“Oh, I don’t know. But—I believe you saw him and gave him the go-by”—whereat the inculpated pair exchanged glances, and spluttered anew.
“I see,” said Upward, amusing himself by beginning to tease Tinkles—whose growls and snaps afforded him considerable mirth. “How’s his chafed foot now—Oh-h!” The last as the little terrier, getting in a bite, half play, half earnest, nipped him through his trousers.
“He didn’t say anything about his chafed foot. Why, here he comes.”
A very sulky looking horseman rode up and dismounted. Upon him Fleming turned a fire of sly chaff; which had the effect of rendering Bracebrydge sulkier than ever, and Bracebrydge sulky was not a pleasant fellow by any means. He retorted accordingly.
“Never mind, old chap,” cut in Upward. “It’s all right now, and nearly dinner time. Let’s all have a ‘peg.’ Nothing like a ‘peg’ to give one an appetite.”
Chapter Six.
Of the Ruby Sword.
Not without reasons of his own had Campian made such careful and minute inquiries as to the traditions and legends of the strange, wild country in which his lot was temporarily cast, and the key to those reasons was supplied in a closely-written sheet of paper which he was intently studying on the morning after the above conversation. It was, in fact, a letter.