"'Not later than Friday'--back you go!" shouted Armitage, and laughed
aloud at the enemy's rout. One of the horses--it seemed from its rider's
yells to be Chauvenet's--turned and bolted, and the others followed
back the way they had come.
Soon they dropped their pace to a trot, but the trio continued to fly
before them.
"They're rattled," said Claiborne, "and the fog isn't helping them any."
"We're getting close to my place," said Armitage; and as he spoke two
shots fired in rapid succession cracked faintly through the fog and they
jerked up their horses.
"It's Oscar! He's a good way ahead, if I judge the shots right."
"If he turns them back we ought to hear their horses in a moment,"
observed Claiborne. "The fog muffles sounds. The road's pretty level in
here."
"We must get them out of it and into my territory for safety. We're
within a mile of the gate and we ought to be able to crowd them into that
long open strip where the fences are down. Damn the fog!"
The agreed signal of two shots reached them again, but clearer, like
drum-taps, and was immediately answered by scattering shots.
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