Page:Gibbs--The yellow dove.djvu/269

 “Not tired yet?” he asked.

“No. I could go on forever.”

“Then listen. We are nearing the Thorwald. It is just beyond here, less than half a mile away.”

“The Thorwald?”

“It’s a favorite place of mine, known only to Lindberg and Udo, a cave high up in the rocks, safe as a church, unless Udo happens to hunt for us there.”

“And will he?”

“I hope not. At the foot of the crags this road runs. We must get there first. Can you run?”

“I’ll try.”

He gave her his hand again, and they settled into a jog trot. She was breathing fast in a moment, but she was game and did not falter, though her lungs seemed to be bursting. But as they neared the spot, Cyril slowed down to a walk again.

“At the foot of the glen there’s a dry bed of a stream full of rocks. There used to be a bridge here, but it was washed away. It’s an awkward spot, even for a good motor. I’m going to make it worse.”

He left her, dashing on ahead, while she followed, and when she reached the stream she saw him dragging one of the bridge timbers across the road. She wanted to help, but he told her to watch, until he got another and then another timber into place. And in another moment it was evident that the barricade was formidable enough to deter any machine from crossing. And there was no way to go around, for upon one side rose the crags and upon the other the gully fell away into a dark pit filled with rocks and tangled branches.

There was nothing for it now but to wait. And yet it seemed a desperate thing to do. Weary and