We advanced side by side along what was once a well-trodden path, making no attempt at concealment. Indeed, any such effort would have been useless, as the crest of the ridge lay open, and bare of vegetation, but I was so fully convinced we were unobserved that I took no precaution—my entire thought, indeed, centered upon the girl at my side. The small door at the rear of the church resisted our efforts at opening, and we advanced to the front entrance, passing between the walls of the church and the row of hitching posts. All remained silent, the purple haze of twilight beginning to show along the distant ridges. The heavy latch of the front door lifted easily to the pressure of my hand, and we stepped into a narrow vestibule, Noreen grasping my arm nervously, as she faced the shadowed interior of the deserted building. Some instinct of caution caused me to close the door behind us, and then I drew her forward, laughing at her fears, until we obtained glimpse of the larger room, already becoming obscured by the approaching night. It was a rather shabby looking place, not overly clean even in that merciful dimness, a huge stove, rusty red, occupying the space between the two doors, the stove-pipe extending to the opposite wall. Rude benches, without backs, stretched almost from wall to wall, a narrow aisle leading to the pulpit, set within an
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The Red Mist
