Wade was very excited in thought and action as he rode out through the darkness of the night to go to the home of Fred Conover's father. He had covered the body with his own toga, and he felt the necessity for it as he split the cool night air in his great haste to get the news to the old father, whom he would surely find waiting anxiously to learn what success the boy had met with. Unmindful of any danger to himself, though the country was well stirred up, he raced on, looking neither to his right nor to his left, but kept his sight straight ahead and his thoughts far beyond. He shook his head gravely as he pondered over the events that had transpired, were transpiring, and would transpire in the future. He knew now much more of the conditions confronting the poor farmers of this part of the world, knew of the terrible struggle into which they had entered for the mere maintenance of their own immediate families, knew more of the feelings existing among them, and wondered no longer that they had taken such desperate means to relieve themselves of the yoke of bondage which had been placed upon their freedom, to tie them to the heart-eating trusts, which were dogging out their lives, eating to the marrow of their bones.
Wade had now reached the rise of the hill. In front of him, a little way beyond, was a dense thicket through which he must go. He went on, regarding not the deeper gathering gloom nor the many dangers accompanying. As he neared the thicket he was suddenly confronted by a night prowler, who commanded him to halt. This he did immediately, without hesitation, while he was in his present state of mind, not desiring an encounter with anyone.
"Git down, quick," said the voice of one who held the bridle at the horse's head with one hand, while a pistol held by the other hand was pointed directly at Wade's breast.
For a moment Wade was on the point of reaching for his own pistol and fighting it out, but as his hand started back he heard the command: "Ye needn't do that. Ef ye make a move I'll blow yer brains out."
Wade now reached the conclusion that he was being held up by a highwayman, and the best thing for him to do would be to comply with his request, for he knew that these fellows in this country, highwayman or Nightrider, were as desperate in character as the most blackened criminal the world holds. He got quietly down.
"Now," said the captor, "turn yer back to me."
Reluctantly Wade did this very thing. He had some little misgivings in doing so, for he might be shot in the back.
Not so. The midnight marauder merely took his pistols from his pockets, placed them in the saddle-bags and got quietly upon the horse. Turning to Wade, who stood disconsolate, he said: "I'll return yer hoss, stranger, an' thank ye fer the use o' him, till I can git one o' my own." Then he galloped off as though nothing had taken place, never looking back again.
Awe-struck and indignant, Wade stood beneath the shining stars for one moment just as he had been left, gazing intently after the fast fleeing horse and his mysterious rider, then resumed his journey on foot. He reproached himself that he was a great "mummy," that he had come into this country on an errand of revenge and had placed himself more than a half dozen times right between the jaws of his enemies, between the snapping jaws of death. He figured that fate must have thrown a strong guard around his life to save him for a special purpose. All these thoughts came into his mind as he trudged weary and footsore across the rugged country, picking his way as best he could under the circumstances.
Instead of trying to make his way direct to Conover's farm, he turned in the direction of his own home, and at some time just before daybreak pulled up at Peter Judson's gate, where he "helloed" until old Peter, with rifle in hand, showed himself at the door and cried: