whenever he felt himself perfectly able to manage his steed.  He signified his acknowledgment of the kindness of his companion with something less of hauteur than had hitherto characterized him; and, remembering that, on the subject of the assault made upon him, Forrester had said little, and that too wandering to be considered, he again brought the matter up to his consideration, and endeavored to find a clue to the persons of the outlaws, whom he endeavored to describe.

On this point, however, he procured but little satisfaction.  The description which he gave of the individual assailant whom alone he had been enabled to distinguish, though still evidently under certain disguises, was not sufficient to permit of Forrester’s identification.  The woodman was at a loss, though evidently satisfied that the parties were not unknown to him in some other character.  As for the Pony Club, he gave its history, confirming that already related by the outlaw himself; and while avowing his own personal fearlessness on the subject, did not withhold his opinion that the members were not to be trifled with:—­

“And, a word in your ear, ’squire—­one half of the people you meet with in this quarter know a leetle more of this same Pony Club than is altogether becoming in honest men.  So mind that you look about you, right and left, with a sharp eye, and be ready to let drive with a quick hand.  Keep your tongue still, at the same time that you keep your eyes open, for there’s no knowing what devil’s a listening when a poor weak sinner talks.  The danger’s not in the open daylight, but in the dark.  There’s none of them that will be apt to square off agin you while you’re here; for they knew that, though we’ve got a mighty mixed nest, there’s some honest birds in it.  There’s a few of us here, always ready to see that a man has fair play, and that’s a sort of game that a scamp never likes to take a hand in.  There’s quite enough of us, when a scalp’s in danger, who can fling a knife and use a trigger with the best, and who won’t wait to be asked twice to a supper of cold steel.  Only you keep cool, and wide awake, and you’ll have friends enough always within a single whoop.  But, good night now.  I must go and look after our horses.  I’ll see you soon—­I reckon a leetle sooner than you care to see me.”

Ralph Colleton good humoredly assured him that could not the case, and with friendly gripe of the hand, they parted.

CHAPTER IX.

MORE OF THE DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

In a few days, so much for the proper nursing of Mark Forrester, and of the soi-disant medico of the village, Ralph Colleton was able to make his appearance below, and take his place among the habitues of the hotel.  His wound, slight at first, was fortunate in simple treatment and in his own excellent constitution.  His bruises gave him infinitely more concern, and brought him more frequent remembrances