CHAPTER XXI

THE MESSAGE KENNETH BORE


In bewilderment Crispin took the outstretched hand of his old
fellow-roysterer.

"Oddslife," he growled, "if to have me waylaid, dragged from my
horse and wounded by those sons of dogs, your myrmidons, be
your manner of expressing gratitude, I'd as lief you had let me
go unthanked."

"And yet, Cris, I dare swear you'll thank me before another
hour is sped. Ough, man, how cold you are! There's a bottle
of strong waters yonder - "

Then, without completing his sentence, Hogan had seized the
black jack and poured half a glass of its contents, which he
handed Crispin.

"Drink, man," he said briefly, and Crispin, nothing loath,
obeyed him.

Next Hogan drew the torn and sodden doublet from his guest's
back, pushed a chair over to the table, and bade him sit.
Again, nothing loath, Crispin did as he was bidden. He was
stiff from long riding, and so with a sigh of satisfaction he
settled himself down and stretched out his long legs.