"Four hours," and the Sergeant stood up again. "All I require will be two days' rations, and a few more revolver cartridges. The sooner I 'm off the better."
If he heard Travers' attempt at conversation as the two stumbled together down the dark hill, he paid small attention. At the stables, aided by a smoky lantern, he picked out a tough-looking buckskin mustang, with an evil eye; and, using his own saddle and bridle, he finally led the half-broken animal outside.
"That buckskin's the devil's own," protested Travers, careful to keep well to one side.
"I 'll take it out of him before morning," was the reply. "Come on, boy! easy now—easy! How about the rations, Captain?"
"Carter will have them for you at the gate of the stockade. Do you know the trail?"
"Well enough to follow—yes."
McDonald was waiting with Carter, and the dim gleam of the lantern revealed his face.
"Remember, Sergeant, you are to make her turn back if you can. Tell her I wish her to do so—yes, this letter will explain everything, but she is a pretty high-spirited girl, and may take the bit in her teeth—imagine she 'd rather be here with me, and all that. If she does I suppose you 'll have to let her have her own way—the Lord knows her mother always did. Anyhow you 'll stay with her till she 's safe."
"I sure will," returned the Sergeant, gathering up his reins. "Good-bye to you."
"Good-bye and good luck," and McDonald put out his hand, which the other took hesitatingly. The next instant he was in the saddle, and with a wild leap the startled mustang rounded the edge of the bluff, flying into the night.