Part 87 (1/2)

”No one shall do so. I swear that he who calls you a coward shall feel the weight of my arm.”

”Why am I not to go with them? Why am I to be separated from the others?”

”You must not ask,” said the Major; ”perhaps you will know some day, but not yet. All I say to you is, go home to your mother to-morrow, and stay there. Should you fire a shot, or strike a blow against those men we are going to hunt down, you may do a deed which would separate you from the rest of mankind, and leave you to drag on a miserable guilty life. Do you promise?”

”I will promise,” said Charles; ”but I wonder----”

”Never mind wondering. Good night.”

The troopers lay in the hall, and in the middle of the night there was a sound of a horse outside, and he who was nearest the door got up and went out.

”Who is there?” said the voice of Captain Brentwood.

”Jackson, sir.”

”My house has been stuck up, has it not?”

”Yes, sir.”

”And my daughter?”

”Safe, sir. Young Mr. Buckley rode over and caught her up out of it ten minutes before they got here.”

”Long life to him, and glory to G.o.d. Who is here?”

The trooper enumerated them.

”And what has become of the gang?” asked the Captain.

”Gone into the limestone gully, sir. Safe for tomorrow.”

”Ah, well, I shall come in and lie in the hall. Don't make a noise.

What is that?”

They both started. Some one of the many sleepers, with that strange hoa.r.s.e voice peculiar to those who talk in their dreams, said, with singular energy and distinctness,--

”I will go, sir; they will call me coward.”

”That's young Mr. Hawker, sir,” said the trooper. ”His sweetheart's brother, Mr. Mayford, was killed by them yesterday. The head of this very gang, sir, that villain Touan--his name is Hawker. An odd coincidence, sir.”

”Very odd,” said the Captain. ”At the same time, Jackson, if I were you, I wouldn't talk about it. There are many things one had best not talk about, Jackson. Pull out the corner of that blanket, will you? So we shall have some fun to-morrow, up in the pa.s.s, I'm thinking.”

”They'll fight, sir,” said the trooper. ”If we can bail them up, they'll fight, believe me. Better so; I think we shall save the hangman some trouble. Good night, sir.”

So Captain Brentwood lay down beside the trooper, and slept the sleep of the just among his broken chairs and tables. The others slept too, sound and quiet, as though there were no fight on the morrow.

But ere the moon grew pale they were woke by Desborough, tramping about with clicking spurs among the sleepers, and giving orders in a loud noise. At the first movement, while the rest were yawning and stretching themselves, and thinking that battle was not altogether so desirable a thing on a cold morning as it was overnight, Major Buckley was by Charles Hawker's bedside, and, reminding him of his promise, got him out unperceived, helped him to saddle his horse, and started him off to his mother with a note.

The lad, overawed by the major's serious manner, went without debate, putting the note in his pocket. I have seen that note; Sam showed it to me the next day, and so I can give you the contents. It was from Major Buckley to Mary Hawker, and ran thus:--

”I have sent your boy to you, dear old friend, bearing this. You will have heard by now what has happened, and you will give me credit for preventing what might come to be a terrible catastrophe. The boy is utterly unconscious that his own father is the man whose life is sought this day above all others. He is at the head of this gang, Mary. My own son saw him yesterday. My hand shall not be raised against him; but further than that I will not interfere. Your troubles have come now to the final and most terrible pa.s.s; and all the advice I have to give you is to pray, and pray continually, till this awful storm is gone by.