Page:Cherokee Trails (1928).pdf/202

 trail. It grew so dark he could not see the leader of his band; the trail was narrow, bordered by brush and brier; branches of trees hung low over it. He rode with one hand up, to encounter these barriers in time to duck and dodge. Nothing big enough to drag him from the saddle, pendent branches which had grown since the road was last used, the forest closing up the gap in its inevitable way, but always the uncertainty of a thick limb. And there were dangling greenbrier vines which scratched like catamounts, their venomous thorns leaving burning wounds. It was a worrying, perilous, tiring ride.

After what seemed to Simpson a long while—but could not have been more than an hour, if so long—he emerged in a little break, like the clearing of an old field. This seemed to be several acres in extent, as marked by the confining walls of trees, brush-grown and abandoned. It was light enough here to see that the horses still followed the lead mare in good order, few of them, if any, having parted from the band in the woods.

Simpson was satisfied now the horses would hold together unless something gave them a sudden scare. Even then they would reassemble if possible, according to horse nature, for that is an animal which likes the company of its kind above all others.

Tom considered seriously making a halt in this old clearing until daylight. It was unlikely those trailing him—and they must be out hot and in force by now—would be able to see where he had left the road. They would take it for granted he would hold a straight course, and a swift one, for the border along the plainest, surest, easiest way. When daylight revealed their mistake they