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XXXII. Night—Horses Tramping

           Coggan,who,nolessthanthepantinghorses,hadlatterlyshownsignsofweariness,againscrutinizedthemysticcharacters.Thistimeonlythreewereoftheregularhorseshoeshape.Everyfourthwasadot.

           Hescreweduphisfaceandemittedalong"Whew-w-w!"

           "Lame,"saidOak.

           "Yes.Daintyislamed;thenear-foot-afore,"saidCogganslowly,staringstillatthefootprints.

           "We’llpushon,"saidGabriel,remountinghishumidsteed.

           Althoughtheroadalongitsgreaterparthadbeenasgoodasanyturnpike-roadinthecountry,itwasnominallyonlyabyway.ThelastturninghadbroughtthemintothehighroadleadingtoBath.Cogganrecollectedhimself.

           "Weshallhavehimnow!"heexclaimed.

           "Where?"

           "ShertonTurnpike.ThekeeperofthatgateisthesleepiestmanbetweenhereandLondonDanRandall,that’shisnameknowedenforyears,whenhewasatCasterbridgegate.Betweenthelamenessandthegate’tisadonejob."

           Theynowadvancedwithextremecaution.Nothingwassaiduntil,againstashadybackgroundoffoliage,fivewhitebarswerevisible,crossingtheirroutealittlewayahead.

           "Hushwearealmostclose!"saidGabriel.

           "Ambleonuponthegrass,"saidCoggan.

           Thewhitebarswereblottedoutinthemidstbyadarkshapeinfrontofthem.Thesilenceofthislonelytimewaspiercedbyanexclamationfromthatquarter.

           "Hoy-a-hoy!Gate!"

           Itappearedthattherehadbeenapreviouscallwhichtheyhadnotnoticed,forontheircloseapproachthedooroftheturnpike-houseopened,andthekeepercameouthalf-dressed,withacandleinhishand.Theraysilluminedthewholegroup.

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