“Oh, I’m getting tired of this yer!” exclaimed the black, as he resigned the horse to his companion.
And, going over to Pet, he flung his arm around her and attempted to lift her from her saddle.
A flash of lightning at that instant revealed the black, shining visage plainly to Pet as his face was upraised to hers.
Her teeth were clenched hard, her pistol was raised, one swift short prayer for help, and the brave little amazon fired!
A loud cry, that arose even above the sharp report, burst from the lips of him who held the horse, as he let go the reins and sprung toward his wounded companion.
The frightened Arabian, the moment he felt himself released, bounded madly away, and in five minutes Pet was beyond danger.
The cottage on the Barrens was the nearest habitation; but all was dark there, and the family had evidently retired to rest.
While Pet paused to deliberate a moment whether she would rouse them up or ride home to Heath Hill, she chanced to turn her eyes in the direction of the White Squall—as the old sailor, Admiral Havenful, had named his huge white palace of painted wood—and perceived a long line of red light streaming from one of the windows far over the dry level moor.
“Uncle Harry’s up yet!” exclaimed Pet. “I’ll go there, and stay all night. Gee up, Starlight! You have carried me out of danger once to-night; just take me to ‘Old Harry’s,’ as Deb says, and then you may put your head under your wing and go to sleep as fast as you like.”
As if he had understood her, her fleet steed bounded furiously over the heath; and five minutes later, Pet was standing knocking away with the butt-end of her whip on the door, loud enough to waken the dead.