He made no reply, and looked at her
gravely, without an answering smile. Had anything been needed to fix his
purpose, this gentle raillery would have been more than enough.
He went straight from the door of Cedar House to the stable under the
hill, stopping at his cabin only long enough to get his rifle. The
stable was very dark within, but he knew where to find the pony that he
always rode, and the saddle and bridle which he always used, without
needing to see. And the pony knew him, too, for all the darkness, and
welcomed him with a friendly whinny which said so as plainly as words.
For the boy and the pony were good friends, and moreover they
understood one another perfectly, which is rarely the case with the best
of friends. And then they were both foundlings, and that may have made
another bond between them. The pony had been a wild colt caught in the
forest on the other side of the river. Nothing was known of his
ancestors, although they were supposed by those who knew best, to have
been the worn-out horses of good blood which had been deserted in the
wilderness by the Spaniards.
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