He looked about for Immy, expecting to see her crouching behind a crimson rambler’s trellis or some other concealment. He heard a faint cry, so faint and far away that it might have been a distant bird. His gaze darted here and there. A moving figure caught his eye on a hillside. He saw that it was Jud Lasher, and that he was running toward a thicket on a ledge of rocks. In his arms he held something that struggled. RoBards knitted his brows and shaded his eyes to peer into the glare of the afternoon sun. He heard again that delicate call. It sounded like Immy’s voice; it frightened him.
He pushed through the window and dropped to the lawn. He saw his horse grazing near; saddled, the reins trailing along the ground. RoBards ran to him, caught him as he whirled to bolt, threw the reins back over his neck, set foot in stirrup and rose to the saddle.
As the horse reared, RoBards struck him between the ears with his fist to bring him down, then sent him flying to the gate. He turned him into the main road and the horse, catching terror and rage from his rider, beat the dust into a rolling cloud.
At the point where he had seen Jud running, RoBards jerked the bridle and, setting the horse to the low stone wall, lifted him over before he had time to refuse. Up the hill RoBards kept him on the run. He caught sight of Jud Lasher as Jud Lasher caught sight of him. Only a little way the fugitive went before he flung Immy down like a bundle, and darted into a chaos of rocks and thistles and of tall sycamores holding out naked branches livid with leprous white patches.
RoBards did not pause by Immy’s side but rode on, his heels beating a tattoo on the horse’s ribs.
Jud Lasher was mad with fright, but terror made him as agile as a weasel. He slipped easily through mazes that the horse must blunder over or around.
RoBards was so intent upon him that he did not see a heavy sycamore bough thrust right across his path until it swept him from the saddle. But he kept clutch on the reins, dragged the horse’s head round and brought him to earth.
RoBards was up and in the saddle before the horse could rise. He charged on up the hill and overtaking Jud Lasher in a clearing, rode him down. The youth fell begging for mercy, but when the horse swerved to avoid him RoBards lifted his head so sharply that he went up beating the air with his forehoofs. Then he came down with them upon the prostrate body like a great two-tined pitchfork.
Keith who had stood watching his father’s pursuit from a long distance hid his head in his arm. Immy watching from where she lay, covered her eyes with her hands. They saw their father slip from the saddle and disappear behind a shelving boulder. There was a brief hubbub, then silence.
After a long time of awful emptiness, their father came down the hillside leading the horse.