s guerrilla and bought
from the others of the band.

Stewart strode to her side, leading the roan. Majesty reared and snorted
when he saw his mistress prostrate. Stewart knelt, still holding the
bridle.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied, essaying a laugh that was rather a failure.
"My feet are tied."

Dark blood blotted out all the white from his face, and lightning shot
from his eyes. She felt his hands, like steel tongs, loosening the bonds
round her ankles. Without a word he lifted her upright and then upon
Majesty. Madeline reeled a little in the saddle, held hard to the pommel
with one hand, and tried to lean on Stewart's shoulder with the other.

"Don't give up," he said.

She saw him gaze furtively into the forest on all sides. And it
surprised her to see the guerrillas riding away. Putting the two facts
together, Madeline formed an idea that neither Stewart nor the others
desired to meet with some one evidently due shortly in the glade.
Stewart guided the roan off to the right and walked beside Madeline,
steadying her in the saddle. At first Madeline was so weak and dizzy
that she could scarcely retain her seat. The dizziness left her
presently, and then she made an effort to ride without help. Her
weakness, however, and a pain in her wrenched arm made the task
laborsome.

Stewart had struck off the trail, if there were one, and was keeping
to denser parts of the forest. The sun sank low, and the shafts of gold
fell with a long slant among the firs. Majesty's hoofs made no sound
on the soft ground, and Stewart strode on without speaking. Neither his
hurry nor vigilance relaxed until at least two miles had been covered.
Then he held to a straighter course and did not send so many glances
into the darkening woods. The level of the forest began to be cut up
by little hollows, all of which sloped and widened. Presently the soft
ground gave place to bare, rocky soil. The horse snorted and tossed his
head. A sound of splashing water broke the silence. The hollow opened
into a wider one through which a little brook murmured its way over the
stones. Majesty snorted again and stopped and bent his head.

"He wants a drink," said Madeline. "I'm thirsty, too, and very tired."

Stewart lifted her out of the saddle, and as their hands parted she felt
something moist and warm. Blood was running down her arm and into the
palm of her hand.

"I'm--bleeding," she said, a little unsteadily. "Oh