“Your question is quickly answered.  You have heard of the Pony Club—­have you not?”

“I must confess my utter ignorance of such an institution.  I have never heard even the name before.”

“You have not—­then really it is high time to begin the work of enlightenment.  You must know, then, that the Pony Club is the proprietor of everything and everybody, throughout the nation, and in and about this section.  It is the king, without let or limitation of powers, for sixty miles around.  Scarce a man in Georgia but pays in some sort to its support—­and judge and jury alike contribute to its treasuries.  Few dispute its authority, as you will have reason to discover, without suffering condign and certain punishment; and, unlike the tributaries and agents of other powers, its servitors, like myself, invested with jurisdiction over certain parts and interests, sleep not in the performance of our duties; but, day and night, obey its dictates, and perform the various, always laborious, and sometimes dangerous functions which it imposes upon us.  It finds us in men, in money, in horses.  It assesses the Cherokees, and they yield a tithe, and sometimes a greater proportion of their ponies, in obedience to its requisitions.  Hence, indeed, the name of the club.  It relieves young travellers, like yourself, of their small change—­their sixpences; and when they happen to have a good patent lever, such a one as a smart young gentleman like yourself is very apt to carry about him, it is not scrupulous, but helps them of that too, merely by way of pas-time.”

And the ruffian chuckled in a half-covert manner at his own pun.

“Truly, a well-conceived sort of sovereignty, and doubtless sufficiently well served, if I may infer from the representative before me.  You must do a large business in this way, most worthy sir.”

“Why, that we do, and your remark reminds me that I have quite as little time to lose as yourself.  You now understand, young sir, the toll you have to pay, and the proprietor who claims it.”

“Perfectly—­perfectly.  You will not suppose me dull again, most candid keeper of the Pony Turnpike.  But have you made up your mind, in earnest, to relieve me of such trifling encumbrances as those you have just mentioned?”

“I should be strangely neglectful of the duties of my station, not to speak of the discourtesy of such a neglect to yourself, were I to do otherwise; always supposing you burdened with such encumbrances.  I put it to yourself, whether such would not be the effect of my omission.”

“It most certainly would, most frank and candid of all the outlaws.  Your punctiliousness on this point of honor entitles you, in my mind, to an elevation above and beyond all others of your profession.  I admire the grace of your manner, in the commission of acts which the more tame and temperate of our kind are apt to look upon as irregular and unlovely.  You, I see, have the true notion of the thing.”