“Ther’ was two fellers hit the trail this morning,” the gambler said, with a short laugh. “I see ’em when I was with Zip––’fore daylight.”
“You––you best quit it,” said Minky in serious, anxious tones. “We kin, maybe, hold the gold up against him here. It ain’t too late. It ain’t, sure.”
Bill’s face suddenly darkened. All the lightness which the prospect before him had inspired suddenly left it. His words came so full of bitter hatred that the other was startled.
“Not for a million-dollar halo!” he cried, reaching out for his long whip.
With a dexterous swing he set it cracking over his horses’ backs. The high-strung beasts plunged at their bits, and the leaders started to rear. Again he swung out his whip, and this time it flicked the plunging leaders. Instantly there was a rush of feet and a scrunch of wheels. The “tugs” pulled taut, and the gush of eager nostrils hissed like steam upon the still air. There was a shout of farewell from the onlookers, and the gambler turned in his seat.
“So long, fellers,” he cried. “I’m makin’ Spawn City by daylight to-morrer––sure.”
The next moment he was lost in a cloud of dust, as the horses raced down the hill.