The lad got his young toes out of the stirrups pretty quick, and stood watching me. His poor mount was staggering now, then grovelling in the dust.
He made a step forward, then retreated. How could he beat a pony that was on its back with four legs in the air?
"'Pon my word, you little villain," he screamed, "you're shamming. I'd like to thrash the life out of you!"
"Would you!" I whinnied shrilly, and leaping to my feet I cut along toward home.
Wasn't he a mad boy! I was really sorry for him. Here he was in a forest in the dead of night, no one near but a naughty pony who had played him the mischievous trick of bringing him a mile nearer home than he thought he was.
He was done for now. He couldn't walk to the Lake of Bays. With a fast pony he could have made the daylight boat, and left for parts unknown. Now he could be caught and taken shamefully home, or—he glanced about him.
He could hide in the woods and tramp over the mountain to a railway back of it.
But what of me? He bawled at me to come back, and shook both fists at me as I stood roguishly eyeing him from a safe distance.
"You young demon!" he howled, "You're capable of playing bloodhound as well as fox. You'd lead a searching party right to me. I'd like to kill you," and he began fumbling about in the dust for a stone to throw at me.
It was too good a road to have stones. His father had seen to that, so he had to give up his attempt to discipline me.