She started suddenly to her feet, white and cold as on that day that
she had parted from John Baker before the tunnel. She put on her hat
and mantle, and going to that little iron safe that stood in the corner,
unlocked it and took out its entire contents of gold and silver. She had
reached the door when another idea seized her, and opening her desk she
collected her stamps to the last sheet, and hurriedly rolled them up
under her cape. Then with a glance at the clock, and a rapid survey
of the road from the platform, she slipped from it, and seemed to be
swallowed up in the waiting woods beyond.


CHAPTER II.


Once within the friendly shadows of the long belt of pines, Mrs. Baker
kept them until she had left the limited settlement of Laurel Run far to
the right, and came upon an open slope of Burnt Ridge, where she knew
Jo Simmons' mustang, Blue Lightning, would be quietly feeding. She had
often ridden him before, and when she had detached the fifty-foot reata
from his head-stall, he permitted her the further recognized familiarity
of twining her fingers in his bluish mane and climbing on his back. The
tool-shed of Burnt Ridge Tunnel, where Jo's saddle and bridle always
hung, was but a canter farther on. She reached it unperceived,
and--another trick of the old days--quickly extemporized a side-saddle
from Simmons' Mexican tree, with its high cantle and horn bow, and the
aid of a blanket. Then leaping to her seat, she rapidly threw off her
mantle, tied it by its sleeves around her waist, tucked it under
one knee, and let it fall over her horse's flanks. By this time Blue
Lightning was also struck with a flash of equine recollection and
pricked up his ears. Mrs. Baker uttered a little chirping cry which he