That it would be turned loose, and also directed, the man lying on his face in the grass felt fully assured.

He smiled grimly, wishing he might behold "Black Bart's" face when he should discover the flight of his intended victims.

But there was no time to lose; every moment gained, added to their chance of safety.
"Are those horses tied there by the blacksmith's shop ?" he asked, pointing.
The negro stared in the direction indicated, confused by the shadows thrown by the dim lights.
"I reck'n dey am, Massa Jack; I done make out fo'." "Then two of them must belong to us; come on, boy." He ran forward, crouching behind every chance cover, and keeping well back behind the line of shacks.

A slight depression in the prairie helped conceal their movements, and neither spoke until they were crouching together beside the wall of the shop.

Then Neb, teeth chattering, managed to blurt forth: "Fo' de Lawd's sake, yer don't actually mean ter steal dem hosses ?" Keith glanced about at the other's dim, black shadow.
"Sure not; just borrow 'em." "But dat's a hangin' job in dis yere country, Massa Jack." "Sure it is if they catch us.