“It’s all right,” he said to Mr. Bernard.  “The fellah ’s Squire Venner’s relation, anyhaow.  Don’t you want to wait here, jest a little while, till I come back?  The’s a consid’able nice saddle ‘n’ bridle on a dead boss that’s layin’ daown there in the road ‘n’ I guess the’ a’n’t no use in lettin’ on ’em spite,—­so I’ll jest step aout ‘n’ fetch ’em along.  I kind o’ calc’late ’t won’t pay to take the cretur’s shoes ‘n’ hide off to-night,—­’n’ the’ won’t be much iron on that hose’s huffs an haour after daylight, I’ll bate ye a quarter.”

“I’ll walk along with you,” said Mr. Bernard; “I feel as if I could get along well enough now.”

So they set off together.  There was a little crowd round the dead mustang already, principally consisting of neighbors who had adjourned from the Doctor’s house to see the scene of the late adventure.  In addition to these, however, the assembly was honored by the presence of Mr. Principal Silas Peckham, who had been called from his slumbers by a message that Master Langdon was shot through the head by a highway-robber, but had learned a true version of the story by this time.  His voice was at that moment heard above the rest,—­sharp, but thin, like bad cider-vinegar.

“I take charge of that property, I say.  Master Langdon ‘s actin’ under my orders, and I claim that hoss and all that’s on him.  Hiram! jest slip off that saddle and bridle, and carry ’em up to the Institoot, and bring down a pair of pinchers and a file,—­and—­stop—­fetch a pair of shears, too; there’s hosshair enough in that mane and tail to stuff a bolster with.”

“You let that hoss alone!” spoke up Colonel Sprowle.  “When a fellah goes out huntin’ and shoots a squirrel, do you think he’s go’n’ to let another fellah pick him up and kerry him off?  Not if he’s got a double-berril gun, and t’other berril ha’n’t been fired off yet!  I should like to see the mahn that’ll take off that seddle ‘n’ bridle, excep’ the one th’t hez a fair right to the whole concern!”

Hiram was from one of the lean streaks in New Hampshire, and, not being overfed in Mr. Silas Peckham’s kitchen, was somewhat wanting in stamina, as well as in stomach, for so doubtful an enterprise, as undertaking to carry out his employer’s orders in the face of the Colonel’s defiance.

Just then Mr. Bernard and Abel came up together.  “Here they be,” said the Colonel.  “Stan’ beck, gentlemen!”

Mr. Bernard, who was pale and still a little confused, but gradually becoming more like himself, stood and looked in silence for a moment.

All his thoughts seemed to be clearing themselves in this interval.  He took in the whole series of incidents:  his own frightful risk; the strange, instinctive, nay, Providential impulse, which had led him so suddenly to do the one only thing which could possibly have saved him; the sudden appearance of the Doctor’s man, but for which he might yet have been lost; and the discomfiture and capture of his dangerous enemy.