At that I spoke involuntarily. "He has stopped," I said.
Smith laughed in his teeth. "He is crossing the wet bottom, fool--by the creek," he said.
And before I could answer him the dull sound of a horse galloping fast, but moving on the turf that ran alongside the road, proved him to be right. "Draw up!" he whispered in something of a hurry, and then, as I hesitated, "Do you hear?" he continued, sharply seizing my rein. "What do you fear? Do you think that night birds prey on night birds?"
Whatever I feared, I feared him more: and turning my horse, I sat shivering. For notwithstanding his confident words I saw that he was handling his holster; and I knew that he was drawing a pistol; and it was well the suspense was short. Before I had time for many qualms, the horseman, a dark figure, lurched on us through the gloom, pulled his horse on to its haunches, and, with raised hand, cried to us to deliver.
"And no nonsense!" he added sharply. "Or a brace of balls will soon----"
Smith laughed. "Box it about!" he cried.
"Hallo!" the stranger answered, taking a lower tone; and he peered at us, bending down over his horse's neck. "Who are you, in fly-by-night?"
"A box-it-about!" my companion answered with tartness. "That is enough for you. So good-night. And I wish you better luck next time."
"But----"
"St!" Smith answered, cutting him short. "I am going to my father, and the less said about it the better."