Uttering a yell like that of some wild
animal, the fellow was off, striking against Winston with his body as
he passed, leaping recklessly across the rocks, heading straight toward
the nearest thicket. It was all the work of a moment. Farnham whirled
and sent one shot after him; then, as suddenly remembering his own
peril, wheeled back to face the others, the smoking revolver in his
hand. Amid the quick turmoil old Mike sprang to the summit of the rock
rampart, his face flaming with enthusiasm.
"Go it, Swanska!" he yelled, encouragingly. "Go it, ye crazy
white-head! Be the powers, but it's the foinest runnin' Oi 've sane
fer a whoile. Saints aloive! but wud ye moind thim legs! 'Twas a
kangaroo, begorry, an' not a monkey he come from, or Oi 'm a loiar. Go
it, Swanny, ould bye! Howly St. Patrick! but he 'll be out o' the
State afore dhark, if he only kapes it up. It 's money Oi 'm bettin'
on the Swade!"
Winston stepped swiftly across to the motionless sheriff, and knelt
down beside him, his face gravely anxious.
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