'No, Daniel, I don't like her looks. Be sharp with the gruel and put a quart of your strongest ale into it; my bay will carry me with that inside him.'
The hostler went leisurely about his work.
'Daniel, this won't do. There has been a breakage at Ophir, and I must be sharp and tell my father. We must be back to-morrow before daybreak, or everything will be spoiled.'
'All right, sir; I'll look peart.'
Sampson was not satisfied with the man's undertaking to look alert. He went himself to the bar and gave his bay a quart of ale.
As he was galloping out of Bridestowe, he heard the clatter of horse's hoofs descending the hard road from Sourton Down, and he knew that Herring was at his heels.
Herring had reached the toll-gate, and found it barred. He had been unable to make the man hear. He found both the gate-house and bar locked. He was greatly annoyed, and, riding back, lashed his grey, and tried to make her leap the bar. But the mare was too old and tired to risk it, and she swerved. Then he tried to get round by a side lane, and through fields, but found this also impracticable. Full a quarter of an hour passed before he could get through. The man arrived at last, put down his water-can, and leisurely unfastened the bar. Herring was in too great haste to waste time in remonstrance.
The grey was failing; she tripped, and almost fell several times in descending the hill to Bridestowe. He drew rein at the inn, and called, 'Hostler! here, I say!'
'All right, sir.'
'Have you a spare horse? I must ride on at once.'