"The ponies seem to be very good friends with you." "Yes, sir," said Buck; "they follow him like dogs." "Know me," said the man sadly. "Well, you needn't cry about it," said Dean. "Oh, that's it," cried Mark; "I see. Poor chap! He came to see them again, to say good-bye." The man shook his head. "No," he said; "going with them." "Oh, are you?" cried Mark. "I am glad you told me. But somebody else will have a word or two about that." "Who?" said the man. "Why, my father." "But he bought the ponies," said the man. "Yes," cried Mark, "but he didn't buy you." "No," said the man. "Same thing. I belong to them." "I say, Dozey," cried Mark, "you are wide awake enough now: did you ever hear anything like this before." "Never," was the prompt reply. "Ponies no good without me," said the man. "Why?" cried the boys, in a breath. "Won't stop with you. Run back to the town to look for me," he said, speaking with some animation now. "Nonsense!" cried Mark. "We will picket them." The man laughed, and then as Mark tried to frown him down with a very severe look, he put his hand in his pocket, took out his scissors again, and put them back after a snip, and then looked round at his four companions in turn. "See here," he said, thrusting two of his fingers into his mouth as he turned sharply away and started off, going swiftly over the ground and leaping almost like an antelope over every bush that came in his way, while he gave vent to a shrill whistle, which he modulated from time to time. At the first note the ponies raised their heads from where they were cropping the sedge, and at the second, one of the sturdy little fellows uttered a shrill neigh, while at the third note, which turned into a trill, the little animals dashed off at a canter, scattering the sandy earth behind them as they tore after the utterer of the cheery sounds. CHAPTER ELEVEN. MAKING A FORELOPER. Dean's jaw fell, and he stood staring after the strange visitor with so vacant an expression of countenance that in spite of his annoyance Mark burst into a hearty laugh. "What are you grinning at?" cried Dean angrily. "Your phiz. Why, whatever does that fellow call himself?" "A horse stealer!" cried Dean excitedly. "That's what he meant by coming last night." "Yes," cried Mark. "Come on and fetch them back." "All right, sir," said Buck; "but how? You'd want a rifle to fetch him down." "Hullo! What does this mean?" cried Sir James, as he joined them, with the doctor. "Why are the ponies being driven away?" "That fellow!" cried Mark wildly. "A thief, father!" "To be sure," said Sir James. "But this is a trick. We have been imposed upon." "Yes, father. This is the chap that crawled up in the dark, and I took for a lion. He's a horse stealer." "Well, the law will soon set that right." "Yes," said the doctor, "but it means a long tramp back to the town."