"Nobody this way has lost one," said Mr. Royden.
Sam's heart beat with painful violence. He was very pale.
"He was running, with a saddle, and with the reins under his feet," continued Mark. "Somebody had probably been flung from him, or he had got away by breaking the halter."
"Was he stopped?" asked Chester.
"Not in that neighborhood, at any rate. It is hard stopping a horse after dark. What's the matter, Sam?"
"Nothing," murmured Sam, faintly.
"What makes you look so white?"
"I—I've got a lame foot."
"And I know where you got it?" thundered Chester, seizing him by the shirt-collar. "It is just as I thought, last night."
"Stop, Chester,—don't be rash!" cried Mr. Royden. "Sam, tell the truth, now, about that horse."