“Yes, my Mistis; but I will show you de way. Old Moses will show you de way. He-he-he.” His voice had a singular feline quality in it. It made Ruth’s blood run cold.
“No—thank you—I can find it—I shall go back up here and look for it.” She urged her horse back up the path to pass him. But the negro stepped before the horse and blocked the way.
“Nor’m—dat ain’t de way. I’ll show you de way. Jes’ let Doctor Moses show you.” He gave his snicker again, moved closer and put his hand on her bridle.
This act changed the girl’s fear to anger. “Let go my bridle, instantly!” Her voice rose suddenly. The tone of command took the negro by surprise and he dropped his hand; the next second, however, he caught her bridle again, so roughly that her horse reared and started back, and if Ruth had not been a good rider she would have fallen from the saddle.
“I’m gwine to show you.” His tone was now different. He clung to the bridle of the frightened horse. His countenance had changed.
Raising her riding-whip, Ruth struck him with all her might across the face.
“Let go my bridle!” she cried.
He gave a snarl of rage and sprang at her like a wild beast; but her horse whirled and slung him from his feet and he missed her, only tearing her skirt. It seemed to Ruth at that moment that she heard the sound of a horse galloping somewhere, and she gave a scream. It was answered instantly by a shout back over the hill on the path along which she had come, and the next moment was heard the swift rush of a horse tearing along on the muffled wood-path back in the woods.
The negro caught the sound, as he turned to seize Ruth’s bridle again, stopped short and listened intently, then, suddenly wheeling, plunged into the bushes and went crashing away. That same instant, the horseman dashed over the crest of the hill and came rushing down the path, scattering the stones before him. And before Ruth could take it in, Steve Allen, his face whiter than she had ever seen it, was at her side.