“Hurroo! Hurroo!” responded his associates, with failing, husky voices.
A loosened tire of the cart rattled loudly.
“Clang!” sounded the rusty, cracked gong, at every turn of the wheels.
“Bow wow! Wow, wow, wow!” yelped Bob and several other canine enthusiasts, outstripping, now and then, the whole crew, and halting, with lolling tongue, for it to catch up.
The cart had been hauled, in this manner, three blocks, when on a sudden an empty lumber-wagon dashed athwart its course, and came sharply to a standstill.
“Pass the ropes aboard, boys,” commanded the marshal. “Quick!”
The ropes were thrown into the wagon-box, were rudely fastened, the marshal and “Sandy” Baxter clambered in to watch them. “All right!” called a score of voices; the driver leaned forward from his seat and lashed his steeds, and very nearly before the cart had stopped it was once more upon its way, this time attached to the jolting, swaying wagon drawn at a gallop by the heavy horses.
The folk whose occupation had thus been taken from them pursued as best they might.
Ned, panting but determined, lustily labored on in the wake of the cart, Bob loping beside him. The smoke cloud waxed larger and larger. They could see an immense swarm of people collected apparently beneath it, and could hear a medley, now faint, now quite distinct, of shouts and cries.
The Congregational church bell was ringing without stop—just as if by this time all Beaufort was not thoroughly aroused and bound, helter-skelter, for the scene!