"I can't go so fast," said Mark to Tom. "Us have made damned fools of ourselves to-day—got within reach of hundreds and missed 'em. I could tear my hair off. Blast the old witch!"
"'Tis fair payment for being so beastly greedy," answered Putt. "All your fault. If you'd took what she offered last, you'd have had it in your pocket now, instead of nought. Sarve you right."
"I ban't much in a mind to sit down under it, however," growled Bickford.
"No more be I, for that matter—only just let me think a minute."
After riding forward another hundred yards Mr. Putt stopped suddenly.
"My hoss have fallen lame," he said.
"Not she," answered Bickford. "Her goeth well as ever."
"I say she's lame," retorted the other. "Get you after master, best pace you can. I'll come presently. There's a stone in the mare's hoof."
Bickford's slow brains now perceived his friend's drift.
"You'll get the sack for it," he said, looking back into the valley where Lovey Lee had disappeared.