“You will kindly stand out of the road,” said he, sharply. “I am not here to hold conversation with you, whoever you are; my business is more urgent.”
“And just what may your business be?” inquired a boyish voice, which Nat at once recognized as belonging to the person who had laughed. “We have some small interest in various matters to-night and who knows but what yours might be one of them?”
“You can have no interest in me,” replied Nat, evenly. “You know nothing of the business that I ride upon.”
“Let us debate the question,” replied the boyish voice. “Who knows but what our knowledge is greater by far than you’d suppose. It is a fact, and I’ll leave it to my friends here to substantiate me in the saying, that we have considerable interest in those who use this road to-night.”
There was a chorus of laughter, low pitched and cautious, at this. The shadowy persons, who were stretched across the way, seemed greatly diverted. Then Dimisdale spoke once more.
“However,” said he, “we must remember that these gentlemen are riding in the wrong direction for us.”
Again came the laughter; above the others, Nat could plainly hear that of the boy. And somehow the sound greatly irritated him. As a rule, Nat was not the lad for strangers to make game of, and least of all was this the case now. The cool, masterful tones of the young stranger ruffled his temper in a way that he could not have accounted for even if he had tried. But when he spoke, no trace of his anger crept into his voice; this was just as even as before.
“You are disposed to entertain yourselves at our expense, I see,” he said. “And, candidly, I dislike it. So I ask you once more to kindly stand aside that we may go on.”
“Go on!” came the boy’s voice. “Why man alive, you should be thankful, indeed, that we are here to prevent you from going on. A dozen steps more and you’d be swimming for your life in the Schuylkill.”
The sound of lapping water a few momenta before had given Nat a hint as to this.