"Come, we're losing time," said I, cutting him short.
"But—my mare, what about my mare?"
"She'll stand," I answered; "she's tired enough."
The Bagman, for such I took him to be, sighed, and, blunderbuss in hand, prepared to alight, but, in the act of doing so, paused:
"Was the rascal armed?" he inquired, over his shoulder
"To be sure he was," said I.
The Bagman got back into his seat and took up the reins.
"What now?" I inquired.
"It's this accursed mare of mine," he answered; "she'll bolt again, d'ye see—twice yesterday and once the day before, she bolted, sir, and on a road like this—"
"Then lend me your blunderbuss."