Making
cautious inquiries along the road, the pedlar further learned that Mr.
Higginbotham had in his service an Irishman of doubtful character,
whom he had hired without a recommendation, on the score of economy.
"May I be hanged myself," exclaimed Dominicus Pike aloud, on
reaching the top of a lonely hill, "if I'll believe old Higginbotham
is unhanged till I see him with my own eyes, and hear it from his
own mouth! And as he's a real shaver, I'll have the minister or some
other responsible man for an indorser."
It was growing dusk when he reached the toll-house on Kimballton
turnpike, about a quarter of a mile from the village of this name. His
little mare was fast bringing him up with a man on horseback, who
trotted through the gate a few rods in advance of him, nodded to the
toll-gatherer, and kept on towards the village. Dominicus was
acquainted with the tollman, and, while making change, the usual
remarks on the weather passed between them.
"I suppose," said the pedlar, throwing back his whiplash, to
bring it down like a feather on the mare's flank, "you have not seen
anything of old Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two?"
"Yes, answered the toll-gatherer. "He passed the gate just before
you drove up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see him through
the dusk.
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