“Make way there! Make way! Where’s the door? Now———.”
Quick hands punted the struggling thing into the coach bottom, and Murray leapt after. Randal heard the door slam as Lossin yelled cheerfully:
“Git the old hearse agoin’, Randal. Make her chirrup!”
Randal was overlooking traces and headstalls rapidly and with care; for instinct asserts itself above the senses. He took up a hole in the mare’s throat lash, and she reached with the speed of a striking snake, so that the front of his shirt and some flesh below came away in her strong buck-teeth.
Randal buttoned his coat and climbed to the box. The floodtide of fury will sweep out all other sensations, and just now he wanted only to be where he could kill the mare scientifically.
“Stand clear down below! Let ’em rip!”
Gentling hands dropped from four wild-eyed heads, and the team canted all ways. For they were unwarmed as yet, and in temper pure devils. Murray jammed Art Scannell in the coach corner with a stout leg, and clung on by such power as he had. And a quiver of excitement throbbed in the sluggish blood that weeks of dread was beginning to chill. From a loose box door Lossin was earnestly averring that he did not envy any of those three who were assuredly going to perdition inside of
