“There is one post at the ford over the White Briar,” she replied. “I chance to know this because Major Brennan selected the station, and remarked that the stream was so high and rapid as to be impassable at any other point for miles. But I regret this is as far as my information extends.”
There was a moment of silence.
“But how may I ever sufficiently thank you for all you have done for me to-night?” I exclaimed warmly, pressing her arm to my side as I spoke, with the intensity of feeling which possessed me.
“I require no thanks, save as expressed by your silence,” she returned, almost coldly, and slightly withdrawing herself. “I have merely repaid my indebtedness to you.”
I started to say something—what I hardly know—when, almost without sound of warning, a little squad of horsemen swept over the brow of the hill in our front, their forms darkly outlined against the starlit sky, and rode down toward us at a sharp trot. I had barely time to swing my companion out of the track when they clattered by, their heads bent low to the wind, and seemingly oblivious to all save the movements of their leader.
“Sheridan!” I whispered, for even in that dimness I had not failed to recognize the short, erect figure which rode in front.
The woman shuddered, and drew closer within my protecting shadow. Then out of the darkness there burst a solitary rider, his horse limping as if crippled, and would have ridden us down, had I not flung up one hand and grasped his bridle-rein.
“Great Scott! what have we here?” he cried roughly, peering down at us. “By all the gods, a woman!”
The hand upon my arm clutched me desperately, and my own heart seemed to choke back every utterance. The voice was Brennan's.