"Our house is jest down through the woods here," replied the boy, stopping to stare.
"How far is that?"
"Not quite so far as it is to Peakslow's house."
"Where is Peakslow's house?"
"Next house to ours, down the river."
Seeing that this line of questions was not likely to lead to anything very satisfactory, Jack asked,—
"Can I get a horse of anybody in your neighborhood,—a good fast horse to ride?"
The boy whipped a bush with his switch, and replied,—
"There ain't any good horses around here, 'thout 'tis Peakslow's; but one of his has got the spring halt, and t' other's got the blind staggers; and he's too mean to lend his horses; and, besides, he went to Chicago with 'em both this morning."
Jack did not stop to question the probability of a span thus afflicted being driven on so long a journey; but asked if Mr. Wiggett had horses.