One of the men arose to his feet and touched his hat, tremblingly.
“We are postilions, sir, waiting for daylight. The brown horse, there, cast a shoe and went lame. Monsieur Fochard took one of the other horses and rode on to the next town in the night, as he could not wait for us.”
“How far is it to the next town?” asked Ethan.
“About eight miles, monsieur.”
Ethan wheeled his horse into the middle of the road once more.
“Come on,” he called. “He may be delayed in getting a carriage. We have a chance of overtaking him yet.”
And away they dashed, with loose reins, down the frosty road.
CHAPTER XIX
HOW THE ERIN PUT TO SEA
However, they did not overtake him. Fochard had secured a fresh equipage at the next town, and at once resumed his journey. “He must be at least five hours ahead of us,” said Ethan, as they stood at the heads of their panting horses after receiving this news.
“Yes,” agreed Longsword. “But Brest is still a long way off, and many accidents may happen on the road.”