They went along leisurely for a time after that, talking in low tones of their plans for the future.
Suddenly the ringing sound of horses' hoofs, flying swiftly over the way we had come, caused Bobby to utter a dismayed cry: "They are after us!"
"Nerve yourself for a race," the man, Paul Garret, answered, and the next moment he cut me with a small riding-whip. It was wholly unnecessary, for I had always loved to obey Bobby; but off we dashed like the wind. At first we distanced our pursuers without difficulty, as we were somewhat rested, but after a while they seemed to be gaining.
Paul cut me often with the whip, though I was doing my best, and I knew by the chestnut's breathing that he was cruelly spurring it.
Mile after mile we passed, until at last, just in the gray dawn, we were reined up beside a depot platform.
Quickly they dismounted, and, without even tying us, hurried into a train that was pulling out.
"So lucky," I heard Garret mutter, as they hurried across the platform.
It could not have been more than three minutes later when two men on jaded horses rode up, cursing the luck that the train they had tried so hard to catch was gone.
It had been no one pursuing the runaway couple after all.
We—the chestnut and I—were all of a tremble and dripping with sweat. The morning air seemed very cold, and we both felt chilly and wretched.