"We're not going to start a little
private war of our own. We couldn't do that without spilling a
lot of blood. No, we'll make a run for it."
"That y'u, Denver?" the foreman called softly, as the sound of
approaching horses reached him.
"Bet your life. Got your own broncs, too. Sheriff Burns called up
Daniels not to let any horses go out from his corral to anybody
without his O.K. I happened to be cinching at the time the 'phone
message came, so I concluded that order wasn't for me, and lit
out kinder unceremonious."
Hastily the fugitives donned the new costumes and dominos, turned
their notes over to Denver, and swung to their saddles.
"Good luck!" the punchers called after them, and Denver added an
ironical promise that the foreman had no doubt he would keep.
"I'll look out for Nora--Darling." There was a drawling pause
between the first and second names. "I'll ce'tainly see that she
don't have any time to worry about y'u, Mac."
"Y'u go to Halifax," returned Mac genially over his shoulder as
he loped away.
"I doubt if we can get out by the roads. Soon as we reach the end
of the street we better cut across that hayfield," suggested Ned.
"That's whatever.
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