where the creaking windmill and the splashing of water from the supply
pipe would drown out the sound of his labored breath.

Horsemen boiled from the yard gate with uproar and hullabaloo; Pringle
heard their shouts; he saw the glare of soap weeds, fired to help
their search.

The lights died away; the shouts grew fainter: they swelled again as
the searchers straggled back, vociferous. Pringle caught scraps of
talk as they watered their horses.

"Clean getaway!"

"One bad actor, that _hombre_!"

"Regular Go-Getter!"

"Batting average about thirteen hundred, I should figger."

"Life-size he-man! Where do you suppose----"

"Saw a lad make just such another break once in Van Zandt County----"

"Say! Who're you crowdin'?"

"Hi, fellers! Bill's giving some more history of the state of Van
Zandt!"

"Applegate's pretty bad hurt."