“GOT to find it; that's all. 'Tis dark, that's a fact.”
It was. They had gone but a few hundred yards; yet the fire was already merely a shapeless, red smudge on the foggy blackness behind them. Horace Greeley pounded along at a jog, and when the Captain slapped him with the end of the reins, broke into a jerky gallop that was slower than the trot.
“Stop your hoppin' up and down!” commanded Perez, whose temper was becoming somewhat frayed. “You make me think of the walkin' beam on a steamboat. If you'd stop tryin' to fly and go straight ahead we'd do better.”
They progressed in this fashion for some distance. Then Miss Davis, from the curtained depths of the back seat, spoke again.
“Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed. “Are you sure you're on the right track? Seems 's if we MUST be abreast the station, and this road's awful rough.”
Captain Perez had remarked the roughness of the road. The carryall was pitching from one hummock to another, and Horace Greeley stumbled once or twice.
“Whoa!” commanded the Captain. Then he got down, lit a match, and, shielding it with his hands, scrutinized the ground. “I'm kind of 'fraid,” he said presently, “that we've got off the road somehow. But we must be 'bout opposite the crossin'. I'm goin' to drive down and see if I can find it.”
He turned the horse's head at right angles from the way they were going, and they pitched onward for another hundred yards. Then they came out upon the hard, smooth sand, and heard the water lapping on the shore. Captain Perez got out once more and walked along the strand, bending forward as he walked. Soon Miss Patience heard him calling.
“I've found it, I guess,” he said, coming back to the vehicle. “Anyhow, it looks like it. We'll be over in a few minutes now. Git dap, you!”
Horace Greeley shivered as the cold water splashed his legs, but waded bravely in. They moved further from the shore and the water seemed to grow no deeper.