"
The road had left the car-track, the noise of the train was dying away
in the distance. At last, turning a curve, he saw that Madge's horse
had come down to a canter, and that she was pulling feebly at the
rein.
As he approached he shouted "Whoa!" with such a voice of command that
the horse stopped suddenly and she almost fell forward.
"Quick, Graydon, quick!" she gasped.
He sprang to the ground, and a second later she was an unconscious
burden in his arms.
He laid her gently on a mossy bank under an oak; then, with a
face fairly livid with passion, he drew a small revolver from his
hip-pocket, stepped back to the horse that now stood trembling and
exhausted in the road, and shot him dead.
He now saw that they had been observed at a neighboring farmhouse,
and that people were running toward them. Gathering Madge again in
his arms, he bore her toward the dwelling, in which effort he was soon
aided by a stout countryman.
The farmer's wife was all solicitude, and to her and her daughter's
ministrations Madge was left, while Graydon waited, with intense
anxiety, in the porch, explaining what had occurred, with a manner
much distraught, in answer to many questions.
"The cursed brute is done for now," he concluded.
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