Through woods and swamps; past fields of green grain, over small bridges that rattled as they sped by; up hill and down they hastened on under the direction of the boy who pointed out the turnings. Dorothea had tried not to consider the possibility of being too late; but now she was unable to control the despair clutching at her heart. “How much farther is it?” she demanded of the boy in the seat directly before her. “It must be a matter of ten mile yet,” he replied over his shoulder. Stolid as he was, his youth had caught the spirit of the grim contest and seemed to resent being forced to take his eyes from the road before them. At his words a sort of sob came through the tightened lips of old Uncle Jastrow. “’Deed, Lil’ Miss, we can’t make it!” he murmured. “We must!” came April’s unfaltering words. “We must make it!” “It’s bound to kill ’em!” the old darky answered. “What are a dozen horses to the life of Marse Lee Hendon, Uncle Jastrow?” the girl replied firmly. “Faster! Faster!” In that last ten miles of the journey, the horses, tiring rapidly, seemed to stumble at every step. The old colored man, driving with the skill he had learned from his father before him, kept his team on their feet and seemed to help them on step by step. Their labored breathing would have pained those who heard, had their errand been of less moment. But nothing could be spared if Lee Hendon’s life was to be saved. “Faster, Uncle Jastrow, faster!” The words were almost continuous now as the horses staggered over the remaining miles and the sun dropped lower and lower. “There’s only three more miles now,” the boy cried as they turned a corner. But the colored driver shook his head anxiously. “They jes’ cain’t do it!” he said under his breath and to prove his words, one of the exhausted horses, stumbling, made a brave effort to keep its feet, but too weak, fell with a gasp and the carriage came to a sudden stop. With a cry of distress April leaped to the ground. “Come with me!” she cried to the boy. “Show me the way. We’ll run the rest of the distance. Hurry!” But before they had well started a mounted man galloped around the bend and, with a shout, reined up beside them. It was Val Tracy, coming to look for them, and with barely a word of greeting April thrust the order she had secured from Mr. Davis into his hand. “Ride back, Val; read that on your way!” she commanded, and Tracy, knowing that there was not a moment to lose, glanced at the darkening sky and driving his spurs into his horse, tore back along the road he had come. In a moment he was out of sight.