“Just wait till I catch that tall chap!” exclaimed Victor, savagely.
Over on the lot, Joe Rodgers, standing at the head of a four-horse team, was impatiently awaiting their reappearance.
“Here, you fellers, climb aboard fast,” he roared, the moment his eyes lighted upon their figures. “We ought to been off long ago.”
It wasn’t an easy task for Victor to reach the high seat, but, with considerable assistance, he finally managed it. Then Joe, seeming to possess the nimbleness of a monkey, swung up beside him, while Dave, to Victor’s great surprise, also showing much agility, immediately followed.
At any other time Victor Collins’ sense of the proprieties might have prevented him from accepting a seat beside a boy whose estate was as lowly as that of “Mister” Joe Rodgers, but just now so many things engaged his attention that he forgot to draw fine distinctions. From his elevated perch he could look over a scene in which the weird and picturesque were combined with pleasing effect.
By the aid of a brilliant calcium light and lanterns men were busily engaged in loading the remaining wagons. The workers hurried about, now out of the glare, then back again; the air was full of noise—of shouts, of heavy planks being piled in place, of commands to horses, of sledge-hammer blows. Lanterns bobbed from place to place, suggestive of huge fire-flies. It was all very interesting to Victor; but Joe gave him no further time to enjoy it.
Picking up the lines and raising his whip, he yelled lustily:
“Git ap!”
Victor glanced curiously at the driver. He wondered how it happened that a boy apparently no older than himself was entrusted with the care of a great four-horse team, and being under such responsibility should show not the slightest trace of nervousness.
Before the wagon was in motion a loud “Hold on, there!” made all turn abruptly around.