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"Why did you say ‘the guy and his cronies’ before?"

"Don’t be stupid, boy. You have any idea how many watchmen rich folks have when they run around? You think that goose made off with all that loot by his lonesome?"

"I see, Paw. But where do you think they are now?"

"How in tarnation should I know? As far as I'm concerned, they can all go..." Hugg froze. He stared off into the distance for a few seconds, then barked, “Holy hell! We got to get out of here!”

1 Gratitude.

Hugg Badfinger and his son ran around like headless chickens as they scrambled in preparing to skip town. To avoid unwanted attention, they distributed their haul between the pockets of their vests and the saddle bags of their two horses: one new recruit and good ‘ol Frik. The latter was a scrub of a horse. He was almost a mule in both appearance and gait, but he had always been reliable and devoted to his owner. In looking at him, there wasn’t much to expect in the way of physical abilities. Moreover, his unsightliness was a great deterrent to thieves. If anyone wanted to steal a horse, they would be looking for a more presentable animal - not this poor, raggedy beast. Despite Frik’s years of honorable service, his master would not bat an eye at the choice between haggard ‘ol Frik and the glimmering chestnut steed he had just procured. Poor Frik was handed down to Weasel. Neither seemed to mind at all.