Toward the latter place Challoner bent his steps, losing no time in making known his wants to his host, but he soon found, to his chagrin, that a horse could not be hired for love nor money.
“Could I buy a cheap animal hereabouts?” he inquired in desperation.
That put a different face on the matter. The man was quite willing to dispose of an ancient animal he owned if the stranger would pay him his price.
“And what is your price?” queried Challoner, impatiently.
“Fifty dollars,” answered the man, promptly.
Challoner quickly concluded the bargain, although he had scarcely half that amount left in his purse.
An exclamation of intense wrath, not to say an imprecation, broke from his lips on beholding his purchase; but it did little good to invoke a torrent of anger upon the host of the inn, who already had his money pocketed.
“Why, that animal will not carry me five miles!” he cried, when the horse, already saddled, was led around to the front porch. “He is falling down already, and hasn’t a sound leg to stand on; and you could hang your hat on his projecting bones.”
“A lean horse for a long race, my friend,” remarked his host, sagely; “you’ll find that Roger—that’s his name—will carry you the twenty miles to Greenville all right.”
“And drop down dead when I get there,” said Challoner, with still another and more fierce imprecation.