Sure enough the head was not that belonging to the Mexican at all. It was a shaggy bearded face that leered back at Jim, and then he shouted some direction to the driver, and with a belligerent shake of his fist at Jim, jerked his head back.
"I guess that hunchback is in there all the same," cried the driver.
"He'd better be," growled Jim.
At the motion made by the bushy whiskered man, the driver of the first carriage in this active procession, turned his team at right angles into a street running east. "Bill" followed suit making a dangerous swerve, that almost overturned his vehicle, but it righted itself against the curb, and on the pursuit went. But Jim was beginning to be worried, for the big horse was tiring rapidly, while the mustangs seemed unflagging in their energy.
"How far have we gone?" asked Jim.
"About two miles, Boss," replied the driver.
"It won't be long till dusk," said Jim, "with this fog rolling in."
"I'll get back, what they have gained on us," declared Bill with conviction, "before they have gone another mile."
Jim noticed that this new turn was taking them into an apparently better section of the city, where there were really some fine-looking residences.
"They are making a stern chase of it, Jim," called Berwick, poking his head out of the window.