"Drunk!" the first speaker repeated. "Texas drunk! What on earth are you talking about?"
The other was so red in the face and out of breath from what had evidently been a long run that he could scarcely manage to answer. His eyes were staring, and his face a picture of excitement and alarm.
"Bless my soul!" he gasped. "I tell you—I saw him! He's wild!"
"What do you mean? Where is he?"
"He—he's got a horse! He's ridden off! Oh—bless my soul—he's killing everybody!"
Mark sprang to his feet in excitement. At the same moment another head appeared in the opening, preceded by a hasty "What's that?" It was Parson Stanard, and his learned classical face was a picture of amazement.
"Texas drunk!" he echoed. "Where did he get anything to drink?"
"I don't know!" gasped Indian. "Bless my soul—I only saw him one moment; he dashed down the road. Oh! And had a horse, and his guns—Lord, I was scared nearly to death."
"Which way did he go?" inquired Mark, quickly, a sudden resolution taking possession of his mind.
"Down toward Highland Falls," answered the other.