CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH I SLIP

Sultan was a horse for a man, long and regular in his stride, perfect in

action, quick to obey, cat-like at need. I might have ridden him from the

day on which the blacksmith drank his colt-ale, for we understood each

other exactly, and I was as comfortable on his back as in my bed at the

Hanyards. In the open road at the mere-end, he settled down into a steady,

loping trot, and I was free to think matters out to the music of his

hoof-beats on the road.

It was only eight or nine miles into Newcastle, and as the dragoons would

travel slowly and warily there was just a chance that I should be there

first. Further, it was wholly unlikely that I should be interfered with,

since the only two enemies who knew I was aiding Mistress Margaret were

helpless in my rear--Brocton at Stafford, and the sergeant in the "Ring of

Bells." I was unknown in the town, not having been there since my

schooldays, and then only on rare occasions, as a visit to the town meant

a thirty-mile walk in one day.

Plan-making was futile. Everything would depend upon chance, but if

chance threw me into touch with the Colonel, it should go hard if I did

not free him somehow or other. The most splendid thing would be if I could

free him before Margaret overtook me at the "Rising Sun." True, I had only

an hour or so to spare, but now strange things happened in an hour of my

life, and this great luck might be mine. Then would come my rich and rare

reward--the light in her deep, blue eyes and the tremulous thanks on her

ripe, red lips.

And then a thought smote me like a blow between the eyes, so that I

dizzied a moment, and the day grew grey and the outlook blank. The finding

of the Colonel meant the losing of Margaret. Father and daughter reunited,

my work would be done; the day of the hireling would be accomplished. Need

for me there would be none. The old life would again claim me, justly

claim me too, for was I not, though all unworthily and unprofitably, the

only son of my sweet mother, and she a widow. I could see her in the

house-place at the Hanyards, her calm eyes fixed in sorrow on my empty

chair. _A man shall leave father and mother_, yes, for one particular

cause, but the only son of a widowed mother for no cause whatsoever.

Christ, I said to myself, would not have raised the young man of Nain

merely to get married.

Still there was the work, and I spurned my gloomy thoughts and turned to

think of it. And first I took stock of my means of offence. There were

loaded pistols in the holsters, fine long weapons with polished walnut

stocks inlaid with silver lacery and the initials 'C.W.', the Colonel's

without a doubt. At the saddle-bow there hung a sizeable leathern pouch,

and this I found to contain a good supply of charges. I was a sure shot,

and I tried my skill on a gate as Sultan flew by, splintering the latch at

which I aimed to a nicety, the well-trained horse taking no more notice of

the shot than of a wink at a passing market-wench. So far so good. Then

there was the sergeant's tuck, and I shouted with a schoolboy's glee at

having for the first time in my life a sword at my side. Of how to use it

I knew nothing, unless many bouts at single-stick with Jack should be some

sort of apprenticeship in swordcraft. I practised pulling it out, and

then, imitating Brocton, made the forty-inch blade twist and tang in the

air, which pleased me greatly. I felt quite a Cavalier now, and said

within myself that old Smite-and-spare-not's bones should soon be rustling

in their grave with envy.

And so into Meece, wondering if the fat host of the "Black Bull" would

recognize in the splendidly mounted horseman the dusty schoolboy of ten

years ago. There he was in the porch, grown intolerably fatter, talking to

my ancient gossip, Rupert Toms, the sexton, now heavily laden with years

and infirmities. I pricked on, having no time to spare for either prayer

or provender, since every moment was precious, though a tankard of double

October, mulled with spice and laced with brandy, would have been precious

too, for the matter of that.

At the tail of the village, where the curve of the road runs into the

straight again to climb the long hill, I came for a moment into touch with

my affair. A horseman was in sight, rattling down the slope, and I saw

that he was an officer, a keen-featured, middle-aged man, with the set

face of one who rides on urgent business. Yet he checked his horse when

near me, and cried curtly, "What news from Stafford?"

A word with him might be worth while, so I too pulled up and answered

very politely, "It's market-day."

"Damn the market! What news of the troops, sir? Is my Lord Brocton still

there?"

"I believe he is."

"Then damn my Lord Brocton! Did you chance to see him?"

"I had that honour late last night."

"Anything the matter with him?"

"He'd had enough," said I simply.

"That's what comes of shoving sprigs of your bottle-sucking nobility into

the service. Damn his nobility! There's another of them back yonder, as

much use as an old tup."

"If I detain you much longer," said I, with exaggerated sweetness,

"you'll be damning me."

"Nothing likelier. I damn everything and everybody that don't suit me.

That's why I'm captain at fifty instead of colonel at thirty. What of it?"

"Lord Brocton's nine miles off, and I'm not."

"Think I care? Damn you, too, and I'll fight you when we meet again. Like

a lark! Wish I'd time now. Good day, sir!"

He dug the rowels into his horse and was off. An earnest, choleric man

with his heart in his work, for which I liked him, even to his persistent

damning.

I put Sultan to the slope and he kept bravely at it till I eased him off

where the rise was steepest. My late encounter clearly meant that affairs

were ripening fast farther north, and it might also mean danger behind me

sooner than I had looked for. The blood danced in my veins at the prospect

of the adventures that awaited me. Ho, for life and work! Would it be long

before the blue eyes lanced me through and through again, as when I kissed

her hand among the trees by the roadside? I looked at the frosty sun and

judged that it was nigh on twenty-four hours since I had stood in the

porch and watched mother and Kate across the cobbles into the

road--twenty-four hours that had done more for me than the twenty-four years

that had gone before them, for they had given me a man's task, a man's

thoughts, the stirrings of a man's being, the beginning of a man's agony.

We were at the top now with the open country stretching for miles around

us. But the dale beneath, through which the main road ran a mile away to

the east, was thick with trees, and I could get no inkling of how things

were going. I strained my ears to listen, but no warning sound could I

hear. The countryside was still and calm as a frozen sea, and war and its

terrors seemed so impossible that for a moment I felt as if it was only a

dream-life that I was living and that I must wake soon and hear Joe Braggs

trolling out his morning song in honour of Jane. But Sultan craned round

his shapely head as if to ask me why I was loitering in the cold, bleak

air; so with a cheery slap on his glossy neck, I gave him the reins and

away he went, with me spitting ghostly Broctons on the sergeant's tuck.

Through the skirts of the woodland he carried me, and then up again till

on the top of Clayton Bank I pulled him up a second time for another

survey of the situation.

The little town was now in full view a mile ahead, lying on the slope and

top of some rising ground. Across the meadows to my right, and now plainly

to be seen less than half a mile away, was the main road from Stone. Again

I was disappointed. A long, rude post-wagon, pulled by eight horses and

driven by a man on an active little nag, was groaning its way south; a

solitary horseman was ambling north--and that was all I could see.

What had happened to the Colonel? Were the dragoons in the town or not? I

dug my heels into Sultan's flanks and put him to it at his best, and in a

few minutes was on the outskirts of the town.

The town consists in the main of two streets. The High Street is simply

the town part of the main road from the south and Stone to Congleton and

the north--the line along which the Stuart Prince was marching. It

deserves its name, for it lies along the edge of the slope on which the

town lies. Parallel to it in the dip lies Lower Street, and the road I was

on curls past the end of this street and climbs gently to join the upper

road. I could thus get into the heart of the town through the poorer

quarter of it, and soon the kidney-stones of Lower Street rang under

Sultan's hoofs.

The stir and noise of Stafford was completely absent. The townspeople,

mainly hatters by trade, were plying their craft indoors as if no enemy

were at their gate. In fact, as I learned afterwards, there was no fuss

and much fun and good business when the Highlanders actually came on the

scene. The farther a town was from them the more it funked them, which

was, as everybody knows now, truest of all of London. As I turned up the

lane by St. Giles', the church bells chimed two. Past the church in the

corner between the lane and the High Street was the "Rising Sun." Once

Sultan was safe in its stables I could set about getting news of the

Colonel before Margaret and Master Freake arrived.

It was stiff work up the last thirty yards, and Sultan shook himself

together after it when he drew out on the level High Street. Here were

throngs of people and some signs of trouble toward. In particular I

noticed the town fathers in their black gowns of office, and, most

conspicuous of all, the crimson and fur of his worship. I judged they were

coming from a council meeting in the town hall, which stood in the middle

of the wide High Street. There was much high debate, wagging of fingers

and smiting of fist in palm, but no approach to the tumult and terror of

yesternight. The Mayor stood for a moment confabbing at the door of a

grocery, and then shot into it. I saw him struggling out of his gown as he

disappeared, and thence inferred that the chief burgess was a grocer in

private life.

So much I saw before pulling Sultan round to pass under the archway

leading into the yard of the "Rising Sun." I dismounted and called for an

ostler. No man appearing, I was about to lead Sultan farther down the yard

towards the stables when there was a scurry of feet behind me as if the

whole ostler-tribe of the "Rising Sun" was hastening to my assistance. I

turned round rattily to find myself looking into the barrel of a pistol,

while three or four men pounced on me and pinned me against the wall.

"Damn ye, horse-thief, for the black of a bean I'd blow your brains out,"

said Colonel Waynflete. "Stick tight, lads; and you, good host, fetch

along Master Mayor and the constable, and have me the scoundrel laid by

the heels. If this were only my commandery on the Rhine! I'd strappado you

and then hang you within the next half-hour. My bonny Sultan! How are you,

my precious?"

When a raw youth leaves farming for knight-erranting he must expect sharp

turns and rough tumbles, but surely Fate and Fortune were overdoing it

now. It was the Colonel beyond doubt, and Margaret had limned him to the

life. The hawk-eyes, the hook nose, the leathery skin, the orange-tawny

campaign-wig with the grizzled hair peeping under the rim of it, the tall,

thin, supple figure, all were there. And if I had been in any doubt of it,

Sultan would have settled the matter, for his pleasure at finding his

master was delightful to witness.

In hot blood I did not mind a pistol, and in the coldest blood I could

easily have kicked loose from the men who had got hold of me. But Margaret

kept my limbs idle and my mouth shut. There was no real danger, for that

matter, unless Margaret and Master Freake failed to turn up at the "Rising

Sun," and there was no reason to suppose they would fail. The Colonel gave

me no chance to speak to him privately, and to speak to him publicly might

upset his plans. How he had got here a free man, what strange turn things

had taken in his favour, I could not imagine. Margaret would be here in an

hour and put matters right, so for her sake it would be best and easiest

to say nothing. I simply made up my mind that the varlet on my right,

whose dirty claws and beery breath were sickening me, should have the

direst of drubbings before the day was out.

Mine host bustled off for the Mayor, and, the news having gone around,

the yard was filled with people watching the fun and making a

mocking-stock of me. The Colonel saw Sultan off to be groomed and baited,

and then, without so much as a look at me, went into the inn and sat down

to his interrupted meal. I could see him plainly through the window, and

hugely admired his coolness. The maids clustered around to have a peep at

me. Such as were old and ugly declared off-hand that I was indisputably

ripe for the gallows, but a younger one with saucy eyes and cherry-red

cheeks blew a kiss, and called out to beery breath to deal gentlier with

me. He moved a little in turning to grin at her, and I shot my knee into

his wind and doubled him up on the ground. A stouter lad took his place,

but his breath was sweet and I gained much in comfort by the change.

The situation had the saving grace of humour. For twenty-four hours I had

been on the stretch to save Colonel Waynflete from his enemies. To do it I

had left mother and sister, and home and lands. To do it I had come out

openly on the side of rebellion and treason. The sword had been at my

breast, and the wind of a bullet had stirred the hair of my head. I might

have spared my pains. All this pother of mine was over the man sitting

yonder, heartily enjoying his dinner. All my heroics had ended in my being

arrested as a horse-thief.

I closed my eyes. Picture after picture came before me of Margaret in her

changing moods and her unchanging beauty. Gad! How cheaply I had bought

this gallery of precious memories!

A throng of lads crowding noisily under the archway heralded the approach

of the dignitaries. First came the town beadle, a pompous little fellow

who wore a laced brown greatcoat many sizes too large for him, and carried

a cudgel of office thick as his own arm, and surmounted by a brass crown

the size of a baby's head. His office enabled him to be brave on the

cheap, so by dint of digging his weapon into the ribs of all and sundry,

they being, as he expressed it, too thick on the clod, he cleared a path

for the grocer-mayor, who had gotten himself again into his scarlet gown.

His worship was gawky, flustered, and uncertain, and listened like a

scared rabbit to mine host, a man of much talk, who explained proudly what

was to be done.

"This is 'im, y'r worship," he said. "A dirty 'oss-thief as badly wants

'anging. Copped in the act, y'r worship, of riding into this 'ere yard o'

mine, as big as bull-beef, sitting on the very 'oss 'e'd stolen from his

lordship 'ere."

His lordship was the Colonel, who had leisurely left his meal again to

settle my hash. I can see him now as he stood on the step of the inn-door,

carefully flicking a stray crumb or two from his waistcoat, and taking the

measure of the man he had to bamboozle, with clear, amused, grey eyes.

"The Mayor of the town, I think," he said softly.

"Yes, your honour," said the good man surreptitiously wiping something,

probably sugar, off his hands on the lining of his gown.

"And his beadle, your lordship," added the host, and the under-strapper

inside the greatcoat saluted the Colonel with a flourish of his tipstaff.

"I am Colonel Waynflete," he answered in level measured tones, "riding on

important business of His Majesty's, and my horse was stolen at an inn,

some miles back, beyond Stafford. But for the kindness of my Lord Brocton

in providing me with another, His Gracious Majesty's affairs would have

been badly disarranged. This fellow came riding in on my horse, Sultan, a

few minutes ago and I ordered his arrest. He is now in your worship's

hands. I leave him there with confidence, merely remarking, on the warrant

of many years' observation in such matters, that he will require a stout

rope."

He nodded to his dithering worship, and marched back slowly and calmly to

his dinner.

"This beats cock-fighting," said mine host admiringly. He spread himself,

happy and conspicuous as a tom-tit on a round of beef, and the crowd,

pleasantly anticipating mugs of beer later on, urged the Mayor to be up

and doing.

"What have you to say for yourself?" said his grocer-ship to me, with a

dim and belated idea, perhaps, that I might be interested in the

proceedings.

"The beadle's coat is much too large for him," said I.

"Yes, yes," he replied hurriedly. "Samson Salt was a big man and had only

had the coat three years when he died, and we couldn't afford a new one

for Timothy. Dear me, but this isn't a council meeting, and what's the

beadle's coat got to do with horse-stealing?"

"As much as I have," I replied gravely.

"Yow've 'ad enough, my lad," said the host, "to last y'r the rest of y'r

life. The next 'oss you rides'll be foaled of an acorn. Let Timothy put

him in clink, Master Mayor, and come and have a noggin of the real thing.

Gom, I'm that dry my belly'll be thinking my throat's cut."

"Arrest this man, Timothy Tomkins, and put him in jail till I can take

due order for his trial."

Timothy turned up the sleeves of his coat, and arrested me by placing his

hand on my arm, and flourishing the brass crown in my face.

"Don't hurt me, Timothy," I said. "I'll come like a lamb, and I'll go

slow lest you should tumble over the tail of your coat."

"If you say another word about the blasted coat I'll split your head

open," was his angry reply. It was evidently a sore topic with him and a

familiar one with his frugal townsmen, for some man in the crowd cried

out, "'Tinna big enough for the missis, be it, Timothy?" And while the

peppery little beadle's eyes were searching the japer out, another added,

"More's the pity, for 'er's a bit of a light-skirt." At this there was a

roar of laughter, so I saved the frenzied officer further trouble by

saying, "Come along, Timothy. Let's go to jail."

On the Mayor's orders, mine host despoiled me of the sergeant's tuck, and

Timothy marched me off to the jail, the rabble following, as full of

chatter as a nest of magpies. The jail was a small stone building,

standing, like the town hall, in the middle of the street. Arrived there,

Timothy thrust me into an ill-lit dirty hole below the level of the

street, locked the door behind me, and left me to my reflections.

The only furniture of the den was a rude bench. A nap would do me good,

so, after a good pull at Kate's precious cordial, I curled up on the bench

and in a few minutes was sound asleep. And in my sleep I dreamed that two

blue stars were twinkling at me through a golden cloud.