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George persuaded him back into the track and rode on, guessing that already he had become a genuine phantom for the self-absorbed group awakened out of its ecstasy by the mysterious vision of a nightrider. Half a mile farther on he saw the red end of a cigarette swimming on the sea of darkness; his lantern had expired, and he had not yet tried to relight it. "Hi there!" he cried. "Who are you?"
I fully intended to go on the next day, but before I knowed it I been there a couple of days, and have got very well acquainted with that fambly. Well, that was a house divided agin itself. Miss Lucy, she is awful favourable to all this nightrider business. She spunks up and her eyes sparkles whenever she thinks about that there tobaccer trust. She would of like to been a night-rider herself.
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