To thrust that key into the lock, turn it, and open the door was the work of but an instant. And then, in response to the quick command of their leader, the Seven formed a wedge, Texas with the revolver in front. Mark flung back the heavy door and the Seven made a savage dash through the opening.
There were at least a dozen men gathered in front of the building. They recoiled before the unexpected apparition that met their gaze. The fiercely shouting “lunatics” with the wild-eyed cowboy and his gleaming weapon at their head. An instant more and the party had dashed through the crowd and went speeding up the street.
Texas was last, glancing behind him and aiming his revolver menacingly to prevent pursuit.
“Stop thief! Stop thief!” swelled the cry through all the village; but to the wildly-delighted, hilarious Seven, it was a cry that fast receded and died out in the distance.
For no one dared to follow, and the “lunatics” escaped once more, were keeping up a pace that it would have been hard to equal. They counted themselves safe a very few moments later, when they were hidden from view in the woods up toward West Point. And then, breathless and exhausted, they seated, or rather flung, themselves on the ground to rest.
Prudence did not long permit of their staying where they were, however. “The escaped criminal knows no resting place.” Already they were beginning to fancy that they heard shouts in the woods and sounds of tramping footsteps; poor Indian would pop up his gasping head every once in a while and look to see if the sheriff wasn’t aiming that gun at him. It was a terrible labor for Indian to look anywhere from his present position, because, as Dewey explained, he had to see over his stomach. All were ready to move in a short while. Indian alone had not recovered his breath, but he had fear to lend wings to his heels, so to speak. And thus pretty soon the party was fast making tracks for camp.
They were very silent. The plebes were all thinking of one subject, and that subject made them grave and quiet.
Mark touched upon this point when he spoke at last; he seemed to divine what was in their minds.
“Fellows,” said he, “what do you think of Bull Harris?”
There was no answer to the question; the reason was that nobody could think of any word or combination of words quite adequate to express the fullness of his thought.