"Good God!"

Then he spoke to her, a muttered word, a meaningless word. She swung her
body over, sinuously, so that she faced him, slender legs half stretched.
The dead black hair rippled over budding breasts. She did not answer. She
merely looked at him.

The stranger sat there. His eyes blinked a little; he brushed his hand
across them, weakly. Then he looked at her again.

Came a sudden rustling in the brush, beside him. His horse leaped
forward, almost unseating him.... He had gone far down the trail before
he reined it in. Then he crossed himself. His eyes showed that he was
frightened.

There was a turning in the path, a turning that led to the main road. The
stranger swung his horse into this turning. He knew that it added to the
length of his journey by a good league and a half. And yet he took that
turning.

And, later, as he turned into the travelled road, he breathed a deep,
deep sigh; and again he crossed himself.




[Illustration]

CHAPTER FIVE.