refreshing. They continued thus to fall at intervals until nine o'clock;
when Roland, as he sat on the porch debating with Bruce the probabilities
of their continuance, was roused by a shout from the outer village; and
looking up, he beheld, to his great delight, Richard Bruce, the second
son of his host, a lad of sixteen, ride into the enclosure, leading in
triumph his recovered charger.

"Thar's the brute, strannger!" said he, with uncommon glee: "he war too
hard a horse for Ralph's riding; and, I reckon, if he hadn't been, you
wouldn't have had him so easy, for he's a peeler at a run, trot, or
gallop, he is, I tell you! It's bad luck for Stackpole to be flung by man
and beast two days hand-running,--first by Bloody Nathan, then by a
stolen crittur!"

"And whar _is_ the brute, Stackpole? and what have you done with him?"
demanded Bruce.

"Thar, father, you're too hard for me," replied the youth; "but I'll tell
you all I know on it. You needn't look at his legs, Captain, for they're
all as sound as hickory: the crittur's a bit worried with his morning's
work; but that's nothing to speak on."

The lad's story was soon told. The track of the horse-thief had been
followed through the woods; and it was soon seen, from its irregularity,
that he had made an unlucky selection of beasts, both being so restive
and rebellious, that, it was obvious, he had found it no easy matter to
urge them along. A place was found where he appeared to have been thrown
by the turbulent Briareus, which he seemed afterwards to have pursued,
mounted on the pony, in the vain hope of retaking the mettlesome charger,
until persuaded of his inability, or afraid, from the direction in which