“Hi, yi, yi, yi, yi, yi, yi, yi, yi! Eee-yaw-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw!”
As she called, as she ran, an answering shout came from the direction of the ranch, still more than a mile away; but he who had answered her call for help was even then coming over the crest of the last hill, and the silhouette in the twilight of man and horse stopped the girl short and sent her heart racing like a mad thing in her breast. He was riding as only one at O Bar O could ride. Reining up sharply before Hilda, Cheerio swiftly dismounted and was at her side.
“Hilda! You’ve been thrown!”
Oh, how that voice, with its unmistakable note of deep anxiety in her behalf, made Hilda’s heart leap. Even in her excitement, she was conscious of a strangely exultant pang at the thought that he should have been the one to have come to her in her need. She could scarcely speak from the excitement and terror of her recent experience, and for the tumultuous emotions at the sight of the man she loved.
“Over there—a man! He followed me—Oh—has been trailing me through the woods, and at the gate—the gate—he threw the lariat—the lariat!”
Her voice rose hysterically.
“It missed us—just touched Daisy. I—I—tied it to the gate post. Gate’s closed. He can’t come through on horse. Look! There he is! There he is! See—see—white chaps! Look!”
She was speaking in little sobbing gasps, conscious not of the fact that she was held in the comforting curve of the man’s strong arm.
Dimly the vanishing form of horse and man showed for an instant in the half light and disappeared into the dense woods beyond. Cheerio made a motion as if to remount and follow, but Hilda clung to his sleeve.
“Oh, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I’m—I’m—afraid to be alone.”