In an hour from the time of leaving Erfurt, they arrived at the hut.
"I will run along and fetch your horse, sir," the peasant said.
"No, I will go myself.

He does not know you, and might refuse to let you come near him." In a few minutes, Fergus returned with his horse.

The saddle, bridle, and wallets were quickly put on.

Fergus dropped his pistols into his saddlebags, and buckled on the sword he had brought with him.

It was not his own, but one he had bought at starting--a good piece of steel, but with a battered and rusty sheath that showed that it had been lying for weeks, possibly for months, on some field of battle before being picked up.
Then, with a word of adieu and thanks to the peasant and his wife, and slipping a crown piece into the hand of the latter, he mounted and rode off..