“Ha! ha!” he shouted; “found once more!”
Driving his spurs deep into his horse, he increased his speed. The young boy, Simon, endeavored to sweep Reginald from his saddle by a blow from his stick; but, ere it descended, the captain flung at him a discharged pistol. The aim was true: it struck the lad upon the breast and felled him to the ground. Catherine’s steed, though a good one, was no match for the high-bred animal which the captain bestrode; and at every stride the distance between them was lessened. Far behind, like an avenging fury, came Nat Ernshaw, but too far distant to afford assistance now.
With a great bound, the horse of the captain was placed side by side with that of the flying girl. He caught her bridle in his grasp.
“Mine! mine once more!” he shouted. “Found again and forever!”
Loud came the shouts of the pursuers—Nat Ernshaw and a dozen men drew near.
One glance behind, then Preston checked his speed. “If not for me in life, then be it in death!”
Drawing his sword, all smeared with blood, Reginald poised the weapon, for a moment, then seizing the girl by the throat, he raised the messenger of death, shouting, “Good-by, Kate! Cousin Kate!”
With closed eyes and outstretched hands, Catherine awaited the blow. She heard a crashing sound; the grasp on her throat was loosened; then came the noise of a heavy fall. Bewildered she beheld Capt. Preston lying on the road, his head cleft down to the very jaw, while by her side, with a saber dripping with the still liquid life’s blood, stood the tory, Timothy Turner. Blood was slowly trickling from a bullet-wound in his breast, and his face was ghastly pale; but, from underneath his lowering brows, his dark eye gleamed with a bright light.
“I am dying,” he muttered, as he rolled from his horse, staggering to the green bank which margined the road.
With a brain all awhirl with wonder and doubt, Kate surveyed the tory. Involuntarily she turned her panting, trembling horse to one side, and drew near to the man as he lay there; the life-blood gurgling forth at every quick pant, the pallid countenance upturned to her with a wistful look. She saw the lips move, and bent down in her saddle.