“I suppose about twenty,” he said doubtfully. Martin whistled softly and expressively, and peered at his watch.
“It’s a little after nine-thirty,” he mused. “At the rate we’re going we ought to get there about five in the morning—if the horses don’t die first!”
“Why go into Queenstown, then?” asked Nelson. “We’re bound to find a village pretty soon. Anyhow, there’s Midleton.”
“How far’s that?”
“About halfway, I guess.”
“Well——” Martin was silent a minute. Then: “I tell you what we’ll do, Nep. We’re in wrong anyhow for out-staying liberty, and we might as well be hung for sheep as for lambs. We’ll find this Midleton place you tell about and be sure we’re headed right. Then we’ll stop and have a few hours’ sleep and drive into Queenstown in the morning in triumph. What do you say?”
“Sounds crazy to me,” objected Nelson. “All except the sleep part of it. That sounds mighty reasonable. But of course what’ll happen is that we’ll be arrested for carrying rifles around the country without a license, or whatever you have to have. I want some sleep, but I don’t care to take it in jail!”
“We’ll have to risk that,” said Martin. “Besides, we’re American sailors and if they arrest us we’ll threaten to tell Mr. Wilson. Say, am I dippy, or is that a light ahead there?”
“Both, I guess. Anyway, it’s a light.” Nelson was beginning to regain his cheerfulness. “But we’d better not stop anywhere just yet, Mart. Those fellows might persuade folks that we’d stolen their team.”
“The very idea! Do we look like fellows who would steal?”