Within another
thirty hours he was hid in the woods behind Fort O'Battle, having
travelled nearly all night. He saw the dawn break and the beginning of
sunrise as he watched the Fort, growing every moment colder, while his
horse trembled and whinnied softly, suffering also. At last he gave a
little grunt of satisfaction, for he saw two men come out of the Fort and
go to the corral. He hesitated a minute longer, then said: "I'll not
wait," patted his horse's neck, pulled the blanket closer round him, and
started for the Fort. He entered the yard--it was empty. He went to the
door of the Fort, opened it, entered, shut it, locked it softly, and put
the key in his pocket. Then he passed through into a room at the end of
the small hallway. Three men rose from seats by the fire as he did so,
and one said: "Hullo, who're you?" Another added: "It's Pretty Pierre."
Pierre looked at the table laid for breakfast, and said: "Where's Lydia
Throng?"
The elder of the three brothers replied: "There's no Lydia Throng here.
There's Lydia Bontoff, though, and in another week she'll be Lydia
something else."
"What does she say about it herself?" "You've no call to know."
"You stole her, forced her from Throng's-her father's house."
"She wasn't Throng's; she was a Bontoff--sister of us.
"Well, she says Throng, and Throng it's got to be.
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