Tom felt hardly able to walk, but he limped along while Harry led Sable carefully between the cornhills. It was only a few feet to the edge of the field, and then they were all safe on the road again.
"Are you hurt?" the boys asked Tom, when finally they had a chance to speak about the runaway.
"I feel as if I had dropped from a balloon onto a lot of cobblestones," Tom answered, "but I guess that's only the shaking up I got. That pony certainly can go."
"Yes indeed," Harry admitted; "I guess he doesn't like the smell of sulphur matches. Lucky he was not injured with that fall against the fence."
"I found I had to throw him," Tom said, "and I thought the fence was softer than a tree."
"I suppose we ought to make him run until he is played out," said Bert, "That's the way to cure a horse of running away."
But none of the boys felt like risking their bones even to cure Sable, so the panting animal was led to the stable and for the rest of the day allowed to think over his bad conduct.
But that was not the last of the runaway, for in the evening just after supper old Mr. Trimble paid a visit to Tom's father.
"I came over to tell you what a scallywag of a boy you've got," began the cross old man. "He and a lot of young loafers took a horse and drove him all through my cornfield to-day, and now you've got to pay the damages."
"My son is not a scallywag," Mr. Mason declared, "and if you call him names like loafer and scallywag I'll make you pay damages."