Part 12 (1/2)
These were plainly deserters or freebooters, acting after their kind, and they had picked up a strange partner during their foray. He wore a yokel's smock much too big for him, and yet not big enough to hide his bespurred riding-boots. On his head he had a dirty tapster's bonnet, and his face was completely hidden by a rudely-cut c.r.a.pe vizard. This singular person was evidently the leader of the gang. He threatened Master Freake with a glittering, long-barrelled pistol, and in gruff, curt tones ordered him to dismount on pain of instant death.
Here was a strange overturn to be sure. Here again fate had rudely upset my plans, and no fat purse would there be for me in this coil. However, though I would have robbed Master Freake willingly enough, my blood being up and he a manifest Hanoverian, I was not going to see Brocton's ruffians rob him, much less kill him. The purse must wait, and when I took it--for take it I must--G.o.d would perchance balance one thing against the other.
All that I had seen and thought took place in a mere fraction of time, and even before Master Freake had pulled up, I was creeping like a ferret from bush to bush to get nearer. Then, just as in his quiet, measured tones he was asking what they wanted, I burst out into the wood, shouting, ”Forward, my men, here the villains are!” With the words, I fired my handful of swan-shot clean into the group, and then charged at them yelling, in boyish imitation of a knight of old, ”Happy is he that escapeth me.”
The two dragoons instantly fled with yelps of pain and terror, and the horse, squealing with fright, began to rear and plunge madly about the road. Black Vizard turned on me, his pistol rang out, and the bullet hissed by my ear. I sprang at him with clubbed gun, and struck hard for his head, but caught him on the neck as he too turned to flee. He went down, spinning and sprawling, in the road, right under the plunging horse.
With a squeal that curdled my blood, she rose in the air, kicking viciously. Her hoofs came down with sickening thuds on the squirming man's skull, cracking it like an egg-sh.e.l.l. His body twitched once or twice, and then settled into the stillness of death.
I seized the horse's rein and soothed her. She let me pat her neck and rub her nose, and soon stood quiet, her neck flecked with foam, her flanks reeking with sweat. Master Freake, who had not spoken a word, dismounted, and I led the mare into the wood and hitched her reins over a bough. Then I returned to the man I had saved, and found him looking calmly down on the man I had killed. The black vizard was now soaking in a horrid pool of blood and brains. I stooped, and with trembling fingers moved it aside and revealed the features of the dead man. It was the pimple-faced Major.
I turned to my intended victim, and found him looking calmly and impa.s.sively at me.
”Master Wheatman of the Hanyards, unless I am mistaken,” he said.
”Your servant, sir,” said I, rather sourly. But for that dead rascal at our feet I could beyond a doubt have plucked him like a chough, and here I was, still penniless.
”Master Wheatman, I am not a man of many words, but what I say I stand by. I am your very grateful debtor for a very fine and courageous action.
Three to one is long odds, but you won with your brains, sir, as much as by your bravery. Your shout was an excellent device, happily thought on.”
He held out his hand. I shook it heartily and then burst out laughing, and laughed on till tears stood in my eyes. And this was the end of my highwaymans.h.i.+p!
”Since the danger is, thanks to you, over, Master Wheatman,” he said, ”I would e'en like to share your mirth--if I may.”
”Sir,” I replied, ”I am laughing because I have saved you from robbers.”
”But why laugh?”
”Because I set out ten minutes ago to rob you myself.”
Master Freake gazed casually up and down the hill, and then, fixing his quiet grey eyes on me, said whimsically, ”I am a man of peace, and unarmed; the road is of a truth very lonely, and I have considerable sums of money on me.”
”Yes, I'm quite vexed. This fire-faced scoundrel has upset my plans finely. I may not get as good a chance for hours.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. ”Master Wheatman,” he said, ”you are not the stuff highwaymen are made of. As you are in need of money, you need it for some good purpose, and I shall--”
He stopped short. As we stood, he was facing the wood from which the robbers had burst on him, while I had my back on it. As he stopped, his strong, calm face changed, and his eyes were fixed on something in the wood. Wonder, amazement, delight, awe--not one, but all of these emotions were visible in his face. He looked as one who sees a blessed spirit. I turned. It was Margaret, leaning, pale and spent and breathless, against the trunk of a tree, looking and shuddering at the dread object in the road.
I bounded up to her and touched her on the arm. ”All's well, Mistress Waynflete,” said I. ”I am as yet no gallows-bird.”
”But--” Her eyes were still staring wide on the road, and she trembled violently, so I stepped between her and the ghastly sight, and said, ”Courage, dear lady. The dead man is your father's worst enemy, Major Tixall, and yon horse killed him, not I.”
By this, Master Freake had come nearer to us, and I turned to greet him.
”Madam,” said I, ”this is my friend, Master Freake, whom I set out to rob.” To him I added, ”This is Mistress Waynflete, whom I have the honour to serve.”
He bared his head and bowed. ”And whom I hope to have the honour of serving too.”
I looked at him curiously. All other emotions had faded from his face now, but it was clear that her peerless and now so helpless beauty had appealed home to him.
”Sir,” she said, recovering herself with a great effort, ”I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And now,”--speaking to me,--”since you have given me a great fright and made me behave like a milkmaid rather than a soldier's daughter, perhaps you will tell me what has happened, and how it”--she looked over my shoulder--”comes to be lying there. I heard shots and shrieks that turned me to stone. What has happened?”