The two girls clung closely to one another, after the manner of frightened womankind, striving vainly to abstract a grain of courage from a united fear—in the eyes of each a growing terror.
"We must find Milt and give him warning!" gasped Sally faintly to her companion, at last gaining courage and voice as the two men went slowly down the ravine, their voices dropping lower and lower until they grew but a dull, unintelligible murmur to the attentive ears bent keenly to catch their meaning.
"Yes," agreed Sophronia, "without delay. Is Steve Judson the man you overheard talking to the Squire?"
"The very one. I recollected his voice the minute he begun to speak."
"A pretty pair of villains they are,—him an' Jade, too!"
Sally was already busied with her plans forher sweetheart's safety. "I'll try to beat 'em at their very own game," she said determinedly. "The first thing to be done is to see Milt."
"Yes, we must find him at once," agreed her companion.
"Let's go straight home, get our horses, and ride over to Mr. Pepper's where Milt works. We must see Milt himself, not trust to a message."
"He can't be badly wounded, else they wouldn't expect to try him tonight," said Sally thoughtfully, hope springing anew in her breast.
"Neither Jade, nor Steve talked like he was hurt at all. Perhaps he isn't."
As the girls talked and planned, beset by many fears and uncertainties, they walked hurriedly across the fields, keeping pace with their nimble tongues, and when Mr. Saunders' house was reached, they quickly saddled the horses, and set out forthwith on their quest.
Disappointment awaited them at their journey's end, for when they came to Mr. Pepper's place, they learned that Milt had gone across country to attend to some business for his employer,and it was uncertain at what hour he would return. Sophronia and Sally looked at one another in dire perplexity.
"Want to leave a message?" asked Mr. Pepper.
"If Mr. Derr comes any hour before midnight, tell him to ride over to my house," said Sophronia. "I have a very important message for him." They turned away. "He evidently isn't wounded, an' likely he won't get back in time to be summoned by the raiders," she added hopefully, as she and her companion rode homeward. "Now, what's to be done in the meantime?"
"I'm goin' straight home," declared Sally, "an' keep a sharp look-out at the gate. Mr. Pepper said Milt might come back by way of town. I can trump up some excuse to mother about not staying all night with you, as I intended. If Milt comes back to Mr. Pepper's you'll get to see an' warn him, an' if he comes by the gate—I'll get to do it. That's all we can do."
"Suppose we both fail?"
"Then I'll go to the old quarry tonight," answered Sally.
"No!" cried her companion aghast.
"Indeed, I will," insisted Sally, coolly, "I'll not only go, but I'll see that Milt's not convicted on the false words of those two lying villains."
"You're really not in earnest, Sally Brown!" cried Sophronia, half in astonishment, half in admiration at the daring announcement.
"But I am, I mean every word of it." The girl had inherited from her forbears a touch of that intrepid spirit that prevailed amid the hills.
"I wouldn't go for worlds!" cried Sophronia shuddering.
"I guess you would, if it wasyoursweetheart that was in danger."
"I don't believe I could go, even then," admitted Sophronia. "They'll kill you!" she declared in growing terror.
"Not when I tell them I sent a warning to the band by Milt, and point out the very man that did betray them."
"But remember, the leader of the night-raiders is Jade Beddow. He will surely do you an' Milt all the injury he can. Oh, Sally, don't think of running such a risk! Let's find Billy West an' ask him to go."
"You're really not in earnest, Sally Brown!""You're really not in earnest, Sally Brown!"
"Itwouldn't be as safe as for me to go," demurred Sally. "I'm not afraid. They're not goin' to hurt me. Let me have your father's pistol when we get back. I'll take it along, an' use it, too, if there's need."
As the two girls excitedly discussed the situation, Sally decided that she would not go back home as she had first intended. There were too many chances of missing her sweetheart by so doing. Besides, if the two girls separated, Sally would not know whether her friend had seen Milt or not. This was a point they had both overlooked.
It was agreed, then, that the safer plan would be for Sally to remain at Mr. Saunders' until late bedtime, then, if Milt had not come, she would manage, with Sophronia's help, to slip quietly out of the house, saddle Joe and go direct to the old abandoned quarry where the farce of a trial would be held.
When bedtime came, and no sign of Derr, the two girls succeeded in slipping out of the house without detection, when they quickly saddled the patient Joe, and later parted in thedarkness, Sophronia still urging her companion to think once again before starting forth on so perilous a journey.
Unshaken by her friend's forebodings, the toll-taker set out courageously into the lonely night, bent on accomplishing her sweetheart's release. She was familiar with the location of the dirt lane, at which she must turn off in order to reach the quarry, yet, in the haste of her mission and the perturbation of mind under which she was laboring, she turned into the wrong lane, and had gone some distance before discovering her mistake. By the time she had retraced her way many valuable moments were lost.
The night was wearing on. In the hilly and sparsely settled region through which she rode, it seemed already past midnight, and her road was solitary and forbidding. Even the rocks, and trees and clumps of bushes along the way took on grotesque and often threatening shapes to her excited imagination as she passed them in the semi-darkness.
At times, these dimly defined forms became terrifying monsters of the night, guarding the road along which she passed, like fabulouscreatures of fairy-land protecting the approach to some magic domain. Vague, silent, mysterious, they loomed up on either hand—gigantic, somber sentinels.
The chill of the night air, which lay heavily in the shadowy ravines, between the uplifting hills, penetrated her clothing and seemed to reach with its benumbing breath her very heart, yet she pressed on, undaunted.
She paused a brief moment at a small brook that crossed the road on the way to the quarry, and as she listened there came the dull hoof-tread of approaching horses—a cavalcade, it seemed, as she hearkened in sudden nervous terror, for the raiders were evidently close at hand.
Were they coming from, or going to the quarry?
For the moment she could not decide whether the sound was behind or in front of her. The reverberant hills seemed to be playing pranks with the echoes, and as she sat motionless on her horse and listened, a feeling of faintness came over her at the possibility of the sound's direction.
What if she were too late, and the raiders,returning from the old quarry, had already wreaked their vengeance on the hapless victim? The thought appalled her in its cruel suggestion, and her heart grew heavy with forebodings; then close upon her terror and despair the glad fact rushed to her relief that the horsemen were behind, not in front of her, and there was yet time in which to state her lover's case.
The raiders' rendezvous lay beyond, some little distance up the road, as she remembered its location in bygone days. There was scarcely time to reach it before the hurrying horses. Perhaps it would be the better plan to conceal herself somewhere amid the shadows along the road until the cavalcade had passed, then quickly follow.
She recalled to mind that a little further down the brook was a thicket of water willows, now a splotch of blackness in the vague landscape, and, after a moment's hesitation, she turned her horse's head in this direction.
Scarcely had the obscurity of the spot enfolded her, when the raiders came sweeping by—an ominous shadowy band, crossing the shallow stream at the place she had but recentlyquitted, then galloping rapidly along the road which rose sharply toward the hill where lay the place of meeting.
The quarry was hollowed out of the far side of the hill, around whose base the stream wound lazily, and to go by way of the winding road was a more circuitous route, while to climb the hill shortened the distance greatly.
The girl decided on this latter route—she would climb the hill on foot. It would take less time, and time was now most precious. Possibly the raiders would place a sentry at the entrance of the quarry, so that she might not be able to gain access, even if she should go around by the road as she had at first intended.
Acting on this sudden decision, she quietly slipped from the saddle to the ground, hurriedly tied the bridle to a bending willow, and, after giving Joe a friendly, reassuring pat, started to climb the hill.
The way was rough and unfamiliar, and in the darkness, made yet more dense by clumps of cedar trees and bushes that thickly clothed the hillside, she was often compelled to grope her way along to keep from stumbling over the knotted roots of the trees that crept out frombetween crevices in the rocks, twisting over the ground like monster, hideous serpents, guarding the approach to the rendezvous.
The ascent was slow and tedious. Finally the summit was reached, and choosing her bearings from its commanding height, she began to descend the opposite side toward the quarry, the long accumulation of fallen cedar spines deadening the sound of her light footstep until she was able to reach the very edge of the excavated portion of the hill without detection, guided thither by a dim light below the surface that faintly defined its rugged outline.
Spent of breath, she crouched down in the shadows behind a clump of dwarfed cedar bushes fringing the ragged edge of broken rock, and peered cautiously into the quarry.
A scant fire had been hastily kindled close against the rocky wall, and in a semi-circle around it the raiders were now gathered. The wide-brimmed, slouch hats they wore partly concealed the faces beneath, and the girl's eager eyes traveled anxiously from one dark form to another.
Finally they rested on the object sought.Standing almost beneath the spot where she crouched in hiding was the accused, his head boldly erect, his bearing defiant, as if he feared no man, and cared naught for the two who had come to bear false witness against him, and to swear away his life.
The raiders were gathered in a small alcove of the quarry, sheltered on three sides by walls of rough-faced limestone, jagged and broken as the quarrymen had left them years before, and this secluded spot made a counsel chamber little liable to intrusion, and well-suited to its present use.
Milton Derr was standing nearest the fire in an angle made by the walls, while others of the band were ranged in a semi-circle across the wider space opening into the larger part of the quarry, the captain standing at the end of the line furthest from the prisoner.
Above them the girl crouched in hiding, screened by the overhanging darkness and the fringe of cedar bushes along the edge, yet from her vantage ground she could clearly see what was taking place below, and easily overhear all that was said.
Steve Judson was called to testify. Sheheard him coolly bear witness to having seen the accused stop at the New Pike Gate, and hold earnest converse with "that Brown gal" as he designated Sally. Steve claimed to have come up in the darkness and recognized the two at the gate as he passed through.
He wove quite a plausible story out of whole cloth, saying that on recognizing Milt, and knowing his fondness for the girl at the toll-house, he, Steve, at once suspected that the plans of the raiders for that night were being discussed.
To satisfy himself on this point, after riding along the road a little distance, he dismounted, climbed the stone wall and crept back quietly, keeping in the shadow of it, until he was near enough to hear a part of the conversation that took place at the gate, and then he overheard the prisoner tell of the raid that was to be made a few hours later.
At the conclusion of Steve's story, the captain called attention to the fact that on this same night, before the hour of attack, Milton Derr had been boasting among his comrades at the place of rendezvous that the pole of the New Pike Gate would not be cut down on thatnight. He, alone of all the raiders, seemed to know that the plans for an attack were known, and the gate would be under guard. Twice had the captain asked, in the presence of the members of the band, to be given the name of Milt's informant, and twice had Milt refused to answer.
More than once during Steve's false testimony the listening girl, with eyes blazing forth something of the fierce indignation she felt, nervously sought the pistol at her belt, in a stern resolve to use it on the accomplished liar, who was thus deliberately swearing her lover's life away.
She remembered, however, that this man was but the frightened tool of another. At heart, the witness did not wish to do Milt an injury. Steve had admitted as much that afternoon in the ravine, while talking to the captain. Jade Beddow was really the one who was at the bottom of this piece of villainy. His hatred of Milt, coupled with a desire to be revenged on the girl who had scorned him, was prompting Jade to this present step.
"This fellow is a liar and an ingrate!" cried Milt fearlessly at the conclusion of Steve's testimony."The story just told is false in every particular."
"Yet the man who declares these charges false is the only one amongst us who knew that the gate would be guarded," said the captain, turning to his men.
"I gave you all warning of the fact," answered Milt.
"The warning was likely given more to shield yourself than us," retorted the leader with a sneer. "If you went, you would be as liable to injury as the rest of us; if you prevented us from goin' it would serve your purpose; if you sneaked out of the affair, it would fasten the guilt of a traitor on you. This is the sum an' substance of it all."
The captain turned once more to his men. "If it was known that the gate was to be attacked on this night, it is proof we have a traitor in our midst. If this man is the only one who knew the gate would be guarded, it stands to reason he is the only one who told it was to be attacked. Who else but the prisoner had an interest in protecting the New Pike Gate? The case is as plain as day."
"I was told under a pledge of secrecy thegate would be guarded. I gave you the benefit of that warning!" protested Derr.
"If there had been no traitor there would be no need of any warning," answered the captain, then his words took on a greater force of meaning—
"Brothers! comrades! there is a traitor in our midst. The repulse we met with the other night proves beyond a doubt that our most secret plans are made known to our enemies. Who, then, is this traitor? Cain't you pick him out? I know of only one person among us who would like to see the New Pike Gate still stand after all others had gone down. I think you also know who this man is, for the testimony just now given has made it clear.
"No one but Milt Derr seemed to know the gate would be guarded the other night, no one but the girl at the gate knew it was to be attacked. It was to the interest of each that the other should know the plans of raider and officer,—a touching and mutual exchange of confidence," the speaker suggested sneeringly.
"If the prisoner was warned, as he says he was, who but the girl at the gate could have warned him? If this was the case, how didshe know the gate was to be raided unless told by her sweetheart? Who else but the man in love with the toll-taker would run the risk of betraying his comrades, knowing full well the penalty of the act?"
Then the captain broke into a fierce tirade as he shook his hand menacingly at the prisoner. Jade possessed a certain rude power of oratory that could at times be made strongly effective on his followers—the peculiar magnetism of a fierce, headstrong nature that over-powered and controlled weaker ones.
"There stands the traitor before you! Your liberty and lives are threatened by a constant danger so long as it lies in this man's power to betray you. He has already used that power—he will use it again if he can. As you each and every one know, there never was, and never can be but one sort of a safe traitor, an' that is—a dead one. It is your liberty, or his—which shall it be? The hour to decide is at hand. There is no time for delay. Choose!"
When the captain had ceased speaking, a deep silence fell upon the group of waiting men, and so deep did it seem in the stillness of the night and the great loneliness of the spot,that the listener, crouched in the shadows above, was almost won to the belief that the loud beatings of her heart, or her stifled breathing, would be heard by those gathered below, and her hiding-place revealed.
The captain waited expectantly, looking closely from one face to another, noting keenly and exultantly the dawning of distrust and fear that slowly overspread each countenance, as troubled waters communicate their motion until the whole silent pool is disturbed; then he spoke again, slowly, deliberately:
"The case is in your hands, comrades! We have a common interest in the protection of our liberty an' ourselves. Shall it be freedom for him, or imprisonment for us? What shall be done?"
"Draw for the red bean!" a voice called out sharply and discordantly. It was Steve Judson who spoke.
"Yes! yes! the red bean!" a chorus of voices clamored, quickly seizing the suggestion as a solution of the problem confronting them. A look of approval came to the captain's face, while his eyes flashed forth a malignant triumph.
"You shall draw for it," he answers briefly, taking from his pocket a small leathern pouch, which he shook vigorously, then untied and opened.
"Draw!" he commanded, holding out the pouch to the man nearest him. The raider hesitated a moment, then put his thumb and forefinger into the pouch and drew forth a bean, which he concealed within the palm of his hand without a glance at it.
Stepping aside, the first man gave way to another member of the band, and thus in succession the drawing continued until each raider, save the prisoner, had drawn from out the leathern pouch a bean, and held it within the hollow of his hand, while neither he nor his neighbor knew whether it was a bean of white, or the fatal one of red that had been drawn.
Steve was the last to draw. As he stepped forward, no one saw the captain slightly relax the fingers of the hand holding the pouch, nor suspected that the small object they had retained until this moment was covertly released and dropped to the bottom of the pouch as it was held out to Steve.
"Hands up! your oath!"
Each man obeyed, the last man to draw holding his left hand aloft as his right was in a sling. Thus, with hand upraised, every man swore to a strict performance of his duty, taking upon himself the oath that if he held the red bean he would visit upon the traitor wherever found, whoever he might be, the punishment that a traitor's act justly merited, or that having failed in his oath, the same judgment he had withheld might be visited on himself who had foresworn his oath.
Then each man came singly before the captain, and opened the palm of the hand that both might know who held the fatal red bean.
The fire had been replenished and stirred into renewed brightness while the drawing was taking place, and as Steve came forward and opened his palm, a bright flame suddenly shot up from the fire, a slender, wavering torch, shedding a momentary light on the group, and on the two standing together.
As the captain and Steve looked downward into the latter's outstretched palm, each saw a round, red object lying there like a great drop of blood.
A TYPICAL NIGHT RIDER.A TYPICAL NIGHT RIDER.
All this while the girl crouched close to earth, immovable, breathless, keenly alert amid the gruesome shadows hovering along the broken line of rock. There was a strange and terrible fascination in the scene enacted below her—a fascination she would fain shake off, yet felt powerless to overcome, like the fatal spell a serpent weaves when it charms a victim.
To her perturbed brain it seemed an oppressive dream, an unhappy nightmare, born of the surrounding gloom, and still she understood that it was most real, that the little drama, with its environment of night and secrecy and threatened crime, was one of momentous import to her and to her lover.
Was it now time for her to act, to take her part in it, or must she wait a little longer for her cue? Should she reveal her presence and appeal to the members of this lawless band,denouncing its unscrupulous leader, and his traitorous ally? Would the raiders believe her story, and listen to a petition for her sweetheart's liberty, after having heard Steve Judson's strong testimony, strengthened by the captain's philippic?
True, she might conduct them to the very spot wherein the real traitor had concealed his ill-gotten gains, and where she had overheard him plotting with the captain against the prisoner, but the money was no longer there, and with Steve and the captain both against her, she could hope to accomplish little. Neither would hesitate to go to any length to prove her statements false; besides, there was no time to prove words true—it was a moment for action, not for words. Whatever was done must be done this very night—at once.
On one point her mind was fully set—harm should not befall the innocent victim of this foul conspiracy, while she could raise a voice or hand to prevent it. A plan of succor must be speedily decided upon. Persuasion seemed the only feasible one in her present strait. Might she not state the whole case calmly and dispassionately to them? Surely they wouldnot be deaf to reason or entreaty. When they were brought to realize the fact that it was through her the band had been warned of the gate being under guard the night of the attack, their gratitude alone should insure her both justice and mercy for the one whose cause she pleaded.
Among these lawless men there were two who stood in the way of Milt's liberty, the others were negative save as their own personal safety was concerned, and of these two active enemies, the captain was by far the most dangerous. With his evil influence removed, Steve would no longer be an enemy to the prisoner. Yet how could that influence be taken away in time to be of benefit to Milt? A sudden thought came to the girl that startled and terrified her with its meaning.
There was a solution to the problem. The means for removing this baneful influence was close at hand—within her very grasp. But could she do this deed? Had she the courage to attempt it? She resolutely nerved herself to the effort.
Slowly drawing the pistol from her belt, and noiselessly sinking on one knee, that shemight the better rest her arm and take a more accurate aim, the girl carefully sighted the captain's dark form, while her finger trembled nervously on the hammer of the weapon.
Just a slight pressure—the mere movement of a finger—and a soul would be sent quickly into eternity. Yet what an evil soul it was and to what lasting punishment! As she thought of it, in all its terrible import, her own soul turned faint, and her fingers grew limp and purposeless. Oh! it was a fearful thing to do, to shoot one down like a wild beast, and far worse to hurry one so deeply charged with wickedness into eternity, without a moment's time in which to cry out for forgiveness for his evil life.
Were she to commit this deed, would not its terror abide with her for all time—a hideous ever-present spectre, that would follow her through life? She recalled to mind a sermon she had once heard in Alder Creek glen, in which had been pictured in powerful intensity the wrong of taking human life, and the murderer's unrest and troubled conscience forever after. Must she be a taker of human life?
Then would her own soul be stained withcrime, her own hand prove the fatal instrument for sending a lost soul to a judgment in which there could be no hope, from which there was no appeal. The word of God himself was against such an act, for in letters of flame the sentence seemed to flash into her brain—"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay."
No! no! she must not blot her soul with this awful act, there was surely some other means to employ, some method less dreadful by which she could save the one in peril. She would wait a little longer, hoping without hope as it were.
Her arm rested idly on her knee, her finger fell away from the trigger she had come so near to pressing, while a half exultant joy leaped in her soul that she had not obeyed the first savage impulse to which her troubled mind gave birth. Not yet had she usurped God's prerogative.
"Am I to be shot down like a dog?" cried the prisoner sharply.
"A traitor may meet his death by rope, bullet, or knife. He deserves to suffer by each separate means," said the leader with a significantglance rather at Steve than at the prisoner.
"See that the prisoner is safely bound." At his command Steve stepped forward and closely examined the cords with which Milt's ankles and wrists were bound. His hands were tied behind him, and with his feet in the shadow the watcher on the rocky ledge above had not noticed until this moment how utterly helpless he was.
Once more she grasped the pistol with a determined grip, and breathlessly looked down on the group beneath her. A crisis was surely approaching.
The captain gave a brief command.
Two of his henchmen—men as unscrupulous and callous as he—began to remove some flat stones that were laid on a pile of cedar logs near the rocky sides of the quarry just beyond the prisoner. This spot was partly in the shadow, and Sally had not noticed it until her attention was directed thither.
She leaned forward cautiously, and looked down in wonder and perplexity while the stones were lifted off, then two of the logs were shifted to one side, while a dark, irregularopening was revealed in the rock floor, as if the mouth of a small cave had been uncovered.
Indeed, such was the case, for on blasting away the rock, some years before, this aperture had been discovered, and as it was a dangerous opening, descending far downward into the very heart of the hill, it had been closed by means of the cedar logs, and the large flat stones laid on top of them.
As the logs were lifted to one side, a member of the band standing near, dropped a loose stone into the opening, while the girl anxiously listening, quickly caught her breath as she heard the object falling down and down, striking against the uneven sides of the pit in its descent until it seemed to have penetrated the very bowels of the earth.
The man who had dropped the stone shuddered and turned away.
"The devil take me! if I believe that hole has any bottom to it," he said in an awed voice, and quickly the thought flashed into Sally's brain as to the purpose for which the pit had been uncovered, and why the abandoned quarry had been selected for a meeting-place this night.
Was a human body to be sacrificed to the fearsome depths of that dark cavern? The thought appalled her more than all else that had gone before, and she grew faint with terror. Even the prisoner seemed to look in speechless horror toward the black opening as if he, also, guessed the peril that threatened him.
The very members of the secret conclave gazed with awe-stricken faces on the yawning, ominous hole, as though they were beginning to weaken at so dire a punishment. Even the act of a traitor seemed scarcely to merit a fate this terrible. Only the captain and his ally appeared unmoved and unrelenting. On the former's face a look of fiendish triumph slowly settled, as he gazed steadfastly into the awesome blackness of the cave-like opening—a hard, evil face it was, that held neither pity nor regret.
"To your horses, boys!" The leader spoke quickly, commandingly, for his keen eyes saw signs of weakening among his followers. "Remember your oath! Remember your safety!" he called out warningly.
"And remember the blood of an innocentman is on your hands!" cried the doomed man despairingly. "I sought to save your lives—you are wrongfully taking mine!"
"He lies!" thundered the captain. "He sold himself to the officers of the law, an' but for a premature shot we might all now be dead, or in prison. They did not fire on him, bear in mind, but waited until he had passed on, an' given the signal that all was safe, an' we come near ridin' into the trap that was laid for us. He is a traitor to us, an' to our cause, an' deserves a traitor's death!"
The accused began again to speak, but the captain cut short his words, fearful of their effect on the hearers.
"Gag the prisoner!" he commanded, and despite Milt's protests, the order was speedily carried out, and soon the prisoner was lying bound and gagged, close to the dark opening piercing the very earth. "To your horses!" the leader cried savagely, "and to hell with all traitors."
For a moment the members of the little band appeared to hesitate, moved by conflicting impulses, but the instinct of self-preservation is strongly implanted in the human breast, andwill crowd out many noble qualities. The vacillation was but momentary; slowly and silently the men began to move away, each one eyeing his neighbor askance, as if to discover who held the fatal red bean within his keeping.
Thus they melted into the night, stealing like dissolving shadows down to the thicket below where the horses were hitched.
Soon after the tread of many horses' feet broke into the hush of the lonely scene. Some seemed going in one direction, some in another, and on the sleeping hills a darkness lay heavily—a darkness such as hides many a ghastly crime.
The cheering light of hope began to break upon the crouching figure on the ragged edge of rock above the quarry, as she watched the men disappear, one by one, into the darkness on their way to their horses.
It suddenly dawned upon her that the hapless prisoner was to be left, bound and gagged, in this lonely spot until the return of that member of the band who had drawn the red bean. Some subtle intuition warned the alert onlooker that this one was either the Captain or Steve. Possibly both might return on the murderous mission, and, but for her, only the few faint pitying stars of heaven would be witnesses of a dastardly crime, darker than the night itself.
Supremely glad the girl felt at this moment that she had not been unduly hasty in her actions, for, by waiting, she would now have but one, or two at furthest, to overcome in order that Milt Derr might go free.
Swift upon the thought came another—that by acting quickly she might be able to liberate the hapless prisoner before even these two should return.
If she were but swift enough in her movements to reach the quarry and give her sweetheart the pistol she carried, then would it bode evil to the one who should come to wreak the oath of vengeance against the victim.
She waited impatiently yet a little longer until the spot should be utterly deserted, and when her ears at last caught the sound of retreating hoofs descending the rocky hill, she tightly grasped one of the cedar bushes and leaning over the edge of the jutting rocks called softly:
"Milt! Milt! I'm here. I'll soon set you free. Don't lose heart!"
She understood that he could make no response, that the cruel gag prevented it, but as she listened intently, after her low-uttered words of encouragement, she heard him raise his fettered feet and strike them on the rock floor, one—twice—as if in response to her words of cheer.
The light from the smouldering fire hadgrown too dim for her to see the movement, or note the look of bewilderment and incredulous surprise that swept over the prisoner's face, as he turned his body slightly, and looked up in the direction from which the voice had seemed to come.
"I'm on the ledge of rock above the quarry," Sally continued, hurriedly. "It's too steep to climb down, but I'll go around, and come to you."
Quick upon her words, she sprang to her feet, eager to skirt the edge of the quarry, the light of love, which is stronger than sun or moon, guiding her steps through the night's labyrinth. Had not her thoughts been entirely absorbed by the great eagerness in her heart to reach her lover and set him free before the return of his enemies, she would have marveled at the ease and speed with which she moved in making her way down the rugged hill toward its entrance.
And still it seemed an interminable journey, each step haunted by the fear that the one on whom the fatal choice of executioner had fallen might return and wreak his vengefulmission before she could reach the spot by the circuitous route she had to take.
This fear, while it startled her, also urged her footsteps to greater haste, and at times she almost ran. Suddenly her feet became entangled in one of the many creeping wild vines that spread a tangled network in her path, and unable to recover her poise, she fell headlong to the ground, striking heavily.
In a wilted heap she lay there for some minutes, stunned by the fall, seemingly not caring to move; then, on slowly regaining her scattered wits, and recalling the haste and importance of her mission, she made an effort to regain her feet.
Along with the effort a sharp pain darted through her ankle—so sharp and severe that she came near crying out, and after making a step or two forward, she sank, with a little moan, down on the ground again, clasping her spent ankle with both hands.
A swarm of terrifying thoughts came crowding swiftly upon her. Had she broken it? If so, what should she do in her utter helplessness? A most unenviable situation it was—alone and crippled, far from human aid, a solitaryobject for pity, lying helpless amid those silent, gloomy hills, while the only person on whom she might have called in her dire extremity, was even more helpless than she, and urgently needed her assistance even now to avert the terrible fate that was drawing very near to him.
As she sat thus in her abject misery, aloof from succor or sympathy, rubbing her sprained ankle aimlessly the while, and bemoaning by turns her misfortune and suffering, and the cruel situation of the bound and helpless prisoner within the stone quarry, she finally attempted to move her foot gently to and fro, and found to her surprise that the accident was only a sudden wrench, painful but not lasting. Hope once more buoyed her up, yet all this delay was a waste of precious time she could ill afford to lose.
After a little prudent waiting she once more gained her feet and carefully took a step or two forward, and though the effort cost her some agony, it was not so intense as before, and seemed gradually wearing away, so with renewed determination she struggled bravely on, at times compelled to sit down on the groundand tightly clasp her ankle with both hands to deaden the pain.
As she sat thus, rocking to and fro in her suffering, her ear caught the sound of a horse coming up the hill in the direction of the quarry. Up she again started, in a fresh frenzy of terror, her physical pain giving way to the greater mental agony that beset her. Forgetful of her recent accident, only remembering that the thing she had most dreaded might speedily come to pass, despite her efforts to prevent it, she struggled on.
The pain seemed suddenly to go as quickly as it had come, and she pushed resolutely onward, unmindful of her weak ankle or of the darkness, praying fervently the while that strength might remain to her, and enable her to reach the quarry before the horseman did.
The sound of the hoofbeats ceased. It was probable the rider had dismounted and was making his way on foot to where his victim lay. She was tempted to scream out—to rend the very silence with frantic cries for help, yet to what purpose? It might only serve to hasten the dastardly work. Oh, that she had waitedat the edge of the quarry, and sought to defend her loved from that secure vantage ground!
She gasped a prayer for aid, for strength, and redoubled her speed. At last the quarry's entrance was reached, and she had to pause a brief moment to catch her spent breath. Then, in an agony of suspense, she peered anxiously forward into the darkness and silence of the place.
From out the gloom she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her heart stood still. Was she, indeed, too late? Had the cruel messenger already accomplished his bloody mission, and was he now returning from the scene of his dark crime?
As these questions flew to her troubled brain, there came the perplexing knowledge that the sounds she heard were those of two men coming toward her, not one, and she felt, rather than saw, the presence of two dark forms rapidly approaching. Had Jade Beddow come back with Steve? They must both have ridden one horse.
She would soon be discovered. Her life would surely pay the penalty of her presence there. But at least Milt's death should beavenged. She cared for naught else that might happen. She drew the pistol from its holder and leveled it at the two shadowy forms looming up before her.
Suddenly from out the darkness and gloom there came the sound of a voice, low and guarded, yet the voice she most cared to hear in all the world—the voice of Milton Derr. It seemed as if the very dead had spoken.
"Did you come back alone?" the voice asked of the companion shadow.
"Yes, but the Captain may also soon return. Why do you ask?"
"As I lay in yonder place, another voice than yours spoke to me out of the gloom, and bade me have courage."
"You must have dreamed it," insisted Steve, for it was he. "We two must be the only livin' bein's on this hill, unless some other member of the band came back to set you free, as I have done. Whose voice was it?"
"A woman's."
"Then I know you dreamed it. What woman would be in this lonely spot at such an hour of the night? But let's not waste time in idle talk. You must get away from here, an'that quickly. Put as many miles as you can between this place an' daybreak. They turned your horse loose, but perhaps it would be better for you to make your way on foot. You must not be seen in this part of the country again, for if the Captain finds out I have not kept my oath, I will have to suffer in your place."
"How can I get away, where can I go?" Milt anxiously asked.
"Go up into the mountains—out West, anywhere except near this spot," urged his companion. "Here's a little money to take along with you."
The two men were now close upon Sally, as she crouched in a dark angle of the rocky wall, and, although they spoke in low tones, she heard each word. So near were they, in fact, she could have touched them by stretching forth her hand.
"You have done me a good turn, Steve. I shall never forget it!" cried Milton Derr, gratefully.
"You don't owe me any favors," answered Steve, hastily, almost roughly. "The Captain had me in a tight fix, an' I had to say what Idid, an' do what he told me to do, but I never meant to harm you. I haven't forgot the other night. Good-by, Milt, take good care of yourself!"