“I couldn’t. Once he got in motion this beast wouldn’t stop till he—ran down like a clock.”
“Pooh! You should go to a riding school! Let’s go on, now, or else back. I can’t stop here with lions and panthers yelling at us! I—I—Oh! do come on! But keep tight hold of the pony’s rein. Don’t get away from me again.”
“I shan’t. I can’t.”
“Oh! come!”
“I tell you I can’t. We’re planted.”
Molly’s lip quivered, but she restrained her tears and tremulously entreated:
“Oh, Leslie, don’t! I can’t stand teasing now. This isn’t funny—not a bit. Shall we go back? Or try to overtake the others?”
“We can’t do either one. I tell you we’re simply stuck. Settled down and gone to housekeeping. Beelzebub has finished. He won’t take another step. Fact. We’ve got to make the best of it. If that pony of yours was as big as a decent calf we might ride double and leave this wretch to starve and think it over at his leisure. I don’t see why that girl gave me such a creature. Let’s get off and sit down on that rock and wait. Something’s bound to happen—sometime—if we live long enough. The folks’ll come back this same road, course.”
He jumped to the ground and held out his hand to her but, for a moment, she would not dismount; then as he coolly left her and walked to the rock he had pointed out, she slipped from her saddle and followed him. But she still held fast to her bridle rein and the pony offered no resistance to the leading, though the big brute of the profane name remained in the middle of the road, his forefeet pointed forward, his hind ones backward, his whole attitude one of stubborn ugliness.