The farmer’s men exchanged blank looks.
“It looks precious queer, and may be as how it’s an ugly bis’ness,” ejaculated the carter. “Mr. Philip’s bin thrown, for sartin.”
“He’s not a man to be throwed easily,” said Joe. “I dunno think the cob’s bin down.”
“Yes, he has,” cried Stephen. “This off side be covered in mud and slush. There’s bin an accident o’ some sort.”
“An accident?”
“Aye, surely summut very near it. Look at his knees.”
The speaker held down the lantern in front of the horse.
“Why, heaven save us, what be this nn the saddle?” exclaimed another.
“Here, man, hand us over the lantern.”
By the fitful glare of the light they saw a stream of blood on the saddle, and the horse’s flanks.