Fog was already streaming among the fantastic trees of the Point of Pines, cutting them off in front; but Julia held an unswerving course until the damp breath blew on her hot cheeks, and moisture stood in pearls in her hair.
The point went back from the sea in a low ridge, running up into a straggling grove of cypress. Its backbone of round, tumbling stones was cruel footing for horses. The pack made nothing of it, slipping over like snakes. Julia was for following, but Longacre turned a sharp flank movement that had the black headed off, flying up the point for the trees, the pack yelping a parallel course on the left of the ridge.
Julia brought her whip down savagely on the black’s flank as she passed him. Longacre took an in-breath as they swept under the trees. The sun through the fine, blowing mist made a dazzle for the eyes.
Over a ground broken and spotted with black stumps the girl guided her horse with admirable skill, Longacre saving his neck by luck. Their pace perforce was slower, dodging the trees that sprang on them out of the mist like specters.
Then, with a hallo, a crashing rush, Thair broke through the scrub on their left. Old rider that he was, he knew the short cuts of every course. He shouted, and they swerved toward him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he panted.
“The wild juggernaut couldn’t finish this run!” he protested.
“Nonsense!” The girl wheeled her horse. “We’ll be out of the mist when we get away from the point.”
“_That_ you won’t. It’s coming in from the land, too. It’ll be thick in five minutes, and we’ll snag, or break our precious necks on these dwarf-cypresses!”
“We’ll be out in half a minute!” Julia said, shook her reins, and was off.
“Keep Miss Lewis back!” Longacre shouted it over his shoulder.
He heard Thair take up the words and call them again to some dim horseman looming large in the mist.
Already the hounds were a faint cry far in front, the girl a gray wraith flitting among the trees. Now the cypresses had her! Now she flashed into a clearing! Longacre heard hoofs and faint voices behind him, but in that fog, that covered the earth and swallowed the sun, the rider a length ahead of him was the only living creature. Before them the slope slid away into white oblivion. It was madness—this blind flight. He felt himself gaining upon her. His hand was ready for the black’s bit. The thicket opened out; the trees fell away right and left. A dark line swam up in front.