"Can't I go over to Brown's and send Sambo?" asked the girl, still shrinking from the thought of the lonely midnight ride.
"No, no," wailed the mother, clasping the sick child frantically in her arms, "I'll not trust that negro! I'll trust no one but you, Lina, to go and come in a hurry; I can depend on you to do your best. Oh, for God's sake, Lina, do go for the doctor; no one will hurt you—there's not a sign of danger. Your uncle and them other men have captured the outlaws long before this time of night. Oh, Dollie! Dollie! my darling—I do believe she's dying now!"
Jaquelina waited for no more urging. She ran out of the house with the cry of the frightened, helpless mother still ringing in her ears, and made her way to the stable.
Her uncle had ridden one of the horses. Black Bess, the remaining one, stood patiently in the stall.
The mare was gentle, and quite accustomed to Jaquelina. She saddled her with deft, skillful fingers, led her out, and vaulted lightly to her back.
Then in the dim light of the waning moon, the girl rode out of the stable-yard, and set forth at a swift gallop for the town a mile away.
There was something weird and strange in that midnight ride through the lonely wood to Jaquelina.
Her heart beat fast as she guided the mare through the thick woods where the tall pines stood around dark and grim like silent sentinels.
The moon had gone down, and she had only the faint light of the stars to guide her on her perilous way.
Every moment she expected to be confronted by the outlaw band, of whom she had heard such terrible stories.