“Bejabers, I niver kin git a fair shot at the omadhauns,” cried Barney, “they do be dodging about so much like the devil, shure one kin niver tell which way to fire.”
“Jes’ yo’ fire anywheres—jes’ de same as I does!” cried Pomp. “Yo’s dead suah for to hit some on ’em.”
“Begorra, that’s phwat I’m after doing,” cried the Celt.
But Frank was anxious to get away from the foe.
Of course they had the best of the running fight, but it was impossible to tell just where the course they were pursuing would take them to.
In the intense darkness they might at any moment run into some quicksand or saline lake.
Frank endeavored to keep the Steam Horse up to a good rate of speed.
He hung to the brake handle and kept a keen watch ahead, as far as he could see in the radius of light from the headlight of the Steam Horse.
For what seemed an interminable length of time this sort of thing went on.
Then it came to a sudden termination.