"Well, 'twas no worse for you than for any of us," retorted the boy the other side of Grayson. "There wasn't a rag for any of us to get into but blankets, and sheets, and—"
"You see we were waked up out of a sound sleep; it was about three o'clock this morning," Grayson took the words out of any mouth that might be intending to explain, "so we just vamosed the ranch. I tell you, there was some tall sprinting. And King was with us; I remember seeing him. But he was last, and he looked back; then somebody sang out, 'Where's Pip?'"
"Pip?" Ben found his tongue, that had seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, enough for that one syllable.
"Oh, it isn't his real name," said Grayson, in a hurry to explain again before any one else could put in a word; "his own was so ridiculously long,—Cornelius Leffingwell,—only think, for such a mite of a chap,—so we had to call him Pip, you see. Well, somebody was fool enough to scream out, 'Where's Pip?' and Jasper turned back."
Ben clenched both hands tightly together in a grip that would have hurt but for the woollen gloves.
"And I roared out, 'Come along, King—'"
"And so did I."
"And I." The voices took it up, one after another.
"For it wasn't the time to look out for any skin but your own; it was as much as your life was worth to turn back," cried Grayson, bearing down on the other voices.
"Boys!" The big door back of them burst open suddenly, and a teacher's head appeared, making them all jump as if shot. "Go right away from these steps!"