He ran after them, but neither of the boys paused a moment to respond, and quickly they vanished down the dark road that turned away beneath the great trees to the right. Back to his ears came the clatter of hoofs on the roadbed, receding and growing fainter in the distance.
Both boys were ready for any emergency as they galloped mile after mile along that road.
Twice they passed branching roads, but chose to stick by the principal highway, although it was impossible to say that they were following the right course by doing so.
“It’s more than even, pard,” said the Texan, “that the onery varmints turned off on one of those other roads. We’re going her a whole lot on pure luck.”
“We have to,” said Dick.
Down a hill and over a bridge they flew. By this time the horses were breathing heavily and beginning to perspire. Their breath whistled through their nostrils and they would have slackened the pace had they been permitted.
On and on until at last, descending yet another hill, they came upon the wrecked carriage lying in a splintered heap by the roadside.
They flung themselves from their nearly exhausted horses, the creatures willingly stopping and standing with hanging heads and heaving flanks.
“Whatever happened here, pard?” cried Brad.
“Smash up,” answered Dick. “Must have been a runaway and a bad one, too.”