Obediently Pachuca swung into the next speed and the car bumped cheerfully along, the big lights casting a bewildering glare before them.
“If I only knew where we were and what he has up his sleeve!” the girl groaned inwardly. “I know he has something because he isn’t making any fuss. This road is rougher than it was when we came, too; he has taken a wrong turn—I know he has!”
Pachuca, apparently resigned to his fate, began to hum melodiously.
“Señor!” Polly’s voice was sharp with apprehension and weariness.
“Señorita?”
“We are on the wrong road; I am sure of it. Go back to the place where you left it.”
“With perfect willingness, dear lady, but where shall I go? The road leads to Athens. Is that not where we want to go—I mean where you want to go?”
“No—I don’t know—I think you’re tricking me. This isn’t the way we came. It doesn’t look to me like a road at all—I think you’re going over the open country. I——” The girl paused. It was disheartening—to go through so much and then to fail at last. She peered ahead into the dim light, trying to see what lay beyond the bright lights of the car. It did look like open country. Ahead lay a hill—a tall hill. Would Pachuca try to make it or would he climb around the side of it? Something—it looked like a man on horseback—was coming rapidly down the hill. Had she miscalculated and were some of Pachuca’s men still on the road? Perhaps the same thought struck the Mexican, for he slowed the car down and peered eagerly ahead. Polly clutched the revolver feverishly.
“If it’s one of your men and you stop—I shall fire!” she said, quickly.
Both stared into the dusk in silence. The rider came almost into the glare of the lamps.