That horse was a part of Oscar's outfit. He was by no means a handsome or even a desirable-looking animal as he stood there with his head down, his eyes half closed, and a general air of worthlessness and indifference about him; but he was a "salted" horse—that is, he had had the distemper, been cured of it, and was warranted not to have it again—and, consequently, he was worth money.
He was one of the nags that Oscar, by the advice of his new-found friends, had selected to carry him on his long journey; and as he had heard a good many stories told regarding his speed, courage, steadiness, and other good qualities as a hunter, the boy had indulged in some rosy dreams about the runs he hoped to have when he reached the country in which the lordly eland, the stately giraffe, and the fleet-footed quagga and wilde-beest abounded.
While Oscar was conversing with the landlord he looked him full in the face, and when he directed his gaze toward the stable-yard again he saw a young man walk leisurely into it through the arched gateway, and, after exchanging a few words with the hostler, turn his steps toward the wagon that stood under the shed.
He stopped beside the dissel-boom, and Oscar, who had been warned that eternal vigilance was the price he must pay for making his expedition successful, kept his eyes fixed upon him and watched every movement.
He saw the young man look all around, to make sure that there was no one but the hostler in sight, and then take some glittering object from his pocket and work it up and down over one of the links of the trek-tow.
"Just look at that, will you?" repeated Oscar, seizing Mr. Dibbits by the arm and turning him around so that he could look into the stable-yard. "Is that the kind of care you take of property belonging to your guests?"
"Why, whatever is the fellow doing?" exclaimed the landlord, who seemed to be very much astonished.
"I know, if you don't," replied Oscar in a tone of voice that had a good deal of meaning in it. "Hold on, there!" he added as the landlord reached out his hand, as if he were about to raise the window. "Say not a word. I'll attend to him, and if I can get my hands on him I'll see what Mr. Donahue will have to say to him."
Oscar faced about, and giving his leather helmet a slap, to fix it firmly on his head, started on a full run for the door.
No sooner had he left the room than the landlord quickly but noiselessly threw up the sash, and, leaning as far out the window as he could without losing his balance, called out in a suppressed voice: