She ran from the cabin and into the little lean-to
behind it where the horses were tethered. There
she swung her saddle with expert hands, whipped up
the cinch, and pulled it with the strength of a man,
mounted, and was off up the gorge.
For the first few minutes she let the long-limbed
black race on at full speed, a breathless course,
because the beat of the wind in her face raised her
courage, gave her a certain impulse which was almost
happiness, just as the martyrs rejoiced and held out
their hands to the fire that was to consume them;
but after the first burst of headlong galloping, she
drew down the speed to a hand-canter, and this in
turn to a fast trot, for she dared not risk the far-echoed
sound of the clattering hoofs over the rock.
And as she rode she saw at last the winking eye of
red which she longed for and dreaded. She pulled
her black to an instant halt and swung from the saddle,
tossing the reins over the head of the horse to keep
him standing there.
Yet, after she had made half a dozen hurried paces
something forced her to turn and look again at the
handsome head of the horse. He stood quite motionless,
with his ears pricking after her, and now as she stopped
he whinnied softly, hardly louder than the whisper
of a man. So she ran back again and threw the
reins over the horn of the saddle; he should be free
to wander where he chose through the free mountains,
but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she
would never mount that saddle again, or control that
triumphant steed with the touch of her hands on the
reins. She put her arms around his neck and drew
his head down close.
There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the
burning of her bridges behind her. She drew back,
the horse followed her a pace, but she raised a silent
hand in the night and halted him; a moment later she
was lost among the boulders.
It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for
the big boulders cut off the sight of the red eye
time and again, and she had to make little, cautious
detours before she found it again, but she kept steadily
at her work. Once she stopped, her blood running
cold, for she thought that she heard a faint voice
blown up the canyon on the wind: “McGurk!”
For half a minute she stood frozen, listening, but
the sound was not repeated, and she went on again
with greater haste. So she came at last in view
of a hollow in the side of the gorge. Here there
were a few trees, growing in the cove, and here, she
knew, there was a small spring of clear water.
Many a time she had made a cup of her hands and drunk
here.
Now she made out the fire clearly, the trees throwing
out great spokes of shadow on all sides, spokes of
shadows that wavered and shook with the flare of the
small fire beyond them. She dropped to her hands
and knees and, parting the dense underbrush, began
the last stealthy approach.
