"Jesu!" gasped Van Horn, dragging his powerful horse back into the road.
"Can you make aught o' yonder fearsome thing, like a wart-toad
scrabbling on two legs?"
Dorothy, teeth set, drove her heels into her gray's ribs and forced him
to where my mare stood all a-quiver.
"It's a thing from hell," panted Van Horn, fighting knee and wrist with
his roan. "My nag shies at neither bear nor wolf! Look at him now!"
"Nor mine at anything save a savage," said I, fearfully peering behind
me while my mare trembled under me.
"I think we have seen a savage, that is all," fell Dorothy's calm voice.
"I think we have seen Catrine Montour."
At the name, Van Horn swore steadily.
"If that be the witch Montour, she runs like a clansman with the fiery
cross," I said, shuddering.
"And that is like to be her business," muttered Van Horn. "The painted
forest-men are in the hills, and if Senecas, Cayugas, and Onondagas do
not know it this night, it will be no fault of Catrine Montour."
"Ride on, Peter," said Dorothy, and checked her horse till my mare came
abreast.
"Are you afraid?" I whispered.
"Afraid? No!" she said, astonished. "What should arouse fear in me?"
"Your common-sense!" I said, impatiently, irritated to rudeness by the
shocking and unearthly spectacle which had nigh unnerved me.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176