After Steve Judson had gone rapidly down the hill to where his horse was
hitched and his companion was about to follow, Sally quickly put forth a
detaining hand, and lightly touched him. "Milt!" she whispered.
Twice before, on this same night, he had heard that familiar voice
calling to him through the darkness, and there seemed something strange
and uncanny in its mysterious repetition. Was it a trick of his lively
imagination, or could there be something at fault with his brain? Yet
the touch reassured him. The presence must be something tangible.
"Sally!" he breathed in a low tone, filled with wonder.
"Yes, I'm here," she hastened to reply, at the same moment emerging from
the dark angle of the wall and stepping to his side, while he stood
rooted to the path in utter amazement at her presence.
"Sally," he again said, taking her into his arms and softly kissing her
lips. "Is it really you? What brought you to this lonely spot?"
"The fear that harm might come to you," she answered, simply.
"But how did you know I was here? How came you to find this secret
place?" he asked, still sorely puzzled.
"I'll tell you as you go back," she answered hurriedly. "There's no time
now. It's a long story. Let's leave this place as quickly as possible.
It is a dangerous spot, and each moment we tarry increases the danger."
"But how in the world did you get here?" he persisted, as they started
down the hill.
"I rode old Joe. He's hidden in the willow thicket down by the branch.
He will carry double," she continued. "Let's go to where he's hitched,
an' I'll take you as far as the New Pike Gate, then you can ride him to
the station, and take the first early train. Just turn Joe loose. He'll
find his way back home."
"Then it was you who called to me as I lay in the quarry, gagged and
bound," said Milton, as they hurried onward through the darkness, Sally
directing the way to the clump of willows, and as they went along she
told him something of what transpired during the eventful day.
"I was half tempted to believe I had heard a spirit voice," continued
her companion, tenderly, speaking of his own unhappy experiences at the
quarry. "It seemed as if you had really spoken, yet, as I lay and
listened, I could not imagine how you could be so near me at that hour
and place. It must be a dream, I reasoned, a blessed dream, born of the
darkness to cheer and comfort me in my last moments on earth, for such I
believed them to be. You cannot understand what a solace it was to me,
even to feel that your spirit was near me."
"I did not intend that harm should come to you if I could prevent it,"
said the girl, earnestly. "If worse had come to worst, I had a bullet
for Jade Beddow's heart, and one for Steve's, too," she added, with
emphasis.
"Then you heard them go through the farce of trying me?"
"Every word of it. I was looking down into the quarry all the while.
Once I drew a bead on that villain, Jade Beddow, but something prompted
me to wait yet a little longer. How glad I am that I did so. For you
are now free, and, thank heaven! there's no bloodstain upon my hands."
Soon Joe was gratefully turning his head toward home, though his burden
was a double one.
"And so Steve is the real traitor?" said Milt, as Sally gave an account
of the interview she had overheard between the Captain and Steve in the
ravine near the latter's home.
"Yes, Jade Beddow worked on Steve's fears in order to make him lay the
deed at your door."
"It seems that Steve is not altogether bad. He still has a spark of
gratitude in his bosom, but was forced to make charges against me in
order to shield himself."
"Jade Beddow is at the bottom of it all," insisted Sally, "either he or
your uncle. They both want you out of the way, and will stop at nothing
to carry out their plans. I don't know which is the greater villain of
the two."
"Perhaps I'd better stay around here a day or two longer, and settle
some old scores before I go," said Milt, thoughtfully.
"No! no!" the girl interposed, hastily. "You must leave here to-night.
There are far too many dangers threatening you here, besides, your
staying would bring speedy vengeance on Steve Judson. Both his safety
and yours depends on your getting away as quickly and secretly as
possible. No one must see you go, no one must suspect you have gone."
"And if I go far away?" questioned Milton, with a deep touch of
tenderness creeping into his voice, "if I find a home elsewhere, and can
get steady employment, will you come to me when I shall send for you?"
"Yes," was the exultant answer that quickly arose to her lips, but
suddenly she remembered her promise to the Squire, and this bitter
recollection brought with it a sickening sense of the binding obligation
she was under for the sake of another's safety, and the unhappy
knowledge stifled the one small word that was trembling for eager
utterance on her very lips.
"Will you come, sweetheart?" persisted the young man, in tones of
persuasive tenderness, mistaking her silence for maidenly reserve, "or
shall I come back for you when the time is at hand to claim you for my
own?"
"No! no! Milt, you must not think of coming back, when once you are
safely away!" she cried impetuously.
"Then you will come to me?"
"Wait until you see what the future has in store," she answered
evasively.
"There's only one thing I care for it to have in store for me, and that
is _you_. You will come to me?" he persisted.
"If nothing prevents, I will come," she stammered. "But one cannot
always tell what lies before."
"What is there to prevent?" he demanded, sharply, a ring of jealousy
creeping into his tones. "What could there be?"
"A hundred things might arise that we know nothing of now," she answered
hurriedly, understanding full well that she stood on most dangerous
ground, that to confess to her lover the one thing that stood in the way
of her going, would be to shatter all the plans she had laid for his own
safety.
She knew that rather than have her keep faith with the Squire, the
nephew would deliberately give himself up to the officers of the law,
and loudly proclaim the ownership of the hat which was about to cost
Sally so great a price. No hope could she have to get her sweetheart
away did he but suspect the sacrifice she was about to make for his
sake. Neither prayers nor entreaties could avail in the face of such
knowledge.
For one brief moment a thought of escape came to her. She was sorely
tempted to break her promise with the Squire, to delay her marriage with
him, finding one excuse and another until she could hear from the absent
one, and make her preparations to join him. Then all might yet end well.
But there was her mother to be considered. She was about to forget this
very important item in such an arrangement. What would become of her
mother, should Sally do such a thing? She could not be left to the
Squire's wrath, nor could she go along with her daughter. It seemed the
meshes of fate were drawing tighter and tighter around the girl. All
avenues of escape appeared closed to her.
"To-day and to-night have been too trying for me!" cried Sally, wearily.
"We both know what the past has been, we neither can tell about the
future, so let us talk only of the present. That concerns us most."
"But I don't understand," began Milton. "This seems a new mood. It isn't
like you, Sally. You don't mean that you are beginning to care less for
me?"
"Have I acted to-night as if I was?" she asked sharply; his words had
stung her into sudden resentment. "Did my going to the old deserted
quarry for your sake, look as if I was caring less?"
"No! no! forgive me!" he cried, humbly, abashed by the reproof of her
words. "I did not mean that. I know your heart is mine, else you would
not have been the brave and fearless girl you were to-night. God bless
you!"