"
"Damn the hat!" cried I heartily enough, but feeling very crestfallen at
this telling piece of evidence against me.
The little man snatched it up and looked carefully at the inside of it, a
thing I had never done, being wrapped up in its outside.
"There y'are!" he cried triumphantly. "'S. N. His hat.' What more d'ye
want?"
"I want the nearest magistrate," cried I.
"Well, Mr. Wicks," said the fat man, "he can easily have what he wants.
It's only a matter o' two mile to the Squire's."
"Squire'll welly go off 'is yed," remarked the host. "He's that sot on
seeing Swift Nicks swing."
"Then he'll very likely go bail for Mr. Wicks," said I.
"Will he?" said Mr. Wicks sourly.
"If he don't," I retorted, "you'll spend the night in Leicester jail."
"They do say as 'ow Swift Nicks is a rare plucked 'un," said the ostler.
"Then they're liars," said I.
I was handcuffed and put on Sultan, with my feet roped together under his
belly. Then we started off, and the whole village, which had dozed in
peace with the Highlanders only five hours off, turned out gaily and
joyously to see Swift Nicks.
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