"Quick, Jess," ordered Peggy, "go and find out who that man is and where he is taking that horse, but don't let him suspect why."
Jess scrambled out of the surrey, saying: "Yo' count on ME, Miss Peggy.
I's wise, I is; I ketches on all right."
Peggy continued to watch. The man sat down upon an upturned box near his wagon, buried his face in his hands and seemed oblivious of all taking place around him. Presently the horse turned toward him and nickered questioningly. The man looked up and reaching out a work-hardened hand, stroked the poor beast's nose, saying:
"'Taint no use, Pepper; he's done gone fer good. Everythin's gone, and I wisht ter Gawd I was done gone too, fer 'taint no use. The fight's too hard for us."
Just then he caught the eye of the young girl watching him. There was something in her expression which seemed to spell hope: he felt utterly hopeless. She smiled and beckoned to him. She was so used to being obeyed that his response was as a matter of course to her. He moved slowly toward the surrey, resting his hand upon the wheel and looking up at her with listless eyes. "You want me, miss?" he asked.
Peggy said gently:
"I couldn't help seeing what happened; I was right here. Please don't think me inquisitive, but would you mind telling me something about your horses? I love them so, and—and—and—I think yours have good blood."
The furrowed, weatherbeaten face seemed transformed as he answered:
"Some of the best in the land, miss. Some of the best. How did ye guess it?"
"I did not guess it; I knew it. I raise horses."