Hildegarde bore the rough ride admirably—not a whimper did I hear, though it must have been a cruel experience, especially toward the end, when our pace was fast and furious.
Something of this was due to her natural grit; but the fact that she had always been a lover of horseback exercise counted for considerable. As for the girl, nothing could tire her; her big black eyes glowed with excitement, and she sat her reeking horse like a little centaur.
None of us was positive how much farther we had to go—it might be leagues to the border. So much for not having a guide; but, truth to tell, Robbins had not been able to discover a single chap in all Bolivar whom he thought he could trust.
We only knew that the fellows in our rear were getting too close for comfort, and that the chances for a ruction seemed good.
I saw there were but nine now—the rest had dropped out, and with them, the white-headed old reprobate who claimed the ties of kindred with my Hildegarde.
I am not naturally a bloodthirsty man, but I fervently hoped on this occasion that his horse had carried him over where the gulch was deepest, so that he would never trouble us more.
Subsequent events have led me to believe that such a doleful tragedy actually occurred, for the old sinner disappeared from the face of the earth, and never again sought to acquire a claim to any of my wealth. I am sure that this could only have been brought about by his sudden demise; for, as Hildegarde declared, he was a man who would never give up a cherished object while breath remained.
As I rode beside Robbins I ventured to ask my ex-secretary of war how best we could defeat our pursuers, who seemed bent on bringing matters to a crisis.
Robbins was quick to answer; he had been looking ahead, it seemed.
“Look below—what d’ye see, governor?”