New-Yorker, is it
to be friends and a drink, or do you want a quarrel?"
The deputies were very thirsty. The perspiration was streaming down
French's forehead. They all looked at one another. Laura whispered in
French's ear and he nodded.
"We'll call it a drink," he decided.
* * * * *
The hunted man turned around with a little gasp. Before him was the rude
mountain bridge, and on the other side--freedom. Scarcely a dozen lengths
away was Lenora, and close behind her came Quest. He slackened speed as he
walked his horse cautiously on to the planked bridge. Suddenly he gave a
little cry. The frail structure, unexpectedly insecure, seemed to sway
beneath his weight. Lenora, who had been riding fast, was unable to stop
herself. She came on to the bridge at a half canter. Craig, who had
reached the other side in safety, threw up his hands.
"Look out!" he cried. "My God!"
The bridge suddenly collapsed as though it had been made of paper. Lenora,
grasping her horse, was thrown into the stream. Quest, galloping up, was
only able to check himself just in time. He flung himself from his horse,
and plunged into the stream. It was several moments before he was able to
reach Lenora. From the opposite bank Craig watched them, glancing once or
twice at the bridge. One of the wooden pillars had been sawn completely
through.
"Are you hurt, dear?" Quest gasped, as he drew Lenora to the bank.
She shook her head.
"Just my side.
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