The soughing of the wind in the tree-tops,
together with the soft springy turf, helped to somewhat deaden the
sound of Golightly's hoofs. The good horse scented danger in the air and
in the tone of his mistress's voice, and with true instinct galloped
through the wood, conscious of the caressing finger-tips which ever and
anon silently encouraged him.
"Bang!"
It was unexpected, and Golightly sprang into the air, only to gallop on
again like lightning. Rosalind's heart was going pretty fast now. She
could see two or three dark forms gliding serpent-like through the
trees, but Golightly's rapid progress baulked their aim. Ah, there are
some figures in advance of her! Courage, Rosalind, courage! Her rifle is
ready.
"Golightly, dear Golightly, save us both," she whispers. And Golightly
tosses up his head with a little whinny of comprehension, and, bracing
up every nerve, prepares for a rush through that ominous path blocked as
it is by two dark figures.
[Sidenote: Rosalind's Rifle speaks]
"Bang!"
It is Rosalind's rifle this time, and a scream, shrill and piercing,
rends the air. One form drops like a stone right across the path. But
there is another to dispose of. His rifle is raised. Either Golightly or
his mistress will receive the contents of that barrel. But Rosalind's
hand never wavers as she points at that upraised arm.
"Bang!"
"Bang!"
The two shots resound almost simultaneously, but Rosalind's is first by
half a second.
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