"Holy smoke!" said the outlaw,
and with his riding mate was slipping away up the Shonoho road when the
touring-car, with brakes protesting, came to a stand at the tree
barrier. Like a flash, two of the three men in the tonneau leaped out,
and a charge of buckshot whistling over the heads of the two
obstructionists halted them. Thereupon the Honorable David gave his
orders tersely.
"Tennessee, you go up yonder and argue with Jack Barto a spell," he
directed. "Tell him and his partner that the Wartrace smoke-house is the
safest place in Quaretaro County for a couple of club-witted bunglers
like they are, and then you see to it that they get there. You, Billy,
help Rickert get a tow-rope hitch on that road-car, and we'll see if we
can't jerk it out of the way." After which he turned to his son as
casually as if only the preconceived and preconcerted had come to pass:
"Tried to wreck you, did they? Mighty near made a job of it, too, from
the looks of Miss Patty's little car. Not hurt, are you? That's good.
Climb in here, both of you, and when we get this windfall out of the
road we'll go on to town."
Blount put Patricia into the empty tonneau while Shack and the chauffeur
were making the tow-rope hitch, but he was still angry enough to
hesitate when it came his turn. A glance at his watch decided him. It
was still only half past four.
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