And he heard
the riders coming behind. A dark and gloomy thought settled upon Bostil. He
could not check that, but he held back impatience and passion.
Holley went straight to Lucy's window. He got down on his knees to scrutinize
the tracks.
"Made more 'n twelve hours ago," he said, swiftly. "She had on her boots, but
no spurs. . . . Now let's see where she went."
Holley began to trail Lucy's progress through the grove, silently pointing now
and then to a track. He went swifter, till Bostil had to hurry. The other men
came whispering after them.
Holley was as keen as a hound on scent.
"She stopped there," he said, "mebbe to listen. Looks like she wanted to cross
the lane, but she didn't: here she got to goin' faster."
Holley reached an intersecting path and suddenly halted stock-still, pointing
at a big track in the dust.
"My God! . . . Bostil, look at thet!"
One riving pang tore through Bostil--and then he was suddenly his old self,
facing the truth of danger to one he loved. He saw beside the big track a
faint imprint of Lucy's small foot.
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