He lashed the horses without mercy; already he was picturing his wife and mother killed, and his home in flames; for the Indians would probably reach Mariposa in the early afternoon, a time when no diggers would be likely to be within a mile of the store. He gave no further thought to food for himself, or bait or rest for the horses. Twice he saw, or fancied that he saw, two figures hurrying over the hills to the southeast; he only drove the harder, trying might and main to sit on his fears and laugh at himself for being frightened of a couple of redskins. Unhappily, he knew all too well that it was not just "a couple of redskins" who had to be taken into account. During the past six months, seven such stores as his had been plundered and burnt by a strong posse of Snakes; and Jerez could, without difficulty, collect the best part of a hundred men at an hour's notice. Hours and miles slipped by; the horses behaved like bricks, never once stumbling and apparently never tiring. As always happens in such a case, the last mile seemed as long as all the rest together; the road here was a steady wind, so that the driver could never see more than a hundred yards ahead of him; for on either side of the track was dense forest. At last he came in sight of his home, and then, like a boy, he stood up on the footboard and vented his feelings in a delighted "Hurrah!" For everything was in its normal condition; the cattle and horses grazing in the pound; the poultry in the roadway, and his women-folk gossiping cheerily with a couple of diggers under the verandah. So far nothing had been heard of the Indians, and, after a rest and a meal, Savage began to feel heartily ashamed of his terrors. But, that night, either a remarkable coincidence or a very ominous event took place. For the first time in two years, the store was entirely deserted by Indians; not a single Shoshonee looked in for an evening's chat. The next night it was the same, and the next after that. On the fourth night the proprietor arrived at a conclusion. "It's a boycott," he said; "and I'm not sorry a little bit; we shall be better off without 'em." "Maybe they've boycotted the country as well as the store," said a loitering digger. "For none of our boys have clapped eyes on a Injun since you come back from 'Frisco." "So much the better; 'cause to-morrow's audit day, and the old lady goes to the river for her little jaunt." On the first of every month, either Savage or his mother drove over to the store at Frezno River to examine accounts, pay wages, and bring back the "takings." On this occasion the young man felt himself in an awkward dilemma; on the one hand dreading to be absent from his store, on the other not at all satisfied that his mother might not be attacked on the way by revengeful Indians.