“They’ll never make it, Jack, with that bunch hitting up the pace on their heels.”
“Not one chance in ten, I should say,” returned the other, with the air of certainty that sprung from a knowledge of hard riding cowboy tactics.
All signs of the chase had vanished, though Amos believed he did hear what sounded like another salvo of shots ringing out. He may have been mistaken, however, because the air just then was filled with all manner of strange noises, from the shouts of charging brigades, the rattle of distant gunfire, to the harsher throb of heavy artillery and the incessant bursting of bombs.
“Fourth of July will seem pretty tame business to me after all this noise,” Amos remarked, as he followed his chum back to the top of the stairs leading to the lower floor of the house.
“I should say it would,” Jack agreed. “I’m wondering right now what happened to those two chaps who left their saddles in such a hurry.”
“The first acted as though he might have gotten his finish; that’s what struck me, Jack, though I’m no judge of such terrible things,” and Amos shivered as he made this admission.
“Yes, I believe he was done for, all right,” assented the ranch boy, “but it was different with the second trooper.”
“He picked his dropping-off place,” Amos suggested.
“And threw himself sidelong from his saddle, first working his feet out of the stirrups,” continued Jack, showing how his quick eye had taken note of all these things.
They issued forth from the house about this time, and headed directly for a breach in the wall that had once served to enclose the grounds belonging to the rich Belgian’s grounds.