“Yes, sar.”
“And when you come to Sinking Creek, be certain to look out for the water-post, to see if it is low enough to ford.”
“Yes, sar.”
“And when you get up to Peril Ledge get off and lead the beasts again; and mind you be very careful! I don’t want another broken neck broughten back here for a crowner’s quest.”
“No, sar.”
“Now, then, start, and mind what I tell you.”
“Yes, sar,” said Tubal, and as he slowly set his mules in motion, he muttered to himself: “’Tain’t de dangers ob goin’ dere to old Grippinwolf—omphe! no! I don’t mind goin’ dere, but as to stayin’ dere all night to res’ de mules—no, sar!—not Tubal!”
“What are you talking about, old man?” inquired David Lindsay.
But by this time they had reached the edge of the river, and Tubal’s whole attention was engaged in driving his mules on to the great flat ferry-boat, upon which stood four men with very long poles to push it over.
Nothing more was said until after they had reached the other side and Tubal had driven the wagon off the boat on to a road running between the front of the precipice and the river.