"
"Incredible!" ejaculated the famous pathologist. He looked askance at
me. I replied hesitatingly--
"I think it is possible, perhaps probable."
"If they're makin' San Lorenzy," said Uncle Jake, "we'll find their
store clothes gone too."
We hastened to the bunk-house. Yes, upon the floor lay flannel shirts
and jumpers and overalls. In a corner, where the Professor had left
it, stood the demijohn of whisky. Uncle Jake lifted it.
"Gosh," said he, "the whisky's gone, too!"
"Thank Heaven!" muttered the Professor, wiping his forehead.
"Why?"
"Don't you understand? By the luck of things, they've taken their
medicine!"
"A quart apiece!" I gasped. "We shall find them dead drunk on the
road."
Uncle Jake delivered himself--
"It's my idee that they've jest filled up three bottles. There's a
rubbish heap outside."
"We must follow them," said the Professor, grimly. He was no horseman,
and San Lorenzo was six-and-twenty miles away.
"Yes," said Uncle Jake.
As they approached the barn, the Professor whispered to me--
"There is nothing to regret. If I can get these boys into the County
Hospital before to-morrow morning, I shall have done a splendid
night's work.
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