in
clost pursoote of the hearse. Nor be we-all on ponies left any behind,
you bet. We cuts loose, quirt an' spur, an' brings up the r'ar in a
dust-liftin', gallopin' half-moon. It's ondoubted the quickest-movin'
fooneral that ever gets pulled off.

"Old Holt, an' put it lightest, is a one hundred an' eighty pounder,
an' the hearse itse'f is as heavy as a Studebaker wagon. From
standp'ints of weight pore old Boomerang ain't gettin' a squar' deal.
Which the old hero ain't got no notion of bein' beat, though. He's all
heart an' bottom; an', game?--bald hornets is quitters to him!

"The load begins to tell at last, though, an' inch by inch Toobercloses
starts to nose Boomerang out. It's then the flood-gates is lifted.
Nell, head out of one of the coach windows, starts screamin' to
Boomerang; Missis Rucker's got her sunbonnet out of another,
expressin' her opinion of the hectic bandit an' Toobercloses; Tucson
Jennie is shoutin' for Dave to come an' rescue her; the Turner
person's Peggy is shriekin' with hysterics; the preacher sharp--who's
tryin' to get at Monte--is talkin' scriptoorally but various, while
little Enright Peets is contreebutin' his small cub-coyote yelps of
exultation to the gen'ral racket.

"Back among us riders the bets is flyin' hither an' yon as thick as
swallow birds at eventide, we offerin' hundreds on Boomerang an' them
Red Dogs backin' Toobercloses. It's as the tech of death to the
Wolfville heart when we sees Toobercloses slowly surgin' to the fore.

[Illustration: THAR'S A BOMBARDMENT WHICH SOUNDS LIKE A BATTERY OF
GATLINGS, THE WHOLE PUNCTCHOOATED BY A WHIRLWIND OF "WHOOPS!" p. 317.]

"Half-way to Boot Hill Boggs spurs up on the nigh flank of Boomerang.

"'Yere's whar we puts a little verve into this thing!' he roars; an'
pullin' his guns he begins shakin' the loads out of 'em like roman
candles.

"Wolfville an' Red Dog, every gent follows Boggs' example. It sounds
like a battery of gattlings, the whole punctchooated by a whirlwind of
'Whoops!' that'd have backed a war party of Apaches over a bluff. They
almost hears us in Tucson.

"Old Boomerang reesponds noble to Boggs's six-shooters. They was the
preecise kind of encouragement he's been waitin' for, an' onder their
inspiration he t'ars by Toobercloses like a thrown lance. We sweeps on
to Boot Hill, makin' a deemoniac finish, old Boomerang leadin' by the
len'th of the hearse.

"Nobody's hurt, onless you wants to count that hectic bandi