“Another insult,” he said to himself. “The miserable coward! I could kill him as I would a wasp!”
The afternoon glided slowly by, and the detachment kept to a walk, for the heat was great, there was no special haste needed, and Fred wanted to spare his horses as much as possible. But after a short halt for refreshment at a roadside inn, where the landlord dispensed cider and bread-and-cheese liberally to either side, so long as he was well paid, but all the same with a strong leaning toward the Royalists, the little party rode on at a trot, very much to the disgust of the landlord, who stood watching them from his door.
“Poor lad!” he said. “Must be Sir Godfrey Markham’s son from over yonder toward the sea. How glad he seemed of that draught of milk the lass gave him! Seems hard to be a prisoner, and to his old schoolfellow, for that’s young Forrester, sure enough. I’ve a good mind to. No; it’s interfering, and I might be found out, and have to hang on one of my own apple-trees as a traitor. But I’ve a good mind to. Yes, I will. Dick!”
“Yes, master,” came from the stable, and a stout boy with some oat chaff in his rough hair made his appearance.
“How long would it take you to get to Brownsand?”
“On the pony?”
“Of course.”
“Four hours by road. Two hours across the moor.”
“Take the pony, then, and go across the moor. There’s a regiment of horse there.”
“Them as went by day afore yesterday?”