"Oh goody, no!" Nesta answered with a laugh. "Why, Eustace can ride anything; he has ridden ever since he was six."
"Father will want to see the horse," Mrs. Orban said. "Perhaps it has only run away from the Highlands before it was stabled. But I can't think what it has been doing in the interval, or why Bob has not sent over to inquire. He ought to have got home by nine at latest."
Mr. Orban was as puzzled as every one else when he saw the horse. He examined it carefully.
"Well, so far as I can see, Bolter has not been running away," he said thoughtfully. "He has not been overheated, and he is as fresh as paint. I should say he has had some quiet hours of grazing. But where Bob is remains a mystery. I must ride over to the Highlands at once and find out if he is there."
"O father, can I come too?" Eustace cried eagerly. "I could ride Bolter, and I shall never be happy till I know Bob is all right."
Mr. Orban eyed the boy kindly.
"Yes, you can come," he said. "It will scare Mrs. Cochrane less perhaps, and look more casual if I have you with me."
Away they went at a quick trot along the rough road leading to the wood known as Palm Tree Scrub. Eustace knew every inch of the way, and generally loved to get into the cool and shade under the feathery palms. But to-day he glanced left and right, looking for he knew not what with sickening anxiety.
The road, nothing but a cart-track, skirted a mangrove swamp awhile.
"He can't have got in there," said Eustace, with a nod towards the thickly growing stems of ti-trees rearing up from long coarse grass.