"Be silent!" said the Major and, giving his mare the rein, rode on ahead while the Sergeant trotted after staring in turn at the blooming hedges, the white road, the blue sky and the Major's broad back.
"'Sniggers!" he exclaimed at last under his breath,
Presently the road narrowed between high, sloping banks clothed with brush and bramble from amid which tangle a man rose suddenly, a tall, dark, gipsy-looking fellow, at whose unexpected appearance the Major's bay mare swerved and reared, all but unseating her rider; whereat the fellow laughed vindictively, the Sergeant swore and the Major soothed his plunging steed with voice and hand. Breathing fierce anathemas and dire threats, the Sergeant was in the act of dismounting when the Major stopped him peremptorily.
"But sir, 'tis a rogue, 'tis a plaguy rascal, 'tis a——"
"'Tis no matter, Zeb."
"But damme sir, same do be a-shaking his dirty fist at your honour this moment! Sir, I beg——"
"'Tis very natural, Zeb."
"Nat'ral sir, and wherefore?"
"I—er—had occasion to—ha—flog the fellow."
"Flogged him, sir?"