“All ready?” whispered the cowboy. “Then we’ll start. I’ll ride behind. If the old goose does any shooting he’ll aim at me, anyway—and none o’ these nestors kin shoot wuth a hang. You can see the trail, ladies?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy.
They rode out quietly, skirting a group of sheds, and struck into the trail. The ponies were well under way before the angry farmer heard them.
“He’s fell for it!” cried the cowboy. “Jerusha Juniper! Here he comes. Let ’em out, ladies. The ponies is fresh as jackrabbits.”
For perhaps two miles they heard the farmer hooting and yelling behind them. But he did not shoot. Then the sounds of his pursuit abruptly ended. The ‘nestor’ had given up the chase.
“I hope he’ll not find his daughter and her husband until he gets over his mad fit,” said Dorothy, anxiously.
“That mean man would never be decent,” said Tavia. “But wasn’t it exciting?”
“Colt’s goin’ to take Molly a fur ways off,” said the cowboy. “Old Peleg will have plenty of time to simmer down afore he sees airy of ’em again.”
They rode on through the night and after a time Lance left the regular trail. Dorothy was a bit worried by this move and asked him why.
“Isn’t there a chance of our getting lost, Mr. Lance?”