While this work was going on, young Zept appeared from time to time and seemed to be interested but he as continually absented himself.
Loading went forward slowly. Deliveries of stores were made several times during the day, but there was an entire lack of snap and the Indians took their time in stowing things away. Colonel Howell was absent most of the day and in the middle of the afternoon the two boys took their first opportunity to look over the town.
Reaching the main street, they were not surprised to see the young Count, mounted on a lively looking pony, dash along the main thoroughfare. It was hard to tell whether the ease and surety with which young Zept rode or his flapping Paris hat attracted more attention. As the boys waved their hats to him and he gracefully saluted, they noticed that he must have been riding for some time. The pony was covered with perspiration and its nostrils were dilated. As the rider passed an intersecting street in the heart of the town, the little animal made a turn as if preferring another route. The Count threw it on its haunches and headed it on down the street at renewed speed.
A little later, having visited the post office, Norman and Roy came out just in time to see young Zept whirling his exhausted mount into a livery stable. When the boys reached this, they found the proprietor, who from his sign was a Frenchman, and Paul in a heated argument. It was in vociferous French and in the course of it the boys saw young Zept excitedly tear a bill from a roll of money in his hand and hurl it on the floor of the barn. The proprietor, hurling French epithets at his customer, kicked the money aside.
Norman pushed his way between the spectators and with assumed jocularity demanded to know the cause of dispute. In broken English, the liveryman exclaimed:
“He is no gentleman. He kills my horse. For that he shall pay two dollars more.”
“Well, what’s the matter?” went on Norman laughing. “Isn’t that enough? There’s your money,” and he picked up a Canadian ten-dollar bill and handed it to the owner of the pony.
“His money is nussing,” retorted the pony owner. “He is no gentleman.”
The absurdity of this must have appealed to young Zept. Perhaps the presence of his two companions somewhat shamed him.
“Don’t have a row,” broke in Roy. “The colonel’s sure to hear of it.”