“Nothing that's any good,” grunted Annixter. “Hello,” he added, raising his head, “there's somebody in a hurry for sure.”
The noise of a horse galloping so fast that the hoof-beats sounded in one uninterrupted rattle, abruptly made itself heard. The noise was coming from the direction of the road that led from the Mission to Quien Sabe. With incredible swiftness, the hoof-beats drew nearer. There was that in their sound which brought Presley to his feet. Annixter threw open the window.
“Runaway,” exclaimed Presley.
Annixter, with thoughts of the Railroad, and the “Jumping” of the ranch, flung his hand to his hip pocket.
“What is it, Vacca?” he cried.
Young Vacca, turning in his seat in the carryall, was looking up the road. All at once, he jumped from his place, and dashed towards the window. “Dyke,” he shouted. “Dyke, it's Dyke.”
While the words were yet in his mouth, the sound of the hoof-beats rose to a roar, and a great, bell-toned voice shouted:
“Annixter, Annixter, Annixter!”
It was Dyke's voice, and the next instant he shot into view in the open square in front of the house.
“Oh, my God!” cried Presley.