“It looks to me like the old gentleman's going to be distanced,” he cried, with a chuckle, “He can't say a word, though, for he made the conditions of this race. The start was a trifle straggling, as Jack Calloway told me once when he left seven horses at the post in a field of ten, and perhaps the Beau and the Queen didn't have the worst of it.”
In every possible way he sought to divert his companion's mind. Once or twice she delighted him by faintly smiling a response to his speeches. They had passed the last of the straggling houses, and the turnpike stretched before them, a white ribbon winding through the green meadow-land. They had to wait while a sleepy tollgate-keeper lifted his wooden bar, and straining their ears, they could just catch the faint, far-away sound of galloping horses.
“In another hour,” he cried, pressing her hand, and once more they were off. A mile farther on they stopped again. Before them was a narrow lane debauching from the turnpike.
“That lane,” he said, reflectively, “would save us a good two miles, for the 'pike makes a big bend here. Elias told me that he heard it was closed up, and we might get in there and not be able to get out. We can't afford to take the chance,” he concluded, thoughtfully, and they continued on their journey. For some time neither spoke. As they were about to enter the wood through which the road passed they stopped to breathe their horses.
“I don't hear them,” said the girl. Then she added, joyfully, “Perhaps they have turned back.”
He listened attentively. “Perhaps they have,” he said, at last.
As they rode forward more than once an anxious expression passed over his face, although his conversation was as cheerful as ever. Miss Braxton, from whose mind a great weight had been lifted, laughed and chatted as she had not done since the journey began.
They had passed through the wood and were out in the open country again. As they galloped on, only the distant barking of a watch-dog guarding some lonely farm-house, or the premature crowing of a barn fowl, deceived by the brilliancy of the moonlight into thinking that day had come, broke the absolute silence. They might have been the one woman and the one man in a new world, so profound was their isolation.
“Do you see that group of trees on the hill there just ahead of us,” he asked, carelessly, as the horses slowed to a canter. “Well, just the other side of those trees the lane we passed joins the 'pike again. Now it is possible that instead of your amiable relatives going home, they may have taken to the lane. If it hasn't been closed, they may be waiting there to welcome us.” For a moment the girl was deceived by the lightness of his manner; and then, as she realized what such a situation meant, she grew white to the lips. “The chances are,” he continued, cheerfully, “that they won't be there, but we had just as well be prepared. If they are there we must approach them just as if we were going to talk to them, slowing up almost to a walk. They will be on my side, and I will keep in the middle of the 'pike. You remain as close to the fence as you can. When we get opposite them I'll yell, 'Now!' You can give your horse his head, and before they know what's happened we will be a hundred yards away. All my horses have been trained to get away from the post, and these two are the quickest breakers on the Western Circuit. Now let's go over the plan again.” And the Colonel carefully repeated what he had said, illustrating it as he went along. Yes, she understood him. It was very simple. How could she forget it? As she told him this her frightened eyes never left his face, and she followed his movements with such a look of pain that he swore at her father, under his breath, with a vigor which did full justice to the occasion.
A few minutes' ride brought them to the top of the hill, and they both looked eagerly before them. A furlong away, standing perfectly still in the middle of the lane, their horses' heads facing the turnpike, were three mounted men. It required no second glance to identify the watchers. Colonel Bill's eyes blazed, and his right hand went back instinctively to his empty pistol-pocket. He regained his composure in a moment. “Go very slow,” he whispered, “and don't make a move till I shout. Keep as far over to your side as you can.” They approached the three grim watchers, their horses almost eased to a walk. Not a word was spoken on either side. When they had reached a point almost directly opposite their pursuers, Colonel Bill made a pretence of pulling up his horse, only to catch the reins in a firmer grip, and then, with a sudden dig of the spurs, he yelled, “Now!” and his horse sprang forward like a frightened deer. At the same instant Miss Braxton deliberately swung her horse across the road and behind his. Then there came the sharp report of a pistol, followed by the rush of the pursuing horses. But high above all other sounds rose General Braxton's agonized voice: “My God, don't shoot! Don't shoot!” Before the Colonel could turn in his saddle Miss Braxton was beside him.