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The Maid-At-Arms
The Maid-At-Arms: A Novel
I
THE ROAD TO VARICKS'
We drew bridle at the cross-roads; he stretched his legs in his stirrups, raised his arms, yawned, and dropped his huge hands upon either thigh with a resounding slap.
"Well, good-bye," he said, gravely, but made no movement to leave me.
"Do we part here?" I asked, sorry to quit my chance acquaintance of the Johnstown highway.
He nodded, yawned again, and removed his round cap of silver-fox fur to scratch his curly head.
"We certainly do part at these cross-roads, if you are bound for Varicks'," he said.
I waited a moment, then thanked him for the pleasant entertainment his company had afforded me, and wished him a safe journey.
"A safe journey?" he repeated, carelessly. "Oh yes, of course; safe journeys are rare enough in these parts. I'm obliged to you for the thought. You are very civil, sir. Good-bye."
Yet neither he nor I gathered bridle to wheel our horses, but sat there in mid-road, looking at each other.
"My name is Mount," he said at length; "let me guess yours. No, sir! don't tell me. Give me three sportsman's guesses; my hunting-knife against the wheat straw you are chewing!"
"With pleasure," I said, amused, "but you could scarcely guess it."