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Two days later he remarked to the O.C. and Kilbride: "I'm glad to be able to report a decided improvement in that man Hardy's condition. His pulse is stronger, his appetite is increasing and he's beginning to grouse. That old ruffian of a farrier-corporal, McCullough, was right, begad! he knew the man better than I did.
I'll teach him to swear. . . !" "Eh! . . . 'Ere, wot abaht it?" The cockney's voice held no trace of lethargy now. The sharply-uttered, vindictive query was matched by the blazing eyes which were regarding the farrier-corporal with undisguised hostility. "Wot abaht wot?" mimicked McCullough, though his heart smote him for the cold-blooded evasion. "Wot abaht wot you sed abaht me. . . ?"
There was a farrier-corporal, an immensely big, powerful fellow, who singled them out. They were galloping down a slight incline as hard as they could get their horse to travel, but their pursuer was gaining on them at every stride. When he came within striking distance he jammed his spurs into his big horse, who sprang forward like a tiger.
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