“It was! I saw his face as plain as possible. Don’t you see? He wanted to mount the horse and father wouldn’t let him, so he determined to have a ride, and he must have come and had one every night, and then gone off again into the scrub.”
“But—”
“Don’t say ‘but.’ You know how fond he has been of horses, always wanting to ride when he went out with us.”
“Yes, I know; but still I can’t think he would like to do that.”
“But he is doing it. Here he comes again.”
This time, as the horse galloped by, they both had a perfectly plain view of the black’s excited face and position as, evidently in a high state of glee, he tore by on the well-bred horse.
“Now,” said Rifle; “was I right?”
“Oh yes,” said Norman, with a sigh. “You were quite right. But be ready to shout and stop him as he comes round again.”
They waited for the sound of the warning thunder of hoofs, but though they heard them grow more faint, and then sound softer as they paced along on the far side of the paddock, the sound did not increase, and while they were listening there came a distinct snort, followed by a loud neighing nearer to them; another snort, and then a flash of vivid lightning illumining the paddock long enough for them to see the drove of horses in the middle all gazing in one direction toward another horse walking in their direction. Then there was black darkness, another snort, an answering neigh, and silence, broken by the faintly-heard sound of grass being torn off from its roots.
“He’s gone,” said Norman, in a whisper. “Let’s run and wake father.”