After all, what mattered it? One way might
be as good as another, so it led not home to the cabin which could never
be home again. Why not give the horse his head, and let him pick out a
safe path? Was there danger that he might carry her back to the cabin
again, after all? Horses did that sometimes. But at least he could guide
through this maze of perplexity till some surer place was reached. She
gave him a sign, and he moved on, nimbly picking a way for his feet.
They entered a forest growth where weird branches let the pale moon
through in splashes and patches, and grim moving figures seemed to chase
them from every shadowy tree-trunk. It was a terrible experience to the
girl. Sometimes she shut her eyes and held to the saddle, that she might
not see and be filled with this frenzy of things, living or dead,
following her. Sometimes a real black shadow crept across the path, and
slipped into the engulfing darkness of the undergrowth to gleam with
yellow-lighted eyes upon the intruders.
But the forest did not last forever, and the moon was not yet gone when
they emerged presently upon the rough mountain-side. The girl studied the
moon then, and saw by the way it was setting that after all they were
going in the right general direction. That gave a little comfort until she
made herself believe that in some way she might have made a mistake and
gone the wrong way from the graves, and so be coming up to the cabin after
all.
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