I can’t hear a danged thing. I look out at the crowd. Most of ’em are still prostrate on the ground, but I can see the dynamite box, so I know she didn’t bust. The ropes has slipped and we are no longer on top of the brute. I’m hanging on the side like a pack-sack; Bosco is draped over its rump and Magpie has one leg over its neck, while the rope holds him under the other knee, and he’s hanging on to the elephant’s ear with both hands.
Out of the ruined side of the jail comes an apparition. It is covered with dobie dust and great wonderment. It weaves up to us with both hands in the air.
“Don’t shoot!” it squeaks. “I give up!”
“All right,” nods Magpie. “Don’t shoot, boys; they’re dying.”
Maybe Alcibiades was shocked, too; maybe he had acquired man-eating propensities from associating with Cleopatra, but anyway he whirled, let out a mean Hur-r-r-r-r-rump! and started after Scenery Sims. Scenery ducked straight for the crowd, and Alcibiades follered him like a bloodhound. We went some.
We didn’t go very many miles per minute, but we went awful strong. We went through Wick Smith’s yard and we took two clothes-lines full of clothes with us. We got so tangled up in washing that we didn’t know where we went. Every one who took the time tried shots at us but we ignored such trifling things.
I managed to get a suit of flannels out of my eyes in time to see our animated vehicle pointing straight for the door of our horse stable. The door is too narrow for elephants, being as we only had horses in mind when we built it, and I starts to yell a warning but the flannels came back and shut me up.
Comes a ripping jar, the snap of a rope and I hit the earth with Magpie on top of me. He got up, dazed-like, and shut the door.
“We’ve got him, Ike,” says he.
Crash! Rip-p-p-p! Smash!