“Anyhow, I hope the flood’s over the roads another day,” said Mrs. Dan, inconsequently, and a shade uneasily.
CHAPTER XXIV.
The roads were reported still impassable next day, and Steve set himself to kill time and thought for another twenty-four hours. He had Dolly Grey and Darby the Bull for company, for Scottie had gone back with the other men to Thunder Ridge, telling the two of them they could wait another day and give the Creek a chance to go down. “I’ll be bringin’ or sendin’ a horse for Ess to ride back in a day or two,” he said, “and I’ll send horses for you both at the same time.”
But an hour after he went the town’s poundkeeper came to them in the bar of the hotel, and said to Darby, “I have that horse o’ yours in the pound, Darby. Ye’ll have to bail ’im out.”
Darby stared at him. “Wot ’orse?” he demanded.
“Your ’orse, or the thing you calls one,” said the man.
“You ’aven’t got mine,” said Darby. “You’ve made a mistake.”
“Mistake!” said the poundkeeper, scornfully. “Think I could mistake that hammer-headed, herrin’-gutted brute o’ yours? No mistake about ’im, old son.”
“But my ’orse—old Blunderbuss—was washed down the Crick,” said Darby, wonderingly. “You saw ’im, Steve?”