Hjalmar H. Boyesen, Biceps Grimlund's Christmas Vacation… (1889)
“ The sheriff’s house was but a short distance up the river. Its tall, black chimneys could be seen looming up against the starlit sky. There was no slope now to accelerate their speed. They had to peg away for dear life, pushing themselves forward with their skee-staves, laboring like plow-horses, panting, snorting, perspiring. Ralph turned his head once more. The poacher was gaining upon them; there could be no doubt of it. He was within the range of Ralph’s rifle; and a sturdy fellow he was, who seemed good for a couple of miles yet. Should Ralph send a bullet over his head to frighten him? ”
