Crash! Bang! Boom! The trampling of hoofs!—heavy, hollow pounding!—the [pg 166] tearing and splintering of wood!—all coming from the barn, though loud enough, indeed, to have come from the next room.
Jonathan was up in an instant muttering, “Where are my rubber boots?—and my coat?”
“Jonathan! what a combination!”
But he was gone, and I heard the snap of the lantern and the slam of the back door almost before the rocking-chair in the sitting-room that he had hit—and talked to—had stopped rocking. Then I heard him calling outside Hiram’s window and then he ran past our window, out to the barn. I wished he had waited for Hiram, but I had an undercurrent of pleasure in hearing him run. Jonathan’s theory is that there is never any hurry, and now and then I like to have this notion jolted up a little.
Meanwhile the awful sounds had ceased. There was the rumble of the stable door, a pause, and Jonathan’s voice in conversational tones. Next came the flashing of Hiram’s lantern, and the tromp, tromp, tromp, in much quicker tempo than usual, of Hiram’s heavy boots. Hiram’s theory was a [pg 167] good deal like Jonathan’s, so this also gave me pleasure. Finally, there came the flash of another lantern, and I recognized the quick, short step of Mrs. Hiram. I smiled to myself, picturing the meeting between her and Jonathan, for I knew just how Jonathan was costumed. In two minutes I heard her steps repassing, and in five minutes Jonathan returned. He was chuckling quietly.
“I guess Griz got all she needed—didn’t know either of ’em had so much spunk in ’em.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t know, exactly, but when I opened that door, there was Griz, just inside, no halter on, head down, meek as Moses, as far away from Kit’s heels as she could get—she’s got the mark of them on her leg and her flank.”
“Is she hurt?—or Kit?”
“No, not so far as we can see, not to amount to anything—except maybe Griz’s feelings.”