“We're by, anyhow,” said Drake. “Quick now. Burn the earth.” The horse sprang at his spurs. “Dust, you son of a gun! Rattle your hocks! Brindle! Vamoose!” Each shouted word was a lash with his quirt. “Duck!” he called to Bolles.
Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded a corner and saw the crowd jumping into the corral, and Sam's door empty of that prudent Celestial.
“He's a very wise Chinaman!” shouted Drake, as they rushed.
“What?” screamed Bolles.
“Very wise Chinaman. He'll break that stove now to prove his innocence.”
“Who did you say was innocent?” screamed Bolles.
“Oh, I said you were,” yelled Drake, disgusted; and he gave over this effort at conversation as their horses rushed along.
V
It was a dim, wide stretch of winter into which Drake and Bolles galloped from the howling pursuit. Twilight already veiled the base of Castle Rock, and as they forged heavily up a ridge through the caking snow, and the yells came after them, Bolles looked seriously at Dean Drake; but that youth wore an expression of rising merriment. Bolles looked back at the dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forward to the spreading skein of night where the trail was taking him and the boy, and in neither direction could he discern cause for gayety.
“May I ask where we are going?” said he.