The Ordeal | Page 7

at this season," he said to
Briscoe, congratulating himself, "but I took the chances. You must lend
me a horse."
Briscoe's instincts of hospitality were paramount, and he declared that
he would not allow the new-comer to depart so summarily. He must
stay and dine; he must stay the night; he must join the hunt that was
planned for to-morrow--a first-rate gun was at his disposal.
"I'll get you back to Glaston without delay. I'll let you drive the
dog-cart with Fairy-foot, the prettiest bit of horse-flesh that ever wore a
shoe--trots to beat the band! You can hunt all day with Bayne and me,
and a little before sunset you can start for Shaftesville, and she will
whisk you there in an hour and a quarter, twenty miles. You needn't
start till five o'clock to catch the seven-ten train, with lots of time to
spare."
In spite of all denial, the telephone bell was presently jangling as
Briscoe rang up the passenger-agent at the railroad depot in the little

town of Shaftesville, twenty miles away.
"Twenty-six--yes, Central, I did say twenty-six!... Hello, Tucker, is that
you?... See here--Mr. Frank Dean will be there with the dog-cart and
Fairy-foot to-morrow evening to catch the seven-ten train for
Glaston--leaves here about an hour by sun. Will you do me the favor to
hire a responsible party there to bring the mare back?... Can't spare a
man from here. Lost two of my dogs--yes, my fine, full-blooded
hounds--you remember Damon and Pythias? Strayed off from the pack,
and all hands and the cook have got to get out straightway and hunt
them. Wolves--awfully afraid they will get the hounds. Outnumber
them and pull them down--fierce at this season.... Yes, I hope so! You'll
look out for Fairy-foot?... Thanks, awfully.... Yes, he would do--careful
fellow! Tell him to drive slowly coming back. Dean will race her down
there at the top of her speed. (Hush up, Frank, I know what I am talking
about.) Mr. Dean will be there all right. Thank you very much. Do as
much for you some day. Goo'-by."
But Dean's protests were serious. His duties admitted of no trifling. He
wanted no such superfine commodity as Fairy-foot, but a horse stout
and sound he must have to-night and the favor of leaving his disabled
steed in Briscoe's stable. He explained that his misfortune in laming the
horse and the fog combined had separated him from the revenue posse
just from a secluded cove, where his men had discovered and raided an
illicit distillery in a cavern, cutting the copper still and worm to bits,
demolishing the furnace and fermenters, the flake-stand and thumper,
destroying considerable store of mash and beer and singlings, and
seizing and making off with a barrel of the completed product. A fine
and successful adventure it might have seemed, but there were no
arrests. The moonshiners had fled the vicinity. For aught the officer had
to show for it, the "wild-cat" was a spontaneous production of the soil.
He made himself very merry over this phase of the affair, when seated
at the prettily appointed dinner table of the bungalow, and declared that
however the marshal might regard the matter, he could not call it a
"water-haul."
The repast concluded, he insisted that he must needs be immediately in

the saddle again. He scarcely stayed for a puff of an after-dinner cigar,
and when he had bidden the ladies adieu both Bayne and Briscoe went
with him to the stable, to assist in the selection of a horse suited to his
needs. Little Archie ran after them, begging to be admitted to their
company. Briscoe at once caught him up to his shoulder, and there he
was perched, wisely overlooking the choice of an animal sound and
fresh and strong as the three men made the tour from stall to stall,
preceded by a brisk negro groom, swinging a lantern to show the points
of each horse under discussion.
In three minutes the revenue officer, mounted once more, tramped out
into the shivering mists and the black night. The damp fallen leaves
deadened the sound of departing hoofs; the obscurities closed about
him, and he vanished from the scene, leaving not a trace of his
transitory presence.
Briscoe lingered in the stable, finding a jovial satisfaction in the delight
of little Archie in the unaccustomed experience, for the child had the
time of his life that melancholy sombre night in the solitudes of the
great mountains. His stentorian shouts and laughter were as bluff as if
he were ten years old, and as boisterous as if he were drunk besides.
Briscoe had perched him on the back of a horse, where he feigned to
ride at breakneck speed, and his cries of "Gee!" "Dullup!" "G'long!"
rang