Alice helped Phil and Avao saddle two of her father’s ponies.
Time was too precious for conversation, and Phil spoke only in monosyllables, much to Alice’s disgust.
“We are going to the plantation house at Vaileli,” he had told her, “but just what we expect to accomplish I don’t exactly know.”
As he gave a last tug at the girth bands of the two animals, and lifted Avao on to her side-saddle, he looked about for Alice, but she had disappeared into the darkness of the stable.
“Come on, Avao,” he exclaimed eagerly; “we’ve got to do the entire distance on a run if our ponies can stand it.” He shook loose his reins after leaping into the saddle and dug his heels into the pony’s flanks. The pony, believing it meant a race, sprang smartly forward with an eager whinny of delight, and away he raced through the gate of the consulate. Avao followed only a few lengths behind.
They had gone several miles at a rapid pace, when it became evident that a third horseman was following.
Phil was greatly disturbed when Alice, mounted on her father’s Australian horse, a larger and much sturdier breed than the native pony, drew up beside them.
“I have learned enough not to ask permission when I want to go with you,” she exclaimed between breaths. “Now, don’t be angry. I’m in no danger from the natives.”
They found the road deserted. The villages through which they passed at breakneck speed were dark and empty.
“Look,” Avao exclaimed. “Vaileli!”