But, both road and bridge were new to him, and there was no
Maple Inn. He now saw that he had taken the wrong turning at the barn,
and was preparing to retrace his steps, when a sound of approaching
wheels and loud voices arrested him. On came the waggons, three in
number, the horses urged to their utmost by drunken drivers, in whom he
recognized the men that he and Wilkinson had met before they took the
road to the Inn. Coristine was standing on the road close by the bridge
as they drove up, but, as the man with the first team aimed a blow at
him with his whip, he drew back towards the fence. "Shoot the d----d
spy, boys," the ruffian cried to the fellows behind him, and, as they
slacked their speed, the lawyer jumped the fence to put some solid
obstacle between himself and their revolvers, which, he knew, they were
only too ready to use. At that moment a horseman rode towards the party
from the other side of the bridge, and, while aiming a blow with a stout
stick at the first scoundrel, a blow that was effectual, called to the
others, in a voice of authority, to put up their pistols "O Lord, boys,
it's Nash; drive on," called one, and they whipped up their patient
animals and rattled away in a desperate hurry.
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