thoughts the Wizard Scout suddenly reined up his foam-flecked horse. His long, gray locks streaming in the night breeze, his deep-set orbs of vision burning like coals of fire, he presented a wild appearance.
“Hark!” he said, sharply, “I hear the hoof-strokes of a body of horsemen coming this way. They must be grays and we are sure to meet them!”