s in good condition.

The moon was now dropping behind the distant range of the great North
Mountains, the air was chill and penetrating, and the dense darkness
which precedes the dawn enveloped all the world. Front Royal, save for a
few scattered, flickering lights, lay in absolute darkness. Beverly drew
a quick breath and shut her teeth hard. From Front Royal to Luray her way
must be on dead reckoning and Apache's incomprehensible instinct, and
those miles seemed to Beverly to be double the length of ordinary miles.
Still, she knew, that she could not go far astray if she kept between the
railroad and the river, so plucking up her courage she fled through the
sleeping town like a wraith. Once beyond it the roads branched and her
first doubt had to be settled. Dismounting, she went close to the stone
mile post and tried to read the sign. She managed to make out the name,
but it might as well have been Greek. She knew nothing of the town
indicated three miles beyond.

"Apache," she said desperately, "do you know that it's up to _you_?" Then
she looked to her saddle cinch and her stirrup straps, took the little
beast's head in her arms and hugged him, and kissed his velvety muzzle.
"Yes, it's up to you. You've got to pull out for Woodbine and Uncle Abel
somehow."

Perhaps Uncle Abel's name was the pass word. At any rate, Apache nuzzled
Beverly, neighed, pawed the ground impatiently, and indicated in every
possible way that he would do all any horse could.

"All right then. Now make good!" and with a light spring she was again in
the saddle.

There is no time to dwell in detail upon that dark, cold, terrible ride
between Front Royal and Luray. Beverly had never been so cold in all her
life. She let Apache choose his own way, and take his own gait, which was
now slow and doubtful, and then like an arrow, as his confidence grew.
Luray was reached in time and skirted, then all was plain sailing to
Sprucy Branch fourteen miles beyond. Apache had often been to Luray and
knew every inch of that road, but Beverly was by that time nearly numb
from the cold. Then:

"As if he knew the terrible need,
He stretched away with the utmost speed.
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay
With _Woodbine_ only eight miles away."

Three-thirty A. M. had just been struck by the ship's clock near the head
of Admiral Seldon's bed, the "seven bells" rousing him slightly. He had