'Yoho!' cried the voice of a man. 'What's that? Who goes there?'
'A friend!' replied the traveller.
'A friend!' repeated the voice. 'Who calls himself a friend and rides
like that, abusing Heaven's gifts in the shape of horseflesh, and
endangering, not only his own neck (which might be no great matter) but
the necks of other people?'
'You have a lantern there, I see,' said the traveller dismounting, 'lend
it me for a moment. You have wounded my horse, I think, with your shaft
or wheel.'
'Wounded him!' cried the other, 'if I haven't killed him, it's no fault
of yours. What do you mean by galloping along the king's highway like
that, eh?'
'Give me the light,' returned the traveller, snatching it from his hand,
'and don't ask idle questions of a man who is in no mood for talking.'
'If you had said you were in no mood for talking before, I should
perhaps have been in no mood for lighting,' said the voice. 'Hows'ever
as it's the poor horse that's damaged and not you, one of you is welcome
to the light at all events--but it's not the crusty one.'
The traveller returned no answer to this speech, but holding the light
near to his panting and reeking beast, examined him in limb and carcass.
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