"We've got the start."
Thatcher suddenly turned to the west, and in another minute we were on
the open highway, with the steady beat of the horses' hoofs splashing a
wild rhythm on the muddy road.
The wind, which had been behind us, now whipped the rain into our faces
from the left, half blinding us as the gusts sent the spray into our
eyes, then tugged fiercely at coats and hats as if nothing could be so
pleasing to the powers of the air as to send our raiment in a witch's
flight through the clouds.
With the town once behind us, I felt my spirits rise with every stroke
of the horse's hoofs beneath me. The rain and the wind were friends
rather than foes. Yet my arm pained me sharply, and I was forced to
carry the reins in the whip hand.
Here the road was broader, and we rode three abreast, silent, watchful,
each busy with his own thoughts, and all alert for the signs of chase
behind. Thrice my heart beat fast with the sound in my ears of
galloping pursuers. Thrice I laughed to think that the patter of
falling drops on the roadway should deceive my sense of sound. Here the
track narrowed, and Thatcher shot ahead, flinging mud and water from
his horse's heels fair upon us. There it broadened once more, and our
willing beasts pressed forward and galloped beside the stableman's till
the hoofs beat in unison.
"There!" said Thatcher, suddenly pulling his horse up to a walk. "We're
five miles out, and they've got a big piece to make up if they're on
our track.
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