They reached the country road that led more directly to Churchtown, and swung off along this. The setting sun made a golden aurora that June day, the beams filtering through a haze of dust. The boys talked of many things, but chiefly of the coming parting—of the colleges they might attend.
As they passed a farmhouse near the side of the road, and came into view of the barnyard, they saw two men standing beside a team of horses hitched to a heavy wagon. One was tall and heavily built, evidently the farmer-owner. The other was a young man, of about twenty-two years, his left arm in a sling.
The boys would have passed on with only a momentary glance at the pair but for something that occurred as they came opposite. They saw the big man raise a horse-whip and lash savagely at the young man.
The lash cracked like the shot of a revolver.
“I’ll teach you!” fairly roared the big man. “I’ll teach you to soldier on me! Playin’ off, that’s what you are, Link Bardon! Playing off!”
“I’m not playing off! My arm is injured. And don’t you strike me again, Mr. Snad, or I’ll——”
“You will, eh?” burst out the other. “You’ll threaten me, will you? Well, I’ll teach you! Tryin’ to pretend your arm is sprained so you won’t have to work. I’ll teach you! Take that!”
Again the cruel whip came down with stinging force. The face of the young man, that had flamed with righteous anger, went pale.
“Take that, you lazy, good-for-nothing!”
Again the whip descended, and the young man put up his uninjured arm to defend himself. The farmer rained blow after blow on his hired man, driving him toward a fence.