“Well, he’s running no risks, faith, and is making the best of his time on the road.” Night came on and they put up at a quiet little place upon the edge of the forest through which they had been passing. “Yes,” replied the landlord to Ethan’s question, “a stout gentleman passed in a carriage some time ago. He was very angry because I had no horse to give him. One of his was lame, I think, and when he drove off, he went at a very slow pace.” “We’ll overtake him in the morning,” said Longsword in English. “If his horse was as badly lamed as all that he’ll be forced to put up before he reaches the next town where he can get relays.” “We will be on the road by daylight,” said the young American. “If our horses could stand it I’d be in favor of pressing on to-night.” Next morning while the pale moon was still lighting up the snowy countryside they were stirring; a quick breakfast and then they climbed into their saddles and were off. “I’m not so comfortable upon the quarter-deck of a horse as I am upon the Erin,” said Captain McHale as they rode along. “And it’s a long distance to Brest, so it is,” said Longsword. The moon grew paler and the few stars disappeared before the touch of dawn; some distance along the road they caught a gleam of a fire. “Some wayfarers who had not the money for a bed,” said Ethan. “It must have been a cold night, indeed, in the open air.” It was a matter of five or more miles from the inn; the fire seemed to burn close by the roadside, and in the red glare a number of people could be seen sitting beside it. Suddenly Ethan pulled up, and uttered a smothered cry of surprise. “Look,” said he. “There upon the other side of the road.” They followed the direction of his outstretched finger, and saw a carriage drawn up, with horses tied up by the bridles behind it. “Fochard!” exclaimed Longsword exultantly. “It can be no one else,” said Ethan. “It’s the carriage that I spoke to ye of, I feel sure,” said Captain McHale. “The lame horse must have broken down entirely at this point.” Ethan put his horse into a run and the others followed his example. When they reached the fire they halted; and with his hand upon the butt of a pistol, Ethan cried out: “Stand forth, Monsieur Fochard. We have a small matter of business with you.” One of the men arose to his feet and touched his hat, tremblingly. “We are postilions, sir, waiting for daylight. The brown horse, there, cast a shoe and went lame. Monsieur Fochard took one of the other horses and rode on to the next town in the night, as he could not wait for us.” “How far is it to the next town?” asked Ethan. “About eight miles, monsieur.” Ethan wheeled his horse into the middle of the road once more. “Come on,” he called. “He may be delayed in getting a carriage. We have a chance of overtaking him yet.” And away they dashed, with loose reins, down the frosty road. CHAPTER XIX HOW THE ERIN PUT TO SEA