"Why in Hell don't you fellows mend your fences? This is the second time in a week those horses have broken into our place."
"Make it a month, Hobbs," drawled Windmill.
"No. A week. . . . Look at that now! There'll be mischief done yet."
Derek now perceived that only six of the animals were his; and that the men were endeavouring to separate them from Mr. Jerrold's horses, a much handsomer lot, who were mingling wildly with the intruders, snorting and giving vicious kicks as they flew past. The Grimstone horses were led by two long-tailed Welsh ponies—mother and son, Derek afterwards learned, and it was absurd to see the heavy farm horses capering and careering at the beck of these vicious little fellows. The men ran till the sweat poured down their faces, yelling, waving their arms, and dodging kicks. At last Windmill leaped from the fence and joined the chase. Hobbs, seeing Derek, came to him.
"I hope you'll improve your fences, Mr. Vale. Your uncle never would. This sort of thing's a disgrace, happening every little while. Look at that now. I knew it would happen. Well, it's not our fault."
Blood was running down the flank of one of the Grimstone horses. He paused for a moment, trembling, then, with a plunge that sent a spray of red drops over the man who had approached him, he was off again. "Fools!" muttered Hobbs, and threw down his cap. Suddenly, springing, with surprising agility, in front of the ringleader, he caught her dexterously by the nose and brought her sharply to a halt. Her son, seeing his mother captured, stopped of his own accord, and laid his head across her shoulders. In a few minutes the horses were separated and Vale's were being
