the yellow reflection of the candle lit up a group of wondering faces that were turned upon the mother, who stood in the middle of the room. her countenance was pale, for she had passed through a great deal during the last half-hour, to say nothing of that which preceded it.
before any one could frame the questions in his mind, she explains:
"i am not sure i have done right, but jennie's departure was with my consent. she and i talked it over and discussed it in all its bearings, so far as we could see them, and she finally persuaded me that it was the right thing for her to do."
she paused, as if expecting some comment, but even fred was silent; and still standing, with the candle held aloft, he kept his wondering gaze upon his parent.
"in the first place, jennie convinced me that monteith would only go to his own death by venturing out; at any rate, it would so result if he did not receive the signal from mr. vesey."
as she paused the amazed sterry asked:
"but why did she think i would venture unless i got the sign from vesey?"
"because you told her so. you were so confident, when she expressed her misgivings, that you said you would wait a few minutes after 10 o'clock and then try it, even if no signal appeared."
"you are correct; i did tell her that."
"i consented to her plan on condition that if mr. vesey signalled you should go and she should stay; if he did not do so, she was to venture alone."
"why didn't she consult with me?" asked sterry; "i could have given her some suggestions."
"ah, what a question, mont!" said fred whitney, with a smile, as he comprehended the plan; "we know what suggestions you would have given her."
"true enough; she never would have made the attempt," he responded.
"and," said mrs. whitney, "your friend has not called to you."
"which reminds me," exclaimed sterry, stepping to the rear window and peering out. but everything in the direction of the stables was as dark and silent as the tomb.
"so you see that if you had followed the directions of mr. vesey," continued mrs. whitney, "no messenger would have left this place for the camp of the stockmen."
"i recall how closely she questioned me as to my idea of the course to take to reach the spot. i wanted to gain her confidence and told her everything, never suspecting that she entertained any such wild scheme."
"for which you cannot be blamed," remarked her brother; "but i don't understand how she expected to slip off unobserved."
"nor do i," added sterry, with a meaning glance at capt. asbury.
"i assure you i am innocent of complicity in the matter, for i would have opposed as strongly as any of you."
"it was that single difficulty which puzzled her," said the mother, "but providence opened the way. while she stood trembling, with her cloak wrapped about her, capt. asbury called monteith. i whispered to her 'now!' and drew back the door. she stepped through, and was gone before any one, excepting myself, suspected anything."
"but what reason can she have for believing vesey will favour her plan?" asked sterry, feeling an admiration for the daring young woman. "he will be as much amazed as any one."
"the rustlers have notified us to leave the building, but have not said that they have a preference of one door over the other. if she finds herself confronted by strangers, she can easily explain who she is and say that her mother will soon join her. can there be any objection to such a course, or is she likely to suffer on that account?"
who could reply unfavourably to this question? the rustlers would simply conduct her to a place of safety, there to await the coming of her parent. failure could bring no embarrassment to jennie whitney.
"the great difficulty, after all," remarked capt. asbury, "as it occurs to me, is that if your estimable daughter presents herself before mr. duke vesey, he will refuse his help. what reason can she give that will induce him to aid her to pass beyond the camp?"
"i can think of none, but jennie is hopeful that if she can see him alone he will permit her to do as she wishes."
"does she contemplate walking the half-dozen miles or so to the camp of the cattlemen?" asked sterry, in dismay.
"o, no; she expects to ride mr. sterry's mare."
"but—but—" stammered monteith.
"she thought of all that," smiled the mother; "she took her saddle with her."
"well, i'll be hanged if this isn't a little ahead of anything of which i ever heard or read!" was the only comment monteith sterry could make, as the full scheme unrolled before him.
"jennie may fail," continued the proud parent, "but if she does, her situation and that of all of us will be no worse than before. if she fails, then you, too, mr. sterry, would have failed and lost your life without helping us."
"i am not prepared to admit that, but my part in the business seems to have passed beyond discussion."
mrs. whitney was about to continue her words when she ceased and faintly asked for a glass of water. fred set down the candle and sprang to her help ahead of anyone, holding the glass, which was instantly brought, to her lips.
the poor woman had undergone great trials, as will be admitted, during the past few days. the excitement had sustained her until now something in the nature of a reaction came. helping her to a chair, fred affectionately fanned her, and did what he could to make her rally.
he was thus engaged when a second knock startled all. capt. asbury wheeled and demanded:
"who's there?"
"duke vesey, under a flag of truce."
no name could have astonished the cattlemen more. this was the man whom sterry had expected to meet, and in whose care it was supposed jennie whitney had placed herself.
instead of that, he was asking admittance.
"your flag will be respected," said capt. asbury, drawing back the bolts of the door, which was next swung inward a few inches.
the rustler stepped within, saying:
"i have been sent by capt. inman to inquire the meaning of the absence of fred whitney, who was sent here a considerable time ago."
"that is the cause of the delay," replied the captain, pointing to where the young rancher was doing his utmost to revive his mother.
the captain thought himself justified in turning the incident to account.
"she may not live more than half an hour. i suppose, under the circumstances, you folks won't vote to hang her son on his return, though it would be in keeping with your style of business."
"no; we leave that work to such as shoot down men before their homes, as was done last night. i didn't expect anything like this," he added more gently; "i will go back and report. i was told to bring the ladies, and as i can't take the elder just now, i suppose it's best to leave both till i learn what capt. inman wishes."
monteith sterry caught a significant glance of vesey, while speaking, but was utterly unable to interpret it. he, however, removed to that side of the room, so as to place himself near him. still the rustler made no other sign. too many eyes were upon him.
one of capt. asbury's most noticeable points was his ability to "catch on" to a situation like the present. he saw the look given by the visitor, and translated it as meaning that he wished to make some communication to the other.
"sterry," said the captain in his most rasping manner, "this is the fellow you were so tender on last night, and i suppose he will reciprocate when he gets a chance to draw a bead on you. i will leave to you the happiness of escorting him through the door, for the pleasure would quite overwhelm me."
"i am willing to act the gentleman at any time," replied sterry, quickly seizing the opportunity of bringing himself near enough to hear what vesey said without any one else noting it. as he was passing out the rustler remarked, in a quick undertone:
"i did my best, old fellow, but it won't work; they suspect something, and wouldn't let me go near the stable after dark. sorry, but it's no use."
"but i thank you all the same," guardedly responded sterry.
