"We'll make it, Billy," she replied, "if we can get past the sentry."
"What sentry?" asked Billy. "I didn't see no sentry when I come in."
"They keep a sentry way down the trail all night," replied the girl. "In the daytime he is nearer the village--on the top of this bluff, for from here he can see the whole valley; but at night they station him farther away in a narrow part of the trail."
"It's a mighty good thing you tipped me off," said Billy; "for I'd a-run right into him. I thought they was all behind us now."
After that they went more cautiously, and when they reached the part of the trail where the sentry might be expected to be found, Barbara warned Billy of the fact. Like two thieves they crept along in the shadow of the canyon wall. Inwardly Billy cursed the darkness of the night which hid from view everything more than a few paces from them; yet it may have been this very darkness which saved them, since it hid them as effectually from an enemy as it hid the enemy from them. They had reached the point where Barbara was positive the sentry should be. The girl was clinging tightly to Billy's left arm. He could feel the pressure of her fingers as they sunk into his muscles, sending little tremors and thrills through his giant frame. Even in the face of death Billy Byrne could sense the ecstasies of personal contact with this girl--the only woman he ever had loved or ever would.
And then a black shadow loomed before them, and a rifle flashed in their faces without a word or a sign of warning.