The woods were already beginning to darken as we forded the
north branch of the creek, and came forth through a fringe of forest
trees into a country of rolling hills and narrow valleys. The two
girls were already mounted, and Tim and I were busily tightening the
straps for a night's ride, when, from behind us, back in the direction
of the peninsula we had just quitted, there sounded the sharp report of
a rifle. We straightened up, startled, and our eyes met. There could
be but one conclusion--our pursuers had found the trail.
CHAPTER XXVIII
A FIELD OF MASSACRE
To my mind, seated on that island in the morass, a map spread before
me, a hundred miles of travel had not appeared a very serious matter,
but I was destined to learn my mistake. The close proximity of the men
seeking to overtake us--as evidenced by that rifle shot--awoke within
us a sense of imminent danger and drove us forward through the fast
gathering darkness at a perilous pace, especially as our mounts were
not of the best. The fringe of trees along the bank of the stream was
sufficiently thick to securely screen our movements until we had safely
merged into the darkness beyond, nor could our trail be followed before
daylight. Yet the desire was in all of our hearts to cover as much
ground as possible. The available course lay across rough country,
along steep sidehills, and into stagnant sloughs. Twice we mired
through carelessness, and several times were obliged to skirt the edge
of marshes for considerable distances, before discovering a safe
passage beyond.
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