We nearly missed the stable in the darkness, and it was several minutes before we roused Thatcher to a state in which he could put together the two ideas that we wanted to get in, and that it was his place to get up and let us in.
“Horses to-night?” he gasped, throwing up his hands. “Holy Moses! I couldn't think of letting the worst plug of the lot out in this storm.”
“Well, I want your best.”
“You'll have to do it, Dick,” said Fitzhugh with a few words of explanation. “He'll make it all right for you.”
“Where are you going?” said Thatcher.
“Oakland.”
He threw up his hands once more.
“Great Scott! you can't do it. The horses can't travel fifty miles at night and in this weather. You'd best wait for the morning train. The express will be through here before five.”
I hesitated a moment, but the chances of being stopped were too great.
“I must go,” I said decidedly. “I can't wait here.”