So saying, he went out, and proceeding to the stable, gave the ostler the necessary instructions. Like Colonel Wyndham, he was struck with the man's inquisitive manner, and declined to have any conversation with him.
"I can't make these folks out," thought Reuben. "There's the strangest goings on with them I ever knew. 'Tis my belief they're a pack of malignants trying to escape; but I'll soon find it out."
Thus ruminating, and considering what reward he should obtain for giving information against his mistress's guests, he took Lord Wilmot's horse to a blacksmith, named Seth Hammet, whose smithy was in the lower part of the village. Bidding the smith good morrow, he told him he had brought him a job.
Seth Hammet, who was a sharp-looking young man, thanked him, but being of an inquisitive turn, he added, "You've got some gentlefolks at the inn, I think?"
"Ay, ay," replied Reuben, not desiring to take him into his confidence. "This horse belongs to one of them."
"A fine horse," observed Hammet, looking at him admiringly. "But they all seem well mounted. Where do they come from?"
"I don't happen to know," replied Reuben, in a tone meant to signify that he did not feel inclined to tell. "Somewhere in Devonshire, I believe."
"Well, I can easily find out," observed Hammet, with a knowing look.
"I should like to know how?" rejoined Reuben, surprised.
"I'll show you presently," said the smith.