“That’s me,” roared back the man who had captured us. “Hamilcar Janes.”
“Down to the hotel,” says the voice, “they told me you had a horse you might rent for the day.”
I nudged Mark and he nudged me all at once.
“Skip!” we both said.
That’s who it was—Jehoshaphat P. Had got tired of trying to start up that automobile, and here he was trying to hire a horse. Luck was against us hard.
In a minute Hamilcar Janes spoke up and says:
“I’ve got a hoss, mister, and I calc’late I’ve rented her some. But that there hoss, mister, is a sort of friend of mine. Pertty good friend, too. I hain’t rentin’ her to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that comes along with feet that’s too lazy to carry ’em. Kin you drive a hoss, mister, like a hoss ought to be drove?”
“I’ll treat your animal all right,” says Skip.
“Where’d you want to drive her?”
“Sunfield,” says Skip.