This body of cavalry, as the reader guesses, was indeed that to which Joe Burleson had alluded in his conversation with Lottie Mitchell. He had succeeded in reaching it, and was now on his way back to the retreat of Yellow Jack and his outlaws.
Though Duplin did not know it, they had been resting their animals for several hours, preparing for a hard and forced march. That night the blow was to be dealt, and under cover of the darkness they hoped to gain the Retreat before being discovered, guided as they were by one so thoroughly familiar with the surroundings as was Burleson.
Joe had confided all to the officer leading the troops, and had gained his consent to a daring move. He had not forgotten his promise to Lottie; he would save her if possible. But would he be in time? The bold spy shuddered as this fear assailed his heart. Though knowing her for so brief a time, he had given his entire heart to the pale-faced maiden. And the love of such a man, rude and unlettered though he was, was not to be despised.
With this view, Joe glided on in advance, while the soldiers dismounted and stood their horses at a safe distance, then removed all articles that, by jingling, could possibly alarm the foe too soon.
Dressed as he had been when first appearing at the village, Burleson entered without fear, knowing that Crazy Joe was a privileged person. But the village was quiet. The outlaws seemed all asleep.
Not all—from the hillside, shining through the tiny windows that he knew looked out from the grotto, Joe caught the faint ray of a light. And more!
A half-stifled scream came from that direction. His teeth grated together, his eyes flashed with a deadly glow as he glided into the little hut that sheltered the entrance.
He recognized the voice of Lottie Mitchell!
He paused at the entrance of the grotto. All was still. But a sight met his eyes that fairly maddened him.
Near the center of the room a man was bending over the form of a woman; the latter seemed insensible.