“What?”
“It sounds like horses’ feet.”
“I hear nothing; it must be imagination. See, the road is empty.” And so it was, to where it emerged from a forest but a quarter of a mile behind.
The countess talked rapidly on—talk that was as wax to fill his ears against that warning sound. But soon the thudding had come so near that it could no longer be concealed by the countess’s conversation. Drexel looked back again. Forth from the forest into the broad moonlight shot four dark bodies, and sped swiftly toward them over the snow.
“Look, countess!” he cried. “We are pursued!”
“Yes—horsemen!” she breathed. “The prince has sent for us.”
Drexel leaned forward and began to beat the horse’s flanks with the ends of the lines; the whip the countess had dropped out unnoticed when they had climbed into the sleigh. But belabouring the beast was to little purpose. The countess’s orders had been well observed. The horse was one of those dogged roadsters that can strike a fair gait at daybreak and hold to it till nightfall, but that cannot be pressed much beyond this speed, no matter how strong the arm that lays on the whip. The animal quivered at the blows, but kept his even pace.
“They’re gaining on us fast!” Drexel exclaimed. “We can never outrun them with this beast of wood!”
The countess had to play her part. “What shall we do?” she asked. Her voice came out with a difficulty that surprised her.
“What can we do in this great empty prairie?” he returned grimly. “In fifteen or twenty minutes they’ll be upon us.”