Hunted and Harried Part 6

"What is the matter with your hands, uncle?" asked Will, observing that both were bandaged.

"They tried the thumbscrews on me," said Spence with a pitiful smile, glancing at his injured members. "They wanted to force me to sign the Bond, which I declined to do--first, because it required me to perform impossibilities; and, second, because it was such as no Government in the world has a right to exact or freeman to sign. They were going to put the boot on me at first, but the officer in command ordered them to try the thumbscrews. This was lucky, for a man may get along with damaged thumbs, but it would have been hard to travel with crippled legs! I held out though, until the pain became so great that I couldn't help giving a tremendous yell. This seemed to touch the officer with pity, for he ordered his men to let me be. Soon afterwards your mother and I managed to give them the slip, and we came on here."

"But why came you here, uncle?" asked Will.

"Because I don't want to be taken to Edinburgh and hanged. Besides, after hearing of your temporary settlement with Black, I thought the safest place for your mother would be beside yourself."

When Wallace explained the cause of his own journey, and the condition of the district around Black's farm, the plans of David Spence had to be altered. He resolved, after consideration and prayer, to take to the mountains and remain in hiding, while Mrs. Wallace should go to Edinburgh, as already planned, and live with Mrs. Black.

"But it will never do to take her along with yourself, Will," said Spence. "She cannot walk a step farther. We must try to get her a horse, and let her journey along with some o' the armed bands that attended the conventicle at Skeoch Hill. They will be sure to be returning this way in a day or two."

"You are right," said the minister who has already been introduced, and who overheard the concluding remark as he came forward. "The armed men will be pa.s.sing this way in a day or two, and we will take good care of your mother, young sir, while she remains with us."

"Just so," rejoined Spence. "I'll see to that; so, nephew, you and your comrade Quentin may continue your journey with easy minds. You'll need all your caution to avoid being taken up and convicted, for the tyrants are in such a state of mind just now that if a man only _looks_ independent they suspect him, and there is but a short road between suspicion and the gallows now."

"Humph! we'll be as innocent-lookin' an' submissive as bairns," remarked Quentin d.i.c.k, with a grim smile on his lips and a frown on his brow that were the reverse of childlike.

Convinced that Spence's arrangement for his mother's safety was the best in the circ.u.mstances, Wallace left her, though somewhat reluctantly, in the care of the outlawed Covenanters, and resumed his journey with the shepherd after a few hours' rest.

Proceeding with great caution, they succeeded in avoiding the soldiers who scoured the country until, towards evening, while crossing a rising ground they were met suddenly by two troopers. A thicket and bend in the road had, up to that moment, concealed them from view. Level gra.s.s-fields bordered the road on either side, so that successful flight was impossible.

"Wull ye fecht?" asked Quentin, in a quick subdued voice.

"Of course I will," returned Wallace.

"Ca' canny at first, then. Be humble an' _awfu'_ meek, till I say `_Noo_!'"

The troopers were upon them almost as soon as this was uttered.

"Ho! my fine fellows," exclaimed one of them, riding up to Quentin with drawn sword, "fanatics, I'll be bound. Where from and where away now?"

"We come, honoured sir, frae Irongray, an' we're gaun to Ed'nbury t' buy cattle," answered Quentin with downcast eyes.

"Indeed, oho! then you must needs have the cash wherewith to buy the cattle. Where is it?"

"In ma pooch," said the shepherd with a deprecating glance at his pocket.

"Hand it over, then, my good fellow. Fanatics are not allowed to have money or to purchase cattle nowadays."

"But, honoured sir, we're no f.a.n.n.yteeks. We're honest shepherds."

The lamb-like expression of Quentin d.i.c.k's face as he said this was such that Wallace had considerable difficulty in restraining an outburst of laughter, despite their critical position. He maintained his gravity, however, and firmly grasped his staff, which, like that of his companion, was a blackthorn modelled somewhat on the pattern of the club of Hercules.

"Here, Melville," said the first trooper, "hold my horse while I ease this `honest shepherd' of his purse."

Sheathing his sword, he drew a pistol from its holster, and, handing the reins to his companion, dismounted.

"NOO!" exclaimed Quentin, bringing his staff down on the trooper's iron headpiece with a terrific thwack. Like a flash of lightning the club of Wallace rang and split upon that of the other horseman, who fell headlong to the ground.

Strong arms have seldom occasion to repeat a well-delivered blow. While the soldiers lay p.r.o.ne upon the road their startled horses galloped back the way they had come.

"That's unfort'nit," said Quentin. "Thae twa look like an advance-gaird, an' if so, the main body'll no be lang o' gallopin' up to see what's the maitter. It behoves us to rin!"

The only port of refuge that appeared to them as they looked quickly round was a clump of trees on a ridge out of which rose the spire of a church.

"The kirk's but a puir sanctuary nooadays," remarked the shepherd, as he set off across the fields at a quick run, "but it's oor only chance."

They had not quite gained the ridge referred to when the danger that Quentin feared overtook them. A small company of dragoons was seen galloping along the road.

"We may gain the wood before they see us," suggested Will Wallace.

"If it _was_ a wud I wadna care for the sodgers," replied his comrade, "but it's only a bit plantation. We'll jist mak' for the manse an' hide if we can i' the coal-hole or some place."

As he spoke a shout from the troopers told that they had been seen, and several of them leaving the road dashed across the field in pursuit.

Now, it chanced that at that quiet evening hour the young curate of the district, the Reverend Frank Selby, was enjoying a game of quoits with a neighbouring curate, the Reverend George Lawless, on a piece of ground at the rear of the manse. The Reverend Frank was a genial Lowlander of the muscular type. The Reverend George was a renegade Highland-man of the cadaverous order. The first was a harum-scarum young pastor with a be-as-jolly-as-you-can spirit, and had accepted his office at the recommendation of a relative in power. The second was a mean-spirited wolf in sheep's clothing, who, like his compatriot Archbishop Sharp, had sold his kirk and country as well as his soul for what he deemed some personal advantage. As may well be supposed, neither of those curates was a shining light in the ministry.

"Missed again! I find it as hard to beat you, Lawless, as I do to get my parishioners to come to church," exclaimed the Reverend Frank with a good-humoured laugh as his quoit struck the ground and, having been badly thrown, rolled away.

"That's because you treat your quoits carelessly, as you treat your parishioners," returned the Reverend George, as he made a magnificent throw and ringed the tee.

"Bravo! that's splendid!" exclaimed Selby.

"Not bad," returned Lawless. "You see, you want more decision with the throw--as with the congregation. If you will persist in refusing to report delinquents and have them heavily fined or intercommuned, you must expect an empty church. Mine is fairly full just now, and I have weeded out most of the incorrigibles."

"I will never increase my congregation by such means, and I have no wish to weed out the incorrigibles," rejoined Selby, becoming grave as he made another and a better throw.

At that moment our fugitive shepherds, dashing round the corner of the manse, almost plunged into the arms of the Reverend Frank Selby. They pulled up, panting and uncertain how to act.

"You seem in haste, friends," said the curate, with an urbane smile.

"Oot o' the fryin'-pan into the fire!" growled Quentin, grasping his staff and setting his teeth.

"If you will condescend to explain the frying-pan I may perhaps relieve you from the fire," said Selby with emphasis.

Wallace observed the tone and grasped at the forlorn hope.

"The dragoons are after us, sir," he said eagerly; "unless you can hide us we are lost!"

"If you are honest men," interrupted the Reverend George Lawless, with extreme severity of tone and look, "you have no occasion to hide--"

"Bub we're _not_ honest men," interrupted Quentin in a spirit of almost hilarious desperation, "we're f.a.n.n.yteeks,--rebels,--Covenanters,--born eediots--"

"Then," observed Lawless, with increasing austerity, "you richly deserve--"

"George!" said the Reverend Frank sharply, "you are in my parish just now, and I expect you to respect my wishes. Throw your plaids, sticks, and bonnets behind that bush, my lads--well out of sight--so. Now, cast your coats, and join us in our game."

The fugitives understood and swiftly obeyed him. While they were hastily stripping off their coats Selby took his brother curate aside, and, looking him sternly in the face, said--"Now, George Lawless, if you by word or look interfere with my plans, I will give you cause to repent it to the latest day of your life."