"
"Well, he's going to have it, Martin."
"Ah, sir," nodded the old groom, as Barnabas tested girth and
stirrup-leathers, "you done mighty well when you bought 'im--theer
ain't another 'oss 'is ekal in London--no, nor nowheers else as I
knows on. 'E's won one race for you, and done it noble, and wot's
more sir--"
"Tonight he must win me another!" said Barnabas, and swung himself
into the saddle. "And this will be a much harder and crueller race
than he ran before or will ever run again, Martin, I hope. Pray what,
time is it?"
"Nigh on to 'alf-past eight, sir."
"So late!" said Barnabas, grim-lipped and frowning as he settled his
feet in the stirrups. "Now--give him his head there--stay! Martin,
have you a brace of pistols?"
"Pistols! Why yes, sir, but--"
"Lend them to me."
Forthwith the pistols were brought, somewhat clumsy weapons, but
serviceable none the less.
"They're loaded, sir!" said Martin as he handed them up.
"Good!" nodded Barnabas, and slipping one into either pocket,
gathered up his reins.
"You'll not be back tonight, sir?"
"Not tonight, Martin."
"Good night, sir."
"Good night, Martin.
Pages:
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750