However, I was not given much time for quiet delight. On the bank, by the side of the road, sat two lank and rough-looking Georgians with scowls on their faces. As we trotted near they rose up and came to meet us, while one sung out:
“Say, mister, can’t yer set weuns acrost tha’? Weem ben waitin’ hyar I reckon about two hours, and them lazy fellars”—pointing over to where half a dozen men lay stretched out in the sun, smoking, with a small boat drawn up on the beach—“wouldn’t pay no ’tention to our yellin’. Just let go o’ your stirrup will you?”
Evidently he did not propose to lose this chance, for before I could move my foot he had pulled away the stirrup, seized the cantle of the saddle and swung himself behind me, astride my surprised horse. The other man did the same thing by my friend, and there we were, captured by the long arms that reached easily all round our waists, and had several inches to spare.
“Get up,” my passenger shouted, digging his heels into my nag’s flanks in a way that started him into the water with a very sudden splash, and on we went. The river was pretty deep in the middle, but we picked up our feet and got safely across to where the smokers grinned at the trouble their lazy discourtesy had forced upon us, as at a good joke. Then my man skipped off to the ground, and sliding his hand into a ragged pocket, asked with a whine:
A LIFT OVER THE FORD.
“What do you charge?”
I doubt if he had a penny about him, for he seemed greatly relieved when I very quickly assured him he was welcome to his ferriage.