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Walcott, Earle Ashley, 1859-1931

"Blindfolded"

I was
forced to give a grunt myself, as another slapped my sore arm and sent
a sharp twinge of pain shooting from the wound till it tingled in my
toes. Dicky, protected between us, chuckled softly. I reflected
savagely that nothing spoils a man for company like a mistaken sense of
humor.
Suddenly the horses stopped so short that we were almost pitched out.
"Hello! what's this?" I cried, drawing my revolver, fearful of an
ambush.
"It's a fence," said the driver.
"There must be a gate," I said, jumping down quickly.
Mrs. Knapp rapped on the carriage door and I opened it.
"Have you come to the bars?" she asked presently.
"I guess so. We've come against something like a fence."
"Well, then," she replied, "when we get through, take the road to the
left. That will bring us to the house."
"You are certain?"
"That is what Henry wrote in the cipher beneath the map. The house must
be only a few hundred yards away."
The bars were there, and I lifted the wet and soggy boards with an
anxious heart. Were we, after all, so near the hiding-place? And what
were we to find?
I mounted the seat again, and we drove forward. The road was scarcely
distinguishable, but the horses followed it without hesitation as it
led behind a tall hedge and among scattered oaks.
My heart beat fast. What if the enemy were before us?
"Have you got your revolver handy?" I whispered to Dicky.
"Two of 'em," he chuckled. "There's a double dose for the man that
wants it.


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