'Lead him awa' quaietly up the road till I come to ye,' said
Shargar, as he took the mufflings off the horse's feet. 'An' min'
'at he doesna tak a nip o' ye. He's some ill for bitin'. I'll be
efter ye direckly. Rorie's saiddlet an' bridled. He only wants his
carpet-shune.'
Robert led the horse a few hundred yards, then stopped and waited.
Shargar soon joined him, already mounted on Red Roderick.
'Here's yer bonnet, Robert. It's some foul, I doobt. But I cudna
help it. Gang on, man. Up wi' ye. Maybe I wad hae better keepit
Geordie mysel'. But ye can ride. Ance ye're on, he canna bite ye.'
But Robert needed no encouragement from Shargar. In his present
mood he would have mounted a griffin. He was on horseback in a
moment. They trotted gently through the streets, and out of the
town. Once over the Dee, they gave their horses the rein, and off
they went through the dark drizzle. Before they got half-way they
were wet to the skin; but little did Robert, or Shargar either, care
for that. Not many words passed between them.
'Hoo 'ill ye get the horse (plural) in again, Shargar?' asked
Robert.
'Afore I get them back,' answered Shargar, 'they'll be tired eneuch
to gang hame o' themsel's. Gin we had only had the luck to meet
Jock!--that wad hae been gran'.'
'What for that?'
'I wad hae cawed Reid Rorie ower the heid o' 'm, an' left him
lyin'--the coorse villain!'
The horses never flagged till they drew up in the main street of
Stonehaven.
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