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Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys panted. "What made you throw that snow-ball?" demanded Phil angrily, as he seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.
Getting an iron cot up a steep hill is not the easiest thing in the world, and when they had it up at the top of the hill they all sat down on it and panted awhile before they could make it up. Then they discovered that the pillow was missing and Katherine obligingly went down the hill again to find it. "I shan't get up again for a week," she sighed wearily as she stretched between the sheets.
"Why aren't it to-morrow morning and sun up? Can't any of you see him?" "No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans. "Well, can't you feel him, then?" "No." "I am here, Joe here!" panted the lad. "Higher up the river than you are. A big branch swept me out of the boat." "Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe. "Well, lads, he must be the other side of the tree.
Malcolm had issued his sovereign mandate that they must not be amongst the earliest arrivals, and Verity panted with impatience long before she could induce her household tyrants to lay aside pipe and cigarette. Malcolm was not in a festive mood. He had spent his morning restlessly, pacing up and down the woodlands, with an unread book under his arm.
"Thet thar feller he's Buck Duane!" he panted. An angry murmur ran through the surrounding crowd. "The rope! The rope! Throw it over a branch! String him up!" cried an excited villager. "Buck Duane! Buck Duane!" "Hang him!" The cowboy silenced these cries. "Abe, how do you know this fellow is Buck Duane?" he asked, sharply. "Why he said so," replied the man called Abe.
A moment later he looked up. Fisette was sitting on his chest, and running his thumb along the razor edge of the blade. There was a little blood at the corner of his mouth and his cheek was scratched. Otherwise he was undisturbed. "Well?" he grunted presently, staring through half-closed lids. Manson was pumping air into a laboring breast. "I'm licked," he panted after a while. "Say that again."
Ned thought it to be an outburst of anger caused by the return of the wounded lancer. "We stung 'em a little," he panted. "We did," said Obed White. "Remember that when you go out to slay you may be slain. But, Ned, we must reload." They curved about, and darting into a thick clump of bushes put fresh charges in their rifles.
"No telling where we'll end up if we keep on running. Besides it might be dangerous." "Dangerous; how?" panted Ned. "They might dodge around, and wait for us behind some tree or bush." "An' ef dat Foger feller am around he jest as soon as not fetch one ob us a whack in de head," commented Eradicate grimly. "Guess you're about right," admitted Ned. "There isn't much use keeping on. We'll go back."
With this dreadful sound in his ears, Barnabas hurried away from that place of horror; but ever the sound pursued him, it echoed in his step, it panted in his quickened breathing, it throbbed in the pulsing of his heart. Wherever he looked, there always was Jasper Gaunt lolling in his chair with his head dangling at its horrible angle, the very night was full of him.
'Good! Mr Pancks glanced at the wall of the adjoining room, and stooped forward. 'Honest creature, woman of capital points, but heedless and a loose talker, Miss Dorrit. With that he rubbed his hands as if the interview had been very satisfactory to him, panted away to the door, and urbanely nodded himself out again.
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