He found the wagon and dumped Joe into the box. The broncho team was chilled from the rain and needed no urging. Bud braced himself on the swaying seat, but made little attempt to guide the horses.
The rain had ceased now and a rift in the clouds gave him some idea of the road. Through sort of a haze he could see the glow of the burning building, and it seemed to be straight ahead.
Suddenly he jerked upright in the seat. The road must run straight through Kingsburg, he reasoned. He would have to drive through that street.
"Only one road to Eagle's Nest," he told himself aloud. "Gotta take that road. Hurrah for Ireland!"
He dropped off the seat, hurled it off the wagon-box, and knelt in the bottom. Then he lashed the horses with the ends of the lines and they broke into a wild run.
"Erin go bragh, and everythin' else!" he yelled, as they went careening wildly down the rutty, muddy road, straight into Kingsburg.
The hotel building was a mass of flames. Burning embers were exploding in the air like sky-rockets, and the panic stricken horses were running as though a thousand devils were after them.
The crowd saw them coming and tried to stop them, but as well try to stop the wind. The team whirled aside, swept the porch-post from under the wooden awning, yawed wildly, but swept back into the road, while from behind them came to yelling voices of men.
"Yee-ow!" yelped Bud. "Pow-w-wder River!"