Drake went to the corral in a strolling manner. There he roped the
strongest of the horses, and also the school-master's. In the midst of
his saddling, Bolles came down.

"Can I help you in any way?" said Bolles.

"You've done it. Saved me a bothering touch-and-go play to get you out
here and seem innocent. I'm going to drift."

"Drift?"

"There are times to stay and times to leave, Bolles; and this is a case
of the latter. Have you a real gun on now?"

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.