“So that he can leave word with the police in time to have us headed off at the mines. To hell with him having the horses!”
“He cannot in any case have the horses,” said the man known as Antonio, “since Miguel took the horses, some time since, by the footpath.”
“He can stay here, then, after we are gone.”
“Well, O’Brien, I wonder at you,” Douglas said. “Here’s a man half dead, as you can see, from poison, and a better fellow, I daresay, than any of us. If we leave him here, he’ll be dead before noon, from cold and exposure. He’s coming in the cars with us to Tloatlucan, where he can take the branch line to Las Palomas before noon. And meanwhile, boys,” he added, raising his voice, “here’s a man pretty damn wet and sick; what do you say to dibs all round to give him a dry shift? I say a pair of trousers.”
They all said something out of the little they had. O’Brien moved away to talk to the engine-driver. Douglas and Antonio brought Sard the dry shift and helped him to change. “Here’s a dry shift,” Douglas said. “And I’m afraid they’re like a pig’s breakfast, a little of all sorts.”
“Get on board here,” O’Brien said.
“On board, hell,” Douglas answered. “This man’s not shifted yet.”
“I don’t give a pea-vren. This ain’t Delmonico’s, nor Maggy Murphy’s. This train’s going.”
“It’s going, hell,” Douglas answered.
“Very well, then; it’ll go without you.”