“I take charge of that property, I say.  Master Langdon ‘s actin’ under my orders, and I claim that hoss and all that’s on him.  Hiram! jest slip off that saddle and bridle, and carry ’em up to the Institoot, and bring down a pair of pinchers and a file,—­and—­stop—­fetch a pair of shears, too; there’s hoss-hair enough in that mane and tail to stuff a bolster with.”

“You let that hoss alone!” spoke up Colonel Sprowle.  “When a fellah goes out huntin’ and shoots a squirrel, do you think he’s go’n’ to let another fellah pick him up and kerry him off?  Not if he’s got a double-berril gun, and t’other berril ha’n’t been fired off yet!  I should like to see the mahn that’ll take off that seddle ‘n’ bridle, excep’ the one th’t hez a fair right to the whole concern!”

Hiram was from one of the lean streaks in New Hampshire, and, not being overfed in Mr. Silas Peckham’s kitchen, was somewhat wanting in stamina, as well as in stomach, for so doubtful an enterprise as undertaking to carry out his employer’s orders in the face of the Colonel’s defiance.

Just then Mr. Bernard and Abel came up together.

“Here they be,” said the Colonel.  “Stan’ beck, gentlemen!”

Mr. Bernard, who was pale and still a little confused, but gradually becoming more like himself, stood and looked in silence for a moment.

All his thoughts seemed to be clearing themselves in this interval.  He took in the whole series of incidents:  his own frightful risk; the strange, instinctive, nay, Providential impulse which had led him so suddenly to do the one only thing which could possibly have saved him; the sudden appearance of the Doctor’s man, but for which he might yet have been lost; and the discomfiture and capture of his dangerous enemy.

It was all past now, and a feeling of pity rose in Mr. Bernard’s heart.

“He loved that horse, no doubt,” he said,—­“and no wonder.  A beautiful, wild-looking creature!  Take off those things that are on him, Abel, and have them carried to Mr. Dudley Venner’s.  If he does not want them, you may keep them yourself, for all that I have to say.  One thing more.  I hope nobody will lift his hand against this noble creature to mutilate him in any way.  After you have taken off the saddle and bridle, Abel, bury him just as he is.  Under that old beech-tree will be a good place.  You’ll see to it,—­won’t you, Abel?”

Abel nodded assent, and Mr. Bernard returned to the Institute, threw himself in his clothes on the bed, and slept like one who is heavy with wine.

Following Mr. Bernard’s wishes, Abel at once took off the high-peaked saddle and the richly ornamented bridle from the mustang.  Then, with the aid of two of three others, he removed him to the place indicated.  Spades and shovels were soon procured, and before the moon had set, the wild horse of the Pampas was at rest under the turf at the wayside, in the far village among the hills of New England.