“What do you mean by such actions in my place?” shouted the enraged and exasperated landlord, turning on Dick and Brad.
“We’re not responsible any,” retorted Buckhart. “Whatever made you get in my way and keep me from salting that ornery Spaniard good and plenty?”
“Out and after him!” cried Dick. “Don’t let him get away!”
“He’ll have to pay for that window!” yelled the landlord.
Then Dick led the rush from the inn. The door was thrown open, and they ran out beneath the stars.
They were just in time to see the closed carriage, with both horses at a dead run and the driver mercilessly plying the whip, whirl out of the yard, turn to the right and go clattering and rattling away on the frozen road.
A moment later a horseman shot past the opposite corner of the building and turned to the left.
As he passed the windows from which the light was shining the Texan caught a glimpse of him.
“There goes the galoot hot foot!” he roared, and flung up his hand to shoot.
It was Dick who now grasped his arm and prevented him from firing.