“Hark!” I cried. “Did you hear that?” I was almost certain that the sound of a faint halloo came from behind us. I was not alone in the thought. “The dern fools!” said Fitzhugh. “They want a long chase, I guess, to go through the country yelling like a pack of wild Injuns.” “I reckon 'twas an owl,” said Thatcher; “but we might as well be moving. We needn't take no chances while we've got a good set of heels under us. Get up, boys.” The willing brutes shot forward into the darkness at the word, and tossed the rain-drops from their ears with many an angry nod. Of the latter part of the journey I have but a confused remembrance. I had counted myself a good rider in former days, but I had not mounted a horse for years. I had slept but little in forty-eight hours, and, worst of all, my arm pained me more and more. With the fatigue and the jar of the steady gallop, it seemed to swell until it was the body and I the poor appendage to it. My head ached from the blow it had got, and in a stupor of dull pain I covered the weary miles. But for the comfortable Mexican saddle I fear I should have sunk under the fatigue and distress of the journey and left friends and enemies to find their way out of the maze as best they might. I have a dim recollection of splashing over miles of level road, drenched with water and buffeted by gusts of wind that faced us more and more, with the monotonous beat of hoofs ever in my ears, and the monotonous stride of the horse beneath me ever racking my tired muscles. Then we slackened pace in a road that wound in sharp descent through a gap in the hills, with the rush and roar of a torrent beneath and beside us, the wind sweeping with wild blasts through the trees that lined the way and covered the hillside and seeming to change the direction of its attack at every moment. “We'll make it, I reckon,” said Thatcher, at last. “It's only two miles farther, and the train hasn't gone up yet.” The horses by this time were well-blown. The road was heavy, and we had pressed them hard. Yet they struggled with spirit as they panted, and answered to the whip when we called on them for the last stretch as we once more found a level road. There was no sign of life about the station as we drew our panting, steaming horses to a halt before it, and no train was in sight. The rain dripping heavily from the eaves was the only sound that came from it, and a dull glow from an engine that lay alone on a siding was the only light that was to be seen. “What's the time?” asked Thatcher. “We must have made a quick trip.” “Twenty minutes past three,” said I, striking a match under my coat to see my watch-face. “Immortal snakes!” cried Thatcher. “I'm an idiot. This is Sunday night.” I failed to see the connection of these startling discoveries, but I had spirit enough to argue the case. “It's Monday morning, now.” “Well, it's the same thing. The freight doesn't run to-night.” I awoke to some interest at this announcement.