Chapter Eighteen.
A Cowardly Revenge.
No word was spoken as they crossed the fields that separated them from the road, which they reached by the leading men turning their horses into the rapid stream, and letting them wade for a few yards through the flashing water knee-deep, and sending the drops foaming and sparkling in the bright morning sun.
“Left,” shouted Fred, as the road was reached, and the next minute the little detachment was trampling up the dust which rose behind them.
“Did it hurt you much, Master Fred?” whispered Samson.
“Hurt me? I felt as if my leg was cut off; and it is just now as if the bone was broken.”
“Perhaps you’d better not go, sir.”
“Not go? I’d go if it was ten times as bad.”
“And what are you going to do to Master Scar?”