Yet he could not help it. The longer he waited the more
shadows glided beneath the cottonwoods, the more faint, nameless sounds he
heard.
He waited long after he became convinced she would not come. Upon his return
through the grove he reached a point where the unreal and imaginative
perceptions were suddenly and stunningly broken. He did hear a step. He kept
on, as before, and in the deep shadow he turned. He saw a man just faintly
outlined. One of the riders had been watching him--had followed him! Slone had
always expected this. So had Lucy. And now it had happened. But Lucy had been
too clever. She had not come. She had found out or suspected the spy and she
had outwitted him. Slone had reason to be prouder of Lucy, and he went back to
his cabin free from further anxiety.
Before he went to sleep, however, he heard the clatter of a number of horses
in the lane. He could tell they were tired horses. Riders returning, he
thought, and instantly corrected that, for riders seldom came in at night. And
then it occurred to him that it might be Bostil's return.
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