"Promise me that, Tom," she begged brokenly. "It will be all I ask."
"Surely; we will go together," and I gripped her hands tightly in mine. "Whatever happens I will do my best. But we must go at once."
"Yes, and—and thank you."
We crept forward along the shadow of the orchard fence, until we mingled with the horses fastened at the hitching rail. There were seven altogether tied there, and I selected among them, as best I could in the darkness, two that seemed well adapted to our purpose. I helped her silently into the saddle, thrusting one of my revolvers into the empty holster, and then mounted myself. There had been no noise, no disturbance, and the sleeping camp behind remained quiet. Only one light gleamed from an upper window of the hotel, and we were safely beyond its reflection. The girl was but a dim shape, the riding cloak she wore completely hiding her form. I could no longer distinguish the sound of distant music, but the courthouse was still aglow.
"Which way had we better go?" I asked, my face close, our horses touching.
"Along the south road at first; there is a cut-off just back of the old school."
"And the pickets? do you know where they are posted?"
