a long one, and I must have b»en still fully a hundred feet in her rear, speeding like a whirlwind, my horse running with belly low, and neck extended, the foam from his nostrils blowing back in my face, when there was a stumble, a cry, the dull shock of a fall I reined up with a suddenness which nearly unseated me and swung down from the saddle, peering and listening. Some accident had occurred—but what? There was no sound, not even a moan or struggle yonder in the dark. Slowly pushed forward on foot, the tired, panting animal trailing along after me.
All excitement and exhilaration of the chase were gone. There was nothing in my heart now but sympathy for this girl; her supreme effort to be of service to her cause had aroused my deepest respect. What had happened to her? In a measure I already knew—her laboring mare had stumbled in the darkness, and gone down, flinging her headlong. That she had been hurt, seriously hurt, the silence seemed to indicate—but how seriously? I went forward quaking, my heart beating like that of a timid girl in the dark. I came first upon the gray mare, a motionless smudge in the road, lying head under, in such a posture I knew instantly the animal's neck had been broken. Fully ten feet beyond the girl lay, just at the edge of the track, her face upturned to the clouded skies dropped upon my knees, drew off her gauntlet glove and felt her wrist. There was a noticeable pulse; an instant later I was enabled to distinguish the faint pulsations of the heart. Unconscious though she was, the terrible fall had not killed her. There was water in the canteen dangling at my saddle bow, and I ran back to where the roan stood, and began hastily to bathe the white face, the contour of which I could barely perceive. Very slowly the returning breath came in greater volume through the parted lips, and I lifted her slightly upon one arm, with head resting against my shoulder. I felt a slight trembling of the slender form, and realized, although I could see nothing, that her eyes were open. Suddenly she wrenched herself away from me, sitting erect, holding herself in that posture of protest by pressing her hands against the ground.
"Am—am I hurt?" she questioned, her voice tremulous, her mind apparently still dazed from the shock.
"You have had an ugly fall, and were rendered unconscious, but I do not think you are severely injured."
"And my horse?"
"The mare broke her neck."
She was silent for a moment, her breath rapid from excitement; then her head drooped, and I caught the sound of half-suppressed sobs.
"Please do not cry," I urged, with all a man's fear of a breakdown. "I am very sure you are not badly hurt, and you are too brave a girl tc give way like this."
In an awkward effort at comfort I placed my hand gently upon her shoulder. The slight familiarity aroused her instantly.
"How dare you touch me," she exclaimed, all signs of weakness vanishing. "I do not wish either your help or sympathy, you despicable Yankee spy."
"But listen first—"
"No, I will not listen; your words, your very presence is an insult. I would have killed you if I could; I will kill you now if you speak to me again, or make any attempt to follow me."
I was aware she yet held the revolver in her hand, andrealized she was keyed to the point of using it, yet I was not silenced.
"Where do you intend going?"
"That is no affair of yours. On foot I am helpless to thwart you, Mr. Spy, so now you can let me alone."
"Then it is true that you were attempting to ride for the Confederate lines?"
She did not answer, but endeavored to struggle weakly to her feet. Scarcer was her slender figure erect when she uttered a sharp cry of anguish. and sank limply back again. both hands clasped about her ankle.
"What is it?"
"My—my ankle; oh, it pains me so!"
"You must permit me to examine it," I said firmly, stooping forward as I spoke. fully determined now to have my own way. "You had a hard fall; it may be sprained, or even broken. In either case the shoe must be removed immediately, before it begins to swell."
The pain and helplessness of her position had made woman of her again. Doubtless she realized the utter futility of further resistance, for she silently permitted me to unlace the shoe, and run my hand softly over the injured ankle. I could feel her wince at the pain of my touch, her fingers clinched tightly.
"It is merely a sprain," I announced at last. "I am very certain no bone has been broken. However, the injury is certainly had enough, and precludes any thought of walking."
She stared toward me through the darkness, conscious of her inability to revolt, yet with the old spirit of rebellion still dominant.
"Then leave me here; it will not be long until morning."
"I shall do nothing of the kind. Do you consider me devoid of every attribute of manhood? You would not be safe here alone, even if uninjured. We are between the lines of two hostile armies, in a debatable land where guerillas and bushwhackers must be numerous enough. Not if I have to remain here with you until daylight, and thus face almost certain capture, will I desert you now. I want you to do what is right, and do it willingly. If you refuse I shall be obliged to use my greater strength to compel obedience."
"What do you mean? What is it you plan for me to do?"
"I intend taking you upon my own horse as far as Fairview, and I will leave you there safe with your friends."
"And—and then?"
"Then, of course, I propose riding at once for the lines of my own army."
She drew a quick breath, straightening her shoulders.
"And do you imagine I will ever permit that?" she questioned fiercely "I am a Southern girl, armed, and I know what you mean to do, Mister Spy."
I stood up before her quietly in the gloom.
"You can certainly shoot me if you wish," I acknowledged soberly. "Perhaps you might be justified in such an act. I am not going to disarm you, nor make any effort to prevent your doing as you desire. But if you do not shoot me, I intend doing my very best to take you safely to Fairview."
I think we were there for a long moment, motionless, speechless, staring toward each other's dim shadow through the darkness. Neither face was sufficiently visible for recognition, yet I could imagine the expression upon hers, as she sat thus, desperately clasping the revolver in her nervous fingers, swayed by fierce emotion, yet helpless to stand alone upon her feet. I was not at all certain what she might do at such a moment of temptation, driven to it by a vivid sense of her own wrongs, as well as the urgent demand of her cause. She was a woman of strong will, of unquestioned courage, of deep conviction; scarcely more than a girl in years, it is true, yet with fighting blood in her veins, and an honest hatred for me in her heart. It was a somewhat ticklish situation, yet assuredly no time in which to hesitate.
"Come," I said, at last, holding out my hand, "Every moment of delay only serves to increase your suffering. I am going to lift you onto the horse."
She shrank back as though to avoid my touch, her movement picturing her intense aversion. It angered me, and, reckless of all consequences, I bent instantly down, and lifted her slight form in my arms. To my intense surprise she made no resistance, no struggle, no effort to break away. Her head rested against my arm, with face averted, but I could feel
