All at once Power grew alert. The sight of a riderless horse called for more than a meander of thoughts. The animal stood a long way off in the shadow of a small tree near the track. It was saddled, and the reins hung to the ground. Power looked about the neighbourhood for the rider, and quickly found him, spread out in the middle of the road. At once he shook the mare into life and trotted forward. The horse under the tree whinnied at their approach; but there was no movement from the form in the path. At the last moment the mare took fright, and Power was hard employed to bring her to reason. He jumped presently to the ground and bent over the body. He found a heavy man in middle years lying on his back, breathing with deep snores. It was a matter for proof if the man were hurt; but there was no doubt of his drunkenness. A bottle of whisky filled a pocket. The fellow's head was cut, and blood had dried on it; but search discovered no other injury, and Power took him by the shoulder and shook him—firmly at first, afterwards roughly. The snores turned into chokes, the chokes became groans. Power tired of such a tardy cure, and exchanged hand for foot. The fallen man opened his eyes.
"Day, mate. Wot do you think you're doing to a cove?"
"Are you all right?" Power said.
"Right enough to stop a cove going through me pockets." The fellow licked his lips. "It's flamin' hot, mate!"
"Get up," said Power.
"Wot's got you so blooming anxious?"
"I found you on the road just now. There's the horse under the tree. It's midnight. You'll have to hurry some to be anywhere by morning."
"I'm stayin' here."