“One of his horses had a limp; I think it had cast a shoe. This was the real cause of the Frenchman’s anger, I think.” The speaker looked from one to the other once more. “Does he know that ye are after him, may I ask?”
“He may suspect. But he is not sure.”
“Well, he’s running no risks, faith, and is making the best of his time on the road.”
Night came on and they put up at a quiet little place upon the edge of the forest through which they had been passing.
“Yes,” replied the landlord to Ethan’s question, “a stout gentleman passed in a carriage some time ago. He was very angry because I had no horse to give him. One of his was lame, I think, and when he drove off, he went at a very slow pace.”
“We’ll overtake him in the morning,” said Longsword in English. “If his horse was as badly lamed as all that he’ll be forced to put up before he reaches the next town where he can get relays.”
“We will be on the road by daylight,” said the young American. “If our horses could stand it I’d be in favor of pressing on to-night.”
Next morning while the pale moon was still lighting up the snowy countryside they were stirring; a quick breakfast and then they climbed into their saddles and were off.
“I’m not so comfortable upon the quarter-deck of a horse as I am upon the Erin,” said Captain McHale as they rode along.
“And it’s a long distance to Brest, so it is,” said Longsword.