“That–that is why you wait?” Rodrigo had forgotten his prize entirely. “Take her, then, take her! Only go, go, kill all the traitors!”
“After you, caballero,” Driscoll returned with Mexican politeness. He wanted to be sure of the outlaw’s departure, since holding him prisoner was now out of the question. But Rodrigo chafed only to be gone. With a reed whistle he signaled his little demon centaurs, then at a touch of the spurs his horse leaped forward and all the band clattered close on his heels.
“Sure anxious to escape,” thought Driscoll. But he stared after them in wonder. Instead of turning to the safety of the mountains, they charged straight ahead on the town, straight against the Empire, and in any case, straight into the maw of justice. Behind, the coach and mules stood high and dry in the road. Driscoll was at once all action.
“Shanks,” he called.
Mr. Boone hurried to him from the Grays.
“Shanks, will you stay here with six men––”
“Jack Driscoll!”
“To watch that coach, Dan. There’s two girls in it.”
“Jack! Miss that there fight!”
“But Dan, these girls are friends of yours, you met them once.”