No moon showed that night, and few stars twinkled between the slow-moving clouds.The air was thick and oppressive, full of the day's heat that had not blown away.A dry storm moved in dry majesty across the horizon, and the sheets and ropes of lightning, blazing white behind the black monuments, gave weird and beautiful grandeur to the desert.
Lucy Bostil had to evade her aunt to get out of the house, and the window, that had not been the means of exit since Bostil left, once more came into use.Aunt Jane had grown suspicious of late, and Lucy, much as she wanted to trust her with her secret, dared not do it.For some reason unknown to Lucy, Holley had also been hard to manage, particularly to-day.Lucy certainly did not want Holley to accompany her on her nightly rendezvous with Slone.She changed her light gown to the darker and thicker riding-habit.
There was a longed-for, all-satisfying flavor in this night adventure --something that had not all to do with love.The stealth, the outwitting of guardians, the darkness, the silence, the risk--all these called to some deep, undeveloped instinct in her, and thrilled along her veins, cool, keen, exciting.She had the blood in her of the greatest adventurer of his day.
Lucy feared she was a little late.Allaying the suspicions of Aunt Jane and changing her dress had taken time.Lucy burned with less cautious steps.Still she had only used caution in the grove because she had promised Slone to do so.This night she forgot or disregarded it.And the shadows were thick--darker than at any other time when she had undertaken this venture.She had always been a little afraid of the dark--a fact that made her contemptuous of herself.Nevertheless, she did not peer into the deeper pits of gloom.She knew her way and could slip swiftly along with only a rustle of leaves she touched.
Suddenly she imagined she heard a step and she halted, still as a tree-trunk.
There was no reason to be afraid of a step.It had been a surprise to her that she had never encountered a rider walking and smoking under the trees.
Listening, she assured herself she had been mistaken, and then went on.But she looked back.Did she see a shadow--darker than others--moving? It was only her imagination.Yet she sustained a slight chill.The air seemed more oppressive, or else there was some intangible and strange thing hovering in it.She went on--reached the lane that divided the grove.But she did not cross at once.It was lighter in this lane; she could see quite far.
As she stood there, listening, keenly responsive to all the influences of the night, she received an impression that did not have its origin in sight nor sound.And only the leaves touched her--and only their dry fragrance came to her.But she felt a presence--a strange, indefinable presence.
But Lucy was brave, and this feeling, whatever it might be, angered her.She entered the lane and stole swiftly along toward the end of the grove.Paths crossed the lane at right angles, and at these points she went swifter.It would be something to tell Slone--she had been frightened.But thought of him drove away her fear and nervousness, and her anger with herself.
Then she came to a wider path.She scarcely noted it and passed on.Then came a quick rustle--a swift shadow.Between two steps--as her heart leaped--violent arms swept her off the ground.A hard hand was clapped over her mouth.She was being carried swiftly through the gloom.
Lucy tried to struggle.She could scarcely move a muscle.Iron arms wrapped her in coils that crushed her.She tried to scream, but her lips were tight-pressed.Her nostrils were almost closed between two hard fingers that smelled of horse.
Whoever had her, she was helpless.Lucy's fury admitted of reason.Then both succumbed to a paralyzing horror.Cordts had got her! She knew it.She grew limp as a rag and her senses dulled.She almost fainted.The sickening paralysis of her faculties lingered.But she felt her body released--she was placed upon her feet--she was shaken by a rough hand.She swayed, and but for that hand might have fallen.She could see a tall, dark form over her, and horses, and the gloomy gray open of the sage slope.The hand left her face.
"Don't yap, girl!" This command in a hard, low voice pierced her ears.She saw the glint of a gun held before her.Instinctive fear revived her old faculties.The horrible sick weakness, the dimness, the shaking internal collapse all left her.
"I'll--be--quiet!" she faltered.She knew what her father had always feared had come to pass.And though she had been told to put no value on her life, in that event, she could not run.All in an instant--when life had been so sweet--she could not face pain or death.
The man moved back a step.He was tall, gaunt, ragged.But not like Cordts!
Never would she forget Cordts.She peered up at him.In the dim light of the few stars she recognized Joel Creech's father.
"Oh, thank God!" she whispered, in the shock of blessed relief.I thought--you were--Cordts!""Keep quiet," he whispered back, sternly, and with rough hand he shook her.
Lucy awoke to realities.Something evil menaced her, even though this man was not Cordts.Her mind could not grasp it.She was amazed-- stunned.She struggled to speak, yet to keep within that warning command.
"What--on earth--does this-mean?" she gasped, very low.She had no sense of fear of Creech.Once, when he and her father had been friends, she had been a favorite of Creech's.When a little girl she had ridden his knee many times.
Between Creech and Cordts there was immeasurable distance.Yet she had been violently seized and carried out into the sage and menaced.
Creech leaned down.His gaunt face, lighted by terrible eyes, made her recoil.
"Bostil ruined me--an' killed my hosses," he whispered, grimly."An' I'm takin' you away.An' I'll hold you in ransom for the King an' Sarchedon--an'
all his racers!"
"Oh!" cried Lucy, in startling surprise that yet held a pang."Oh, Creech!..
.Then you mean me no harm!"
