It was not till he had satisfied himself of Katerfelto's soundness, and felt the horse break gaily into a trot, stepping free and true, that he gave a thought to Rube's flurried gestures and strange anxiety to start him on his homeward way, dismissing the subject from his mind without further comment, in the natural conclusion that the harbourer was drunk. Then he abandoned himself to the exciting memories of the last few hours, exulting, as well he might, in the extraordinary speed and stamina of his favourite. Meantime Parson Gale, seeking in vain for his hunting-knife, with a moody brow and many curses on his own carelessness in losing this favourite weapon, returned to his trusty Cassock, with the intention, no doubt, of following his rival, and calling on his brother-sportsmen to seize him in the name of the king. He was no mean judge of such matters, and in their late trial of strength found John Garnet fully his match. Unarmed, therefore, he determined not to encounter his enemy hand to hand, regretting his own folly in yielding to passion and endeavouring to slay him at disadvantage, thus warning him of danger, and setting him on his guard. How much better, thought the Parson, to track him as old Tancred tracked a deer, never slackening in effort, never off the scent, never turning aside for any consideration, till he had run him ruthlessly down, delivered him into the hands of justice, and seen the last of him on Tyburn Hill. It seemed to Abner Gale that his brother's blood cried out from the very stones, not to be silenced nor appeased till his adversary stood in the hangman's cart, with the nightcap over his face, and the fatal nosegay in his hand. The poor black horse, however, instigated by no such thirst for vengeance, and desiring only the warmth and rest of its distant stable, was felt to be in a sorry plight so soon as it was burdened once more with the weight it had carried so gallantly through the day. Sore, stiff, and weary, it was hopeless to expect from it anything more than the very slowest trot. It bore besides, on crest and shoulder, marks of the grey stallion's unprovoked assault; nor were these calculated to soothe the vindictive feelings of its master. Many a bitter curse he ground between his teeth, reflecting that, for the present, he must abandon all hope of following up his enemy, and, for his angry mood forbade him to join in the talk of his excited brother-sportsmen, plod his homeward way as best he might alone.