The two men trudged on, side by side, in silence, full three miles. Suddenly, Bradley turned to retrace his course. Instantly, Riderhood turned likewise, and they went back side by side.
Bradley reentered the lock-house. So did Riderhood. Bradley sat down in the window. Riderhood warmed himself at the fire. After an hour or more, Bradley abruptly got up again, and again went out, but this time turned the other way. Riderhood was close after him, caught him up in a few paces, and walked at his side.
This time, as before, when he found his attendant not to be shaken off, Bradley suddenly turned back. This time, as before, Riderhood turned back along with him. But, not this time, as before, did they go into the lock-house, for Bradley came to a stand on the snow-covered turf by the lock, looking up the river and down the river. Navigation was impeded by the frost, and the scene was a mere white and yellow desert.
“Come, come, Master,” urged Riderhood, at his side. “This is a dry game. And where’s the good of it? You can’t get rid of me, except by coming to a settlement. I am a going along with you wherever you go.”
Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over the wooden bridge on the lock gates. “Why, there’s even less sense in this move than t’other,” said Riderhood, following. “The weir’s there, and you’ll have to come back, you know.”
Without taking the least notice, Bradley leaned his body against a post, in a resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. “Being brought here,” said Riderhood, gruffly, “I’ll turn it to some use by changing my gates.” With a rattle and a rush of water, he then swung-to the lock gates that were standing open, before opening the others. So, both sets of gates were, for the moment, closed.