“And with that,” continued the Porcupine, “I could see that he began to think me a great deal of a fool. He was not so careful thereafter.
“‘If you’ll go into the inn yard and see what horses are there, freshly come in, I’ll give you a shilling,’ he says.
“‘Very well,’ says I; and I was about to start across the road; but he stopped me.
“‘Especially mark,’ says he, ‘if there is a fine looking bay horse, a small mare, a wicked looking raw-boned black and a buckskin stallion.’”
“Our horses!” ejaculated Nat, “and described as well as I could describe them myself.”
“I found that out afterward,” said the Porcupine, “though if I’d thought, I’d have recognized your nag and Ben Cooper’s, even then. But anyhow, I went into the yard and looked about, also into the barn; but there was none but old work horses, and so I told the man with the rings in his ears when I came out. He didn’t appear to relish it very well and muttered and went on at a great rate. Then something seemed to strike him.
“‘Is there another inn in Bristol?’ asked he.
“‘There is,’ I told him. And I was just giving him the directions when we heard the clatter of hoofs, and along you came with your friends. I stopped until you had all gone into the yard; and when I turned my head once more, the man was running down the road in the direction from which he had come.”
“But,” questioned Nat, “why did you not come in and tell me all this at once?”
“Because I felt sure there was to be more come of it. And I was right. The foreign-looking man had gone no great distance when a second one rode into the path and stopped him short. They talked together for a little while and then the first man disappeared in a thicket, while the second came on quietly enough and entered the inn.”