“Almighty gizzards!” gasped the brother of the notorious Blue Ridge outlaw. “What do you want, suh?”
“I wouldn’t whip the horses any more, if I were you,” said Frank quietly. “They are already doing their level best. Besides, it is cruel to hit them that way.”
This seemed to make the man furious, for he shouted:
“I judge, suh, I have a right to hit my own hosses! I’ll give yo’ the liveliest ride yo’ evah took, by smoke!”
Then he arose and cut both the frightened horses again. The animals made a mad leap, and—snap!—one of the reins broke in Cunningham’s hand.
The angry man dropped back with a gasp.
“Good Lord!” he said. “The rein is broke, an’ them critters are going to raise some dust now! Whillikens! what a scrape!”
Now he showed alarm himself, but still the youth at his side was perfectly calm.
“You made a fool of yourself, Mr. Muldoon,” Frank grimly observed. “In your attempt to frighten me you have done a very bad job.”
“Them hosses will never stop runnin’ now till they’ve smashed thunder out of this rig!” the man observed. “Yo’ had better jump for it, youngster.”