Crown and Sceptre Part 103

"Haven't got it here," said Samson, gruffly.

"Then go back."

"Go back yourself," growled Samson; and, putting in effect a west-country wrestling trick, he threw the sentry on his back, and dashed down the slope toward the coombe. "He daren't go and tell,"

muttered the fugitive, "for he'd get into trouble for letting me go by."

_Bang_!

Samson leaped off the ground a couple of feet, and on coming down upon the steep slope, staggered and nearly fell. Not that he was. .h.i.t, but the bullet sent to stop him cut up the turf close to his legs, and startled him nearly out of his wits.

"I'll serve you out for that, my lad," he muttered, "I shall know you again."

He ran on the faster though, and then to his disgust, found that another sentry was at the bottom of the coombe, and well on the alert, running to intercept him, for the shot fired had spread the alarm.

Seeing this, Samson dodged into the wood that clothed the western side of the coombe, and by a little scheming crept out a couple of hundred yards from where the sentry was on the watch.

"Tricked him this time," said Samson, chuckling, and once more starting, for a bullet whistled by his ear, and directly after there was the report.

But he ran on feeling that he had pa.s.sed two of the chains of sentries, and that now all he had to do was to clear the mounted patrols.

This he set himself to do with the more confidence that there was no horseman in sight; and, with his hopes rising, he kept on now at a steady trot, which he changed for a walk as he reached the irregular surface of the moor, scored into hundreds of little valleys running into one another, and the larger toward the sea.

"Nothing like a bow, after all," muttered Samson, as he ran. "Shoot four or five arrows while you're loading one of those clumsy great guns.

Got away from you this time, my lad. Ay, you may shout," he muttered as he heard a hail. "Likely! You'd have to holloa louder to bring me back, and--Well, now, look at that!" he grumbled, as he got about five hundred yards away, and suddenly found that he was the quarry of two of the mounted men, who had caught sight of him, and were coming from opposite directions, bent on cutting him off. "Well, I think I know this bit o' the country better than you do, and if I aren't mounted on a horse, I'm mounted on as good a pair o' legs as most men, and deal better than my brother Nat's."

He said all this in an angry tone, as he made straight for a patch of woodland at the edge of the moor, when, seeing this, and that the man on foot was steadily running in Samson's track, the two hors.e.m.e.n immediately bore away so as to intercept the fugitive on the further side, and soon disappeared from view.

"I thought you'd do that," said Samson to himself; and he turned sharply round, ran a few yards towards his pursuer, and then turned along one of the courses of a stream, and in a minute was out of sight, but only to double again in quite a different direction along the dry course of another rivulet, which wound here and there to the south.

"Get round 'em somehow," said Samson; and, settling himself into a slow trot, he ran on and on for quite a quarter of an hour, to where the hollow in which he had been running opened out on to open moor all covered with whortleberry and bracken, offering good hiding should an enemy be in sight, and with the further advantage of being only about a mile from the Manor.

"I shall trick 'em now," he said. "Once I've told 'em at the old house, they may catch me if they like; but they won't care to when they see me going back to camp."

"Halt!"

A sword flashed in poor Samson's eyes, and he found that the opening of the dry course was guarded by another mounted man, who spurred up to him and caught him by the collar before he had dashed away a dozen yards.

"Don't choke a fellow. I give in," grumbled Samson, as the man held him, and presented his sword-point at his breast. "There, I won't try to run. It's of no good," he added; and he made no opposition to a strap being thrown round his neck, drawn tight, and as soon as the man had buckled the end to his saddle-bow, he walked his horse slowly back toward the camp.

Before they had gone far, the other two mounted men trotted up, and seemed ready to administer a little correction with the flat of their swords.

"Yes, you do," said Samson, showing his teeth; "and as soon as this bit o' trouble's over, I'll pay you back, or my name aren't what it is."

"Let him alone," said his captor. "Come on, lad."

He spurred his horse to a trot, and Samson ran beside him, while the two others returned to their posts.

As it happened, Fred was riding along the outside of the camp with his father as the prisoner was brought in, and as soon as he saw who it was, the colour flushed to his face, and he felt that it was all over, and that he would have to confess.

"How now, sir!" cried the colonel. "You?"

"Yes, sir. I was only stretching my legs a bit, and this man tried to run me down."

"Are you the man reported by the sentry as trying to desert?"

"Me trying to desert, sir!" cried Samson, indignantly. "Do I look the sort o' man likely to desert, colonel, unless it was to get a good draught o' cider?"

"But you were out of bounds, sir."

"Father," began Fred, who was in agony, "let me--"

"Silence, sir! He is a soldier now, and must be treated as a soldier."

"Yes; don't you say nothing about me, Master Fred, sir. I can bear all I get."

"Go back to your quarters, sir. You are under arrest, mind, I will deal with you to-morrow."

Samson gave Fred a meaning look as he was marched off, and Fred's agony of spirit increased as he asked himself whether he ought not to confide in his father. A dozen times over he was about to speak, but only to hesitate, for he knew that the colonel would sacrifice his friend on the altar of duty, even if he had to sacrifice himself.

"I must save them," muttered Fred, as he went slowly back to his tent.

"I am not firm and stern like my father;" and then, as soon as he was alone, he sat down to think of how he was to contrive the escape unaided and alone.

Night came, with his mind still vacillating, for he could see no way out of his difficulty, and, to render his position more difficult, the colonel came to his tent and sat till long after dark chatting about the likelihood of the war coming to an end, and their prospects of once more settling down at the home whose open doors were so near.

"And the Royalists, father? What of them?" said Fred at last.

"Exiles, I fear, my boy, for their cause is lost. They must suffer, as we must have suffered, had our side gone to the wall."

"Father," said Fred, "if you could help a suffering enemy now, would you do it?"

"If it was such help as my duty would allow--yes; if not, no.

Recollect, we are not our own masters, but servants of the country.

Good night, my boy. I think you may sleep in peace to-night;" and he strode out of the little tent, where his seat had been a horseman's cloak thrown over a box.

"Sleep!" said Fred to himself, "with those poor fellows starving in that hole. I must, I will help them, and ask his forgiveness later on. But how?"

"Pst! ciss!" came from the back of the tent.

CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

SAMSON IS NOT TO BE BEATEN.

"What's that? Who's there?" said Fred, sharply.

"Pst! Master Fred. Don't make all that noise. You'll have the guard hear you."

The mischief was done, for there was the tramp of feet, and directly after a sergeant and his men stopped opposite Fred's tent.

"Must have been somewhere here," said the sergeant, in a deep voice.