The Black Tor Part 51

"But s'pose the Darleys fight you, Master Mark?"

"They will not, Dummy," cried Mark. "Let go."

And pressing the cob's sides, the little animal bounded over the narrow bridge, and would have galloped in a break-neck fashion down the steep zigzag but for the strong hand at the rein.

The pony had its own way, though, along the rough track by the river, on past Master Rayburn's peaceful cottage, and away again, till at a bend of the stream the rider saw a cloud of smoke hanging over the ravens'

cliff, and soon after caught sight of one corner of the castle, with the glorious beeches and sycamores low down, and birches high up, scorched and shrivelled; and now he saw through an alley burned by the flames driven downward by the wind that the beautiful old pile was reduced to a sh.e.l.l, in whose interior the smoke was still rising from a heap of smouldering wood.

As he drew nearer, and crossed the ford which led to the steep path up, he saw on one of the terrace platforms quite a crowd of women and children, collected from the outlying cottages and farms, all standing gazing at the smoking ruins; and on one side there was a little group of men, some standing, others sitting and lying down upon the stones.

"And if it had not been for Dummy our place might have been like this,"

thought Mark, as he rode up. The men, as they caught sight of him, began to rise to their feet, two or three actively, the others as if in pain, but all wearing a savage scowl.

But Mark did not shrink. He rode right past the women, and drew rein, as Nick Garth said fiercely:

"Well, youngster, have you come to enjoy's morning's work?"

"What have I ever done to make you think me such a cowardly brute, Nick Garth?" said Mark boldly; as the others uttered a menacing growl.

"Well," he continued, "is that all you have to say? What about your young master?"

The man's face was convulsed by a spasm, and he turned away, pointing the while at the smoking ruins.

"What does he mean by that?" said Mark to another of the men.

"They killed him," said the man hoa.r.s.ely. "Burned, poor lad! In yonder."

"No, no," cried Mark excitedly. "He escaped, and came up to us--to ask for help."

"The young master?" cried Nick, turning back to look at the speaker fiercely; "why, I see him cut down with my own eyes."

"I tell you, he crawled out of the fire. He's badly wounded and burned, but he's lying in my room, with Master Rayburn by his side."

"Say that again--say that again, youngster!" cried Nick Garth, as he caught Mark fiercely by the hand, and thrust his blood-smeared and blackened face close to him.

"There is no need," said Mark. "He is very bad, but he was able to ask us for help."

A wild _hurrah_! burst from the men, even the worst wounded waving their hands, as they crowded round the startled pony, which began to rear, and tried to unseat his rider.

"Quiet!" cried Mark, patting the spirited little animal's neck, and as soon as it was quiet, turning to the object of his mission.

"Now," he said, "my father starts this evening to crush out this gang of miscreants and rescue Sir Morton and your young lady. We have plenty of swords and pikes, and I have come to ask as many of you as can strike a blow to join us."

"Is this a trap, young gen'leman, to make an end of us now we're weak and down?"

"Look in my eyes, Nick Garth," said Mark, gazing straight at the sullen lowering face. "The Edens are gentlemen, not such vile cowards as that.

Now then, who'll come and strike a blow for Sir Morton, your young lady, and Master Ralph Darley, lying helpless there?"

"All on us, my lad," cried Nick, with a fierce growl--"all on us as can manage to crawl."

"Ay," rose in a shout.

"It's all right, lads," continued Nick; "the young gen'leman means what he says. No one could be such a hound as to come down upon us now. I says it's right, sir. We trust you, and if you'll give us your hand like a man-like an Englishman should--we'll come."

Mark's hand went out, and his handsome young face shone with the glow that was at his heart, as he gripped the grimy blackened hand extended to him.

He held on tightly, and then gazed wonderingly at the man, whose face turned of a very ashy hue, and he caught at the pony's mane to save himself from falling.

"What is it?" cried Mark eagerly; "you are faint!"

"Got my hand brent a bit, young master," said the man, recovering himself with a forced laugh. "Better now."

He drew back, and limped a little.

"But you are badly hurt. I'll get Master Rayburn to run down."

"Nay. We'll come up to him. Let him stop with the young master."

"You are not fit to come."

"What! Not to have a stroke at them devils?" cried the man fiercely.

"I'm a-coming, and so's all as can walk. I'd come if it was half a hour 'fore I was going to die. I did try to burn 'em where they were drinking together, on'y I was in too great a hurry. I ought to ha'

waited till they was asleep."

Mark shuddered slightly, but he said no more, and proceeded to examine the men, all of whom, to the number of seven, declared themselves fit to come.

But, including Nick, there were only five really fit to bear arms; the rest had unwillingly to give up. Still, there were three quite uninjured, and these would, Mark felt, be a valuable addition to the little force at home, for they were burning to try and do something to help Sir Morton in his terrible strait; and even the women wished to join. But this was declared impossible, and soon after, feeling the strangeness of his position, Mark was riding back with his recruits.

Five minutes later, he cried, "Halt!" and sprang from his pony.

"Here, Garth," he cried, "I can't ride and see you limp along with that wounded leg."

"Can't help my leg being hurt, young sir," cried the man sourly. "I won't go back, so there!"

"I don't want you to; I want you to strike for your master; but you are lame. There: up with you. Master Rayburn will make you better able to walk when we get to the Tor."

"What, me ride on your pony?" said the man, staring.

"Yes: up, and don't lose time."

The man refused again and again, till Mark cried fiercely:

"You said you'd follow me, and I'm in command. Up this minute, sir;"

and the man climbed into the saddle.

It was in this fashion that Mark Eden led the Darley men up the zigzag, and into the inner court of the Black Tor, where his father's followers welcomed them with a hearty cheer, for, enemies they might be, but those a.s.sembled felt that they were stricken sore.