Still it was quite warm; also somewhat smoky from the powder that had been burned; likewise noisy. Not so noisy, however, that Mr. Borlan could not hear his counsel say:
"Clear yourself, Borlan! My horses are down at the ford!"
Mr. Borlan followed the advice of his counsel, and Mr. Ruger followed Mr. Borlan. The Ten Milers—some of them—followed both counsel and client.
It was neck and heels until the horses were reached. After that the pursuers were left at a great disadvantage.
"I'll have his heart!" ejaculated Watson. Which heart he meant we have no means of knowing. "Give me a horse! quick!"
They brought a mule.
"Wait here, every man of you!" Watson shouted back over the shaved tail of his substitute for a horse. "I'll bring him back, dead or alive, or my name ain't Watson!"
And over the way the stage had stopped, and Fanny Borlan had reached Ten Mile Gulch at last.
III.
A little after sunrise, the next morning, Mr. Tom Ruger might have been seen leisurely riding along the bridle-path between the mines and the settlement of Ten Mile Gulch. He was headed toward the village, and was nine and three-quarter miles nearer to it than the mines. He had found another good cigar somewhere, and was humming the selfsame tune as on the previous afternoon; but the riderless horse was not with him.