horse tracks made previous to the storm had been abraded and blurred by the drops, and they were now so many little scoops of water, which reflected the flame of the match like eyes. One set of tracks was fresh and had no water in them; one pair of ruts was also empty, and not small canals, like the others. The footprints forming this recent impression were full of information as to pace; they were in equidistant pairs, three or four feet apart, the right and left foot of each pair being exactly opposite one another.
"Straight on!" Jan exclaimed. "Tracks like that mean a stiff gallop. No wonder we don't hear him. And the horse is harnessed—look at the ruts. Ay, that's our mare, sure enough!"
"How do you know?"
"Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, and I'd swear to his make among ten thousand."
"The rest of the gipsies must have gone on earlier, or some other way," said Oak. "You saw there were no other tracks?" weary time.
"Trew." They rode along silently for a long Coggan's watch struck one. He lighted another match, and examined the ground again.
"'Tis a canter now," he said, throwing away the light. "A twisty, rickety pace for a gig. The fact is, they overdrove her at starting; we shall catch them yet."
