"That's a tall fellow of yours," said Sir Peter, jerking up his chin with that peculiar motion common to the brief in stature, when they are covetous of elongation. "He looks military:—has he been in the army? Ay, I thought so; one of the King of Prussia's grenadiers, I suppose? Faith, I hear hoofs behind!"
"Hem!" cried the Corporal, again coming alongside of his master. "Beg pardon, Sir—served in the 42nd—nothing like regular line—stragglers always cut off—had rather not straggle just now—enemy behind!"
Walter looked back, and saw two men approaching them at a hand-gallop. "We are a match at least for them, Sir," said he, to his new acquaintance.
"I am devilish glad I met you," was Sir Peter's rather selfish reply.
" 'Tis he! 'tis the devil!" grunted the Corporal, as the two men now gained their side and pulled up; and Walter recognised the faces he had marked in the ale-house.
"Your servant, gentlemen," quoth the uglier of the two; "you ride fast—"
"And ready;—bother—baugh!" chimed in the Corporal, plucking a gigantic pistol from his holster, without any farther ceremony.
"Glad to hear it, Sir!" said the hard-featured Stranger, nothing dashed.
"But I can tell you a secret!"
"What's that—augh?" said the Corporal, cocking his pistol.
"Whoever hurts you, friend, cheats the gallows!" replied the stranger, laughing, and spurring on his horse, to be out of reach of any practical answer with which the Corporal might favour him. But Bunting was a prudent man, and not apt to be choleric.