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Walcott, Earle Ashley, 1859-1931

"Blindfolded"

Come
along," I said.
We nearly missed the stable in the darkness, and it was several minutes
before we roused Thatcher to a state in which he could put together the
two ideas that we wanted to get in, and that it was his place to get up
and let us in.
"Horses to-night?" he gasped, throwing up his hands. "Holy Moses! I
couldn't think of letting the worst plug of the lot out in this storm."
"Well, I want your best."
"You'll have to do it, Dick," said Fitzhugh with a few words of
explanation. "He'll make it all right for you."
"Where are you going?" said Thatcher.
"Oakland."
He threw up his hands once more.
"Great Scott! you can't do it. The horses can't travel fifty miles at
night and in this weather. You'd best wait for the morning train. The
express will be through here before five."
I hesitated a moment, but the chances of being stopped were too great.
"I must go," I said decidedly. "I can't wait here."
"I have it," said Thatcher. "By hard riding you can get to Niles in
time to catch the freight as it goes up from San Jose. It will get you
down in time for the first boat, if that's what you want."
"Good! How far is it?"
"We call it eighteen miles,--it's a little over that by the road.
There's only one nasty bit. That's in the canyon."
"I think we shall need the pleasure of your company," I said.
The stableman was moved by a conflict of feelings. He was much
indisposed to a twenty-mile ride in the storm and darkness; yet he was
plainly unwilling to trust his horses unless he went with them.


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