“I didn’t agree that he could go much farther than to Greenville,” responded the late owner of Roger; “that would depend upon how much rest you gave him when you reach there, friend.”
“No doubt I can dispose of him for enough to hire a horse that is a horse to pursue the rest of my journey,” declared the disgruntled young man.
“Most likely,” remarked his host. But he said to his buxom wife, who stood by, as the stranger mounted the horse and rode off at a rattling pace: “If he keeps that gait up very long, Old Roger will surely rebel and refuse to go a step for him, that’s all there is about that. He might lash him to death and he wouldn’t stir a leg when the balky notion hits him. He’ll be glad enough to swap him for a five-dollar note by the time he gets to Greenville—and Roger will soon be walking home to us again.”
Roger had been a profitable animal to mine host. More than once he had sold him, and the new owner was always glad to sell him back to his previous owner at any cost.
Meanwhile the new owner was galloping away at the top of the speed of his new purchase, much to the discomfiture of Roger.
Mile after mile was thus traversed, until, at length, the town he was so anxious to reach loomed up in the distance before him. It was not until then that Roger’s impatience began to show itself. When he reached a green lane which led past a grand old place, the animal absolutely refused to go another step forward. This was a dilemma Challoner had not counted upon.
“Besides being as slow as molasses, he’s a balker, as well,” he muttered, and, taking his whip well in hand, he began to lash the tired beast most inhumanly, a fierce imprecation accompanying each cut of the lash.
One, two, three, four, five strokes of the sizzling rawhide had been brought down upon the quivering flank of the animal, when, forth from the branches of the tree overhead, a blow from a twig fell full upon the face of the startled horseman, a small brown hand was thrust down from among the green branches and a shrill, girlish voice cried, while the blows were rained down faster and faster upon the head of the young man, who was too astounded to make the slightest defense, or make a retreat:
“Take that, and that, and that! you outrageous monster, for lashing a poor, defenseless horse. Oh, I hope that I have hurt you as much as you hurt him—so there!” each word being accompanied by a whack from the stinging twig.
Ray Challoner looked up, as well as his amazement would permit, and saw overhead, sitting on a broad bough, a girl, and surely the angriest creature that he had ever beheld, gazing down at him.