Escapade by Walter Satterthwait Page A

maybe thinking she could do something. I realized that the Great Man and I were already standing.
    But Miss Turner had found the reins and brought the horse under control. About twenty yards away she started slowing it, and by the time she reached us the animal was moving in a walk. The horse was panting. So was Miss Turner. Its eyes wide, the horse stopped and pawed the ground, once, twice, then raised its head and shook it and whinnied.
    A few feet away, Lord Bob was standing now, too, his legs braced on either side of the big motorcycle. “Miss Turner! You gave us a terrible fright! Are you all right?”
    “ Jane . What on earth did you think you were doing?” Mrs. Allardyce. She was still sitting down.
    Miss Turner’s face was white and it was shining with sweat. She took a breath. She put her hand against her forehead. She licked her lips and she looked around at all of us. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . .”
    Just then a number of things happened very quickly.
    From somewhere in the forest behind us, to the south, came the flat hard crack of a rifle.
    And something made a thunking noise somewhere as I spun to look at the Great Man. He had turned toward the sound of the shot and I knew without being able to see it that his chin was raised and he was daring the rifleman to try again.
    All the others had turned, too, and frozen in position.
    I shoved my hand into my pocket, going for the Colt.
    And then, behind me, Miss Turner said “Oh,” very quietly, and I turned back to her and her eyelids fluttered and her blue eyes rolled upward and became white and she slumped sideways off the horse.

Chapter Ten
    I RIPPED MY hand from my pocket and I sprinted toward Miss Turner. Just as her leg slipped over the saddle, I caught her shoulders with my left arm and I scooped my right arm up beneath her knees. She sagged into the crooks of my elbows, her head lolling, her arms loosely swinging. I carried her over to the bench and laid her out on it and I squatted down beside her. I was looking for the bullet wound. I couldn’t find it.
    I sensed the people crowding around me. Mrs. Corneille, Mrs. Allardyce, Lord Bob. I searched for the Great Man, found him standing just behind me. He looked puzzled, maybe even worried, but he was alive and unwounded. There hadn’t been a second shot.
    Miss Turner was breathing but her face was white. I put my hand against her forehead. Cold and damp. I put my fingertips against her wrist and felt for her pulse. It was there, fluttering like the wings of a wounded bird.
    Mrs. Corneille said “Is she . . . ?”
    I said, “I think she’s just fainted.”
    “A bloody poacher !” growled Lord Bob. “Filthy sod!” His beetle brows were lowered and a bright furious red was glowing beneath the gray dust that coated his face. He snapped his goggles down over his eyes, leaving two rings of indented flesh on his forehead. “I’ll show the swine!”
    He scurried off to the motorcycle, a flurry of tweed. I turned back to Miss Turner. I heard the howl of the motorcycle behind me as I unknotted the tie at her throat. Lord Bob, revving up the machine.
    “Mr. Beaumont !” said Mrs. Allardyce.
    The motorcycle exploded away with a roar of engine and a clatter of gravel.
    “She needs air,” I said. I unbuttoned the first two buttons of her blouse. Lightly, I tapped Miss Turner’s cheek. Nothing from her. I noticed that her skin was as soft as a child’s. I ignored that.
    “May I?” Mrs. Corneille. She was beside me now, on my right. Her shiny black hair swung forward like a silk curtain as she leaned toward Miss Turner. I could smell her perfume. I ignored that too.
    She took Miss Turner’s right hand between hers and rubbed it gently.
    I tapped the cheek again. “Miss Turner?”
    She took a deep staggered breath and her lids snapped back and those dazzling blue eyes looked at me.
    Twice now in less than twelve hours I had been the first thing a young woman saw when she came back to earth. Miss