with me as far as Osage. We can make it by to-morrow noon--through King's
Highway. I mean to get that early afternoon train."

The last sentence I sent back over my shoulder, on my way to the house.
Dad sick--dying? I cursed the miles between us. Frisco was a long, a
terribly long, way off; it seemed in another world.

By then I was on my way back to the corral, with a decent suit of clothes
on and a few things stuffed into a bag, and with a roll of money--money
that I had earned--in my pocket. I couldn't have been ten minutes, but it
seemed more. And Frisco was a long way off!

"You'd better take the rest of the boys part way," Potter greeted dryly as
I came up.

I brushed past him and swung up into the saddle, feeling that if I stopped
to answer I might be too late. I had a foolish notion that even a long
breath would conspire to delay me. Frosty was already on his horse, and
I noticed, without thinking about it at the time, that he was riding a
long-legged sorrel, "Spikes," that could match Shylock on a long chase--as
this was like to be.

We were off at a run, without once looking back or saying good-by to a man
of them; for farewells take minutes in the saying, and minutes meant--more
than I cared to think about just then. They were good fellows, those
cowboys, but I left them standing awkwardly, as men do in the face of
calamity they may not hinder, without a thought of whether I should ever
see one of them again. With Frosty galloping at my right, elbow to elbow,
we faced the dim, purple outline of White Divide.