Furthermore, Drownlands had been occupied with his own thoughts, and had not been in an observant mood.
Zita had not addressed him as he rode by, and he had passed without any notion that there were travellers toiling along in the same direction at a lower level. He had not expected to see a conveyance there, and had looked for none.
The light that he noticed on the bank was approaching. It was held at no great distance from the ground. It might equally be carried in the hand of one on foot, or be swung from the stirrups of a rider. It was, however, improbable that a horseman would be contented with a single light.
Drownlands did not ride forward to meet the advancing light. He remained stationary, with his right hand holding the flail, so that the end of the staff rested on his thigh, much as a field-marshal is represented in pictures holding his bâton.
In the Fens the horses are unshod, and on a way that is without stones there will be little sound of a horse when trotting; but as the moving light neared, Drownlands was aware from the vibration of the embankment that a horse was approaching.
A minute later, and he saw before him Jake Runham, mounted.
The recognition was mutual.
'Out of my way!' shouted Runham. 'Out of my way, you dog, or I will ride you down!'
'I will not get out of your way. Why did you call?'
'I call? I call you? That's a likely tale. What should I want with a twopenny-ha'penny chap such as you?'