Poor Bolles brought out guiltily his.22 Smith & Wesson. “I don't seem to think of things,” said he. “Cheer up,” said Drake. “How could you thought-read me? Hide Baby Bunting, though. Now we're off. Quietly, at the start. As if we were merely jogging to pasture.” Sam stood at his kitchen door, mutely wishing them well. The horses were walking without noise, but Half-past Full looked out of the window. “We're by, anyhow,” said Drake. “Quick now. Burn the earth.” The horse sprang at his spurs. “Dust, you son of a gun! Rattle your hocks! Brindle! Vamoose!” Each shouted word was a lash with his quirt. “Duck!” he called to Bolles. Bolles ducked, and bullets grooved the spraying snow. They rounded a corner and saw the crowd jumping into the corral, and Sam's door empty of that prudent Celestial. “He's a very wise Chinaman!” shouted Drake, as they rushed. “What?” screamed Bolles. “Very wise Chinaman. He'll break that stove now to prove his innocence.” “Who did you say was innocent?” screamed Bolles. “Oh, I said you were,” yelled Drake, disgusted; and he gave over this effort at conversation as their horses rushed along. V It was a dim, wide stretch of winter into which Drake and Bolles galloped from the howling pursuit. Twilight already veiled the base of Castle Rock, and as they forged heavily up a ridge through the caking snow, and the yells came after them, Bolles looked seriously at Dean Drake; but that youth wore an expression of rising merriment. Bolles looked back at the dusk from which the yells were sounding, then forward to the spreading skein of night where the trail was taking him and the boy, and in neither direction could he discern cause for gayety. “May I ask where we are going?” said he. “Away,” Drake answered. “Just away, Bolles. It's a healthy resort.” Ten miles were travelled before either spoke again. The drunken buccaroos yelled hot on their heels at first, holding more obstinately to this chase than sober ruffians would have attempted. Ten cold, dark miles across the hills it took to cure them; but when their shootings, that had followed over heights where the pines grew and down through the open swales between, dropped off, and died finally away among the willows along the south fork of the Malheur, Drake reined in his horse with a jerk. “Now isn't that too bad!” he exclaimed. “It is all very bad,” said Bolles, sorry to hear the boy's tone of disappointment. “I didn't think they'd fool me again,” continued Drake, jumping down. “Again?” inquired the interested Bolles. “Why, they've gone home!” said the boy, in disgust. “I was hoping so,” said the school-master. “Hoping? Why, it's sad, Bolles. Four miles farther and I'd have had them lost.” “Oh!” said Bolles.