“Cal'late they heard that over yonder,” he crowed. “Don't you think so, Ros. We've showed 'em what we think of you; now let's give our opinion of them. Three groans for old Colton! Come on!”
Even Zeb seemed to consider this as going too far, for he protested.
“Hold on, Tim!” he cautioned. “A joke's a joke, but that's a little too much; ain't it, Ros.”
“Too much be darned!” scoffed Hallet. “We'll show 'em! Now, boys!”
The groans were not given. I sprang into the road, seized the horse by the bridle and backed the wagon into the bank. Tim, insecurely balanced, fell off the seat and joined his comrades on the cart floor.
“Hi!” shouted the startled driver. “What you doin', Ros? What's that for?”
“You go back where you come from,” I ordered. “Turn around. Get out of here!”
I saved him the trouble by completing the turn. When I dropped the bridle the horse's head was pointing toward the Lower Road.
“Now get out of here!” I repeated. “Go back where you come from.”
“But—but, Ros,” protested Zeb, “I don't want to go back. I'm goin' to the shore.”