Although usually able to command his passions and appear cold as ice, the words of this fearless, dark-eyed lad were too much for Morgan, and he lifted his clinched fist.
Quick as thought, his wrist was seized by Buckhart, who growled in his ear:
“If you ever hit my pard, you will take a trip instanter to join Milton Sukes down below!”
Then he thrust Morgan aside. In the meantime the officers had been searching the room. They opened the closet, looked under the bed, and inspected every place where a person could hide.
“You’re mistaken,” said one of them. “Your man is not here.”
“He must be!” asserted Morgan. “I know it!”
“You can see for yourself he is not here.”
“Then where is he?”
As this question fell from Morgan’s lips there was a clatter of hoofs outside. Morgan himself glanced from the window and quickly uttered a cry of baffled rage.
“There he is now!” he shouted. “There he goes on a horse! He is getting away! After him!”