Joe and Jake Fairthorn rushed up with a whoop, and before Gilbert could
satisfy the curiosity of the tavern-idlers, the former sat behind Sally,
on the old mare, with his face to her tail, while Jake, prevented by
Miss Deane's riding-whip from attempting the same performance, capered
behind the horses and kept up their spirits by flinging handfuls of
sand.

Gilbert found another group in "the store"--farmers or their sons who
had come in for a supply of groceries, or the weekly mail, and who sat
in a sweltering atmosphere around the roaring stove. They, too, had
heard of the chase, and he was obliged to give them as many details as
possible while his quarter of tea was being weighed, after which he left
them to supply the story from the narrative of Mr. Joel Ferris, who, a
new-comer announced, had just alighted at the Unicorn, a little drunk,
and in a very bad humor.

"Where's Barton?" Gilbert heard some one ask of Ferris, as he mounted.

"In his skin!" was the answer, "unless he's got into that fellow
Fortune's. They're as thick as two pickpockets!"

Gilbert rode down the hill, and allowed his horse to plod leisurely
across the muddy level, regardless of the deepening twilight.

He was powerfully moved by some suppressed emotion. The muscles of his
lips twitched convulsively, and there was a hot surge and swell
somewhere in his head, as of tears about to overrun their secret
reservoir. But they failed to surprise him, this time. As the first
drops fell from his dark eyelashes, he loosed the rein and gave the word