"And another hour to get them across the river. They would be at the
Abousir Rock and pick up the tracks by six o'clock. After that it is a
clear race. We are only four hours ahead, and some of these beasts are
very spent. We may be saved yet, Cochrane!"

"Some of us may. I don't expect to see the padre alive to-morrow, nor
Miss Adams either. They are not made for this sort of thing either of
them. Then again we must not forget that these people have a trick of
murdering their prisoners when they see that there is a chance of a
rescue. See here, Belmont, in case you get back and I don't, there's a
matter of a mortgage that I want you to set right for me." They rode on
with their shoulders inclined to each other, deep in the details of
business.

The friendly negro who had talked of himself as Tippy Tilly had managed
to slip a piece of cloth soaked in water into the hand of Mr. Stephens,
and Miss Adams had moistened her lips with it. Even the few drops had
given her renewed strength, and now that the first crushing shock was
over, her wiry, elastic, Yankee nature began to reassert itself.

"These people don't look as if they would harm us, Mr. Stephens," said
she. "I guess they have a working religion of their own, such as it is,
and that what's wrong to us is wrong to them."

Stephens shook his head in silence. He had seen the death of the
donkey-boys, and she had not.

"Maybe we are sent to guide them into a better path," said the old lady.
"Maybe we are specially singled out for a good work among them."