“I'm very sure.”
“Good; then we must drive on as fast as we can.”
“You'd better go slowly,” Cynthia cautioned him. “The road is very, very dangerous, and if Jack should become frightened as we are passing a cliff there is no telling what—”
She did not finish, for there was a bright flash of lightning in their faces, followed by a deafening clap of thunder on the mountain-side above them. With a terrified snort, Jack plunged onward. They reached the point where the roads divided, and Floyd managed to pull the animal into the right one. For half an hour they sped onward. Every effort Floyd made to check the horse was foiled; the spirited animal seemed to have taken the bit between his teeth. Then the storm broke upon them in alarming fury, and they suddenly found themselves before a high, isolated building. The horse, as with almost human instinct, had paused.
“It's Long's mill,” Floyd told Cynthia. “It's not in use. Pole and I stopped here to rest when we were out hunting last month. The door is not locked. There is a shed and stable behind for horses. We must get in out of danger.”
Cynthia hesitated. “Is it the only thing?” she asked.
“Yes, it might cost us our lives to drive on, and it is two miles to the nearest house.”
“All right, then.” He was already on the ground, and she put her hands on his shoulders and sprang down.
“Now, run up the steps,” he said. “The door opens easily. I'll lead Jack around to the shed and be back in a minute.”
She obeyed, and when he returned after a few moments he found her on the threshold waiting for him, her beautiful, long hair blown loose by the fierce wind.