Anyhow, if such were the case, I would resist my fate, I would struggle to the end, and God would help me.
I rushed to the stables, where two or three men lolled around.
"Are the horses all in the stables?" I asked.
"No, sur, there be two gone."
"Good ones?"
"The best we've got, sur. Brown Molly es a thora breed, sur, and will run till she do drop; and Prince is nearly so good."
"Have you a good horse now?"
"There's Bess. She's a bra mare, jist brok in, sur."
"Saddle her at once for me, and stop! Do you know who has the other two horses?"
"No, sur; but Master Wilfred do often take hosses without we knawin' 'bout it."