gazed, the mounted Appalaches drew apart from the others, racing their ponies along the path, while behind them a cloud of dust whirled upward.
Almayne's voice shrilled like a trumpet: "Ride! Ride!" At full speed they dashed for the road and, reaching it, swung to the left down the valley. Jolie, glancing backward, saw O'Sullivan just behind her on his sorrel Chicasaw pony, and behind him Lachlan on Tuti the Snowbird, while some distance to the rear the two Muskogee warriors were bounding onward on foot.
The road passed through a belt of trees extending outward from the mountain side at a point where the valley narrowed; and Jolie, stealing another glance behind, saw that Little Mink and Striking Hawk were with them no longer. They had turned aside, she supposed, into the belt of timber; but there was no time to think of them now.
Her horse was abreast of Almayne's and she realized that he was shouting to her.
"To the left . . . when you reach the ford!" She could barely distinguish the words above the thunder of hoofs. In a moment she had drawn in front of Almayne and, head over shoulder, she saw O'Sullivan also pass the hunter.
Her hand tightened on the bridle rein. For an instant she believed that Almayne and Lachlan were holding back to fight the pursuers so that she could escape; but soon she saw that they were racing onward at utmost speed, and she knew that the time
