Fortunately for Mara Morland she had passed the pickets before the discovery of Cavalry Curt’s escape.
We doubt if she would have succeeded in doing so then.
The night was clear starlight and she had no difficulty in following the way.
She was mounted on the same horse she had ridden in coming to Dalton and it was barely two hours ride to her home.
A part of her journey lay on the road to Buzzard’s Gap.
Anxious to reach home Mara was riding at a smart canter when she fancied she heard the sound of hoof-strokes behind her.
Thinking nothing strange of this she kept on her way at her former rate of speed.
The sounds continued and even grew plainer, until she was aware that not one rider but several horsemen were following her.
“It must be a skirmishing party,” she thought, “or it may be troops going to Buzzard’s Gap.”
Whichever case it might be she had no desire to be seen so she urged her horse on a faster gait—faster and faster until she fairly flew along the way.
Still to her surprise the horsemen seemed to come nearer.
Surprise soon gave place to alarm for she felt now that she was pursued.
Just as she was coming to this conclusion she reached the point where she must turn from the Buzzard’s Gap road in order to reach her home.
This then would prove the test. If the riders kept straight on she need have no further fear. If not—she dared not contemplate the worst.
She heard them reach the forks of the road, and for a moment she thought they passed on; and then a low exclamation escaped her lips as she realized that her worst fears were stern facts.
The horsemen were in earnest pursuit of her!
The road now was more broken and her progress was slower.
She was a good rider, but her horse was no match for those in pursuit.
She had gone perhaps a couple of miles further when a loud shout attracted her attention, and looking back she saw her pursuers in plain sight!
The foremost was waving something in the air, as if motioning for her to stop.
At first thought she was inclined to do so, but something in their manner seemed to tell her that their presence boded her no good.
Their shouts were like those of a maddened mob rather than the words of friends.
With her white face set despairingly toward home she swept wildly on.
Her long hair broke from its confinement, to stream in the night air, adding to the wildness of her appearance.
Over the hills and through the valleys she flew, the clatter of her enemies in pursuit growing plainer and nearer.
Then shots were fired while the bullets flew uncomfortably near.
But one thought was in her mind now.
Could she reach home?
Ever and anon she glanced wildly back, and every time her hopes sank lower.
“Hold up there if you value your life!” thundered the leader of the horsemen.
His words only served to make her urge her failing horse on to greater exertions.
The next moment her home burst into view.
Notwithstanding the hour she saw a light at its windows.
A murmured thanksgiving escaped her lips.
“Almost there!” she exclaimed.
A minute later she rode furiously into the yard.
Reining up her foam-flecked horse in front of the door she sprang from the saddle just as her grandfather appeared in the doorway with a light in his hand.
“What has happened?” he cried, excitedly.
“I am pursued! Oh, save me!” she panted, falling exhausted on the threshold.
With a cry almost human the steed she had ridden staggered forward and fell at the old man’s feet in the throes of death!
At the same instant the horsemen dashed upon the scene.
“What, ho! there!” cried the leader. “It is a long race that has no end!”
“What does this mean?” asked Colonel Morland, trembling like an aspen leaf.
“We are after Cavalry Curt! He has made a bold dash for freedom. Stand aside, old man, if you value your life!”
“No—no! you shall not harm her!” cried the old soldier, bending over Mara, who was just opening her eyes.
“Are you hurt, my child?”
“No; but see they are coming. Back—back, every man of you! I am armed!”
She had gained her feet and like a tigress at bay faced them.
Some of the party had dismounted and were advancing.
“Yes, keep back! keep back!” warned Colonel Morland with both arms outstretched.
“Great King! he is a woman!” exclaimed one of the horsemen, as he saw Mara’s long hair falling down her neck and shoulders.
“Woman or devil,” cried the leader, “seize her. She is Cavalry Curt; or the one in league with him.”
Mara was armed and she had so far recovered her self-possession as to bid defiance to them.
“She means business,” ejaculated the foremost of the would-be captors.
“Fire and furies!” roared the chief, urging his horse forward to the front of his men, “we——”
But Mara’s ringing tone checked his speech.
“Advance another step at the peril of your life.”
“Traitors!” hissed the others, “your lives shall pay for this.”
“Explain your errand,” said Colonel Morland, again speaking. “My doors are open to the al——”
“Old man, lie. By your side stands as great a traitor as you ever knew. We want him or her as the case may be and we——”
The sharp report of a rifle suddenly drowned his speech.
With a low groan Colonel Morland sank to the floor.
“You have killed him! You have killed him!” moaned Mara, falling upon her knees beside him.
The Confederate chief looked amazed.
“Who fired that shot?” he inquired.
No one answered.
At that moment, too, a new actor appeared on the scene.
It was the scout, Boyd Wyman, who, wounded, had remained at her home while Mara had gone on her perilous mission to Dalton.
He moved with the greatest difficulty, but succeeded in reaching the doorway.
“What have you done?” he cried, sharply.
“It was a dastardly shot!” he went on as no one replied.
Mara was weeping bitterly.
“Who are you?” queried the chief.
“Boyd Wyman; and I can vouch for these people’s loyalty even as I can my own.”
“It is Boyd Wyman!” averred one of the soldiers. “They said he was wounded and stopping up here.”
“Is the old man seriously hurt?” asked the leader, moving in his seat uneasily.
“Yes,” replied the scout; “he has received his death wound.”
“I am sorry, for we meant him no harm. Who is that beside him?”
“Mara Morland, his grand-daughter. She has just returned from Dalton where she has been to bear dispatches for me, as I have got a chunk of lead in my leg and cannot walk. But what means this piece of unwarranted work? You have the old man’s life to answer for.”
“We were after Cavalry Curt,” replied the other, doggedly. “He has escaped, and that chap by the old man helped him to do it.”
“You know better; but go your way and leave peaceful folks alone. You have done mischief enough already.”
“It ain’t come out just as I expected. Reckon though we’ll keep an eye on this place. Sergeant Goodale, I will leave ten men here under your charge as guards, see that no one leaves it. You will be held accountable for every life here.”
“Yes, captain. Reckon we shan’t sleep on our post.”
“I can trust you. Boyd Wyman, will you go to Dalton with us?”
“I couldn’t ride that distance to save my life. Even if I could, I feel it my duty to stay here.”
“Just as you choose.”
Without more delay, after detailing ten of his followers to remain with Sergeant Goodale, Captain Buck, with the rest of his party, headed toward Dalton.