"And in three weeks we'll be going home," murmured Tressa,—"going home—only three weeks!"
A gentle birr, like the distant note of a toneless beetle, insinuated itself into their dreams. They had heard it for seconds without noticing, rising and falling on the night breeze.
Almost together the two men jerked their heads up to listen; Tressa felt their arms tighten about her. Through the darkness they strained down the track to the east, their hearts thudding almost audibly.
The sound swelled—swept toward them out of the night. Swiftly it grew to dominate the darkness, echoing through the forest. It became a roar.
"Chug—chug—chug—chug!" but in such a swiftly throbbing stream as to be almost a steady torrent of sound.
Torrance leaped to the grade and stood, a heroic figure outlined against the dim sky, struggling to pierce the mystery with his eyes.
"Speeders!" he jerked, in a breathless whisper. "Two of them, and going like hell! The rifle—quick!"
Then suddenly, not a mile away, it ceased, dying to silence in a few panting chugs, leaving the void a crash of silence. Not a breath now—it was like a nightmare. Even the camp was listening.
They heard each other's breathing catch, but that was all. Back in the locked stable the two horses snorted with fear; the strain had reached even them.
A short ten minutes of awful waiting. Then "chug—chug—chug!" again.
With fantastic rapidity the warm engines picked up to racing speed.
Torrance swung his head incredulously toward Conrad.