"I cue-can and gug-guide him, too," she stuttered, picking up her reins and making a successful effort to sit up straight. "Lul-look! At Tut-Tweezy's huh-house!"
He looked. There were certainly three lanterns bobbing about in the open behind the house of Luke Tweezy. He knew too well what those lights meant. The Marysville citizens were hunting for a hot trail.
He swung up with a rush.
"Stick right alongside me," he told her. "We'll trot at first till we get behind the li'l hill out yonder. After that we can hit the landscape lively."
She spoke no word till they had rounded the little hill and were galloping south. Then she said in her normal voice, "This isn't the way home."
"I know it ain't. We've got to lose whoever follows us before we skip for home."
"Of course," she told him, humbly. "I might have known. You always think of the right thing, Racey."
All of which was balm to a hitherto tortured soul.
"That's all right," he said, modestly.
"And how strong you are—carrying me and that heavy sack all that distance." Both admiration and appreciation were in her tone. Any man would have been made happy thereby. Racey was overjoyed. And the daughter of Eve at his side knew that he was overjoyed and was made glad herself. She did not realize that Eve invariably employed the same method with our grandfather Adam.