The Splendid Spur Part 25

"I've no business lying here."

"Chose to come, lad: none axed thee, that _I_ knows by."

"Where's the mare? Must set me across her back, Joan, and let me ride on."

"Mare's in stable, wi' fetlocks swelled like puddens. Chose to come, lad; an' choose or no, must bide."

"'Tis for the General Hopton, at Bodmin, I am bound, Joan; and wound or no, must win there this night."

"And that's seven mile away: wi' a bullet in thy skull, and a peat quag thy burial. For _they_ went south, and thy road lieth more south than west."

"The troopers?"

"Aye, Jack: an' work I had this day wi' those same b.l.o.o.d.y warriors: but take a sup at the keg, and bite this manchet of oat cake while I tell thee."

And so, having fed me, and set my bed straight, she sat on the floor beside me (for the better hearing), and in her uncouth tongue, told how I had been saved. I cannot write her language; but the tale, in sum, was this:--

When I dropp'd forward into her arms, Joan for a moment was taken aback, thinking me dead. But (to quote her) "'no good,' said I, 'in cuddlin' a lad 'pon the hillside, for folks to see, tho' he _have_ a-got curls like a wench: an' dead or 'live, no use to wait for others to make sure.'"

So she lifted and carried me to a spot hard by, that she called the "Jew's Kitchen;" and where that was, even with such bearings as I had, she defied me to discover. There was no time to tend me, whilst Molly stood near to show my whereabouts: so she let me lie, and went to lead the sorrel down to stable.

Her hand was on the bridle when she heard a _Whoop!_ up the road; and there were half a dozen riders on the crest, and tearing down hill toward her. Joan had nothing left but to feign coolness, and went on leading the mare down the slope.

In a while, up comes the foremost trooper, draws rein, and pants out "Where's he to?"

"Who?" asks Joan, making out to be surprised.

"Why, the lad whose mare thou'rt leadin'?"

"Mile an' half away by now."

"How's that?"

"Freshly horsed," explains Joan.

The troopers--they were all around her by this--swore 'twas a lie; but luckily, being down in the hollow, could not see over the next ridge. They began a string of questions all together: but at last a little tun bellied sergeant call'd "Silence!" and asked the girl, "did she loan the fellow a horse?"

Here I will quote her again:--

"'Sir, to thee,' I answer'd, 'no loan at all, but fair swap for our Grey Robin.'

"'That's a lie,' he says; 'an' I won't believe thee.'

"'Might so well,' says I; 'but go to stable, an' see for thysel'

(Never had grey horse to my name, Jack; but, thinks I, that's _his'n_ lookout.)"

They went, did these simple troopers, to look at the stable, and sure enough, there was no Grey Robin. Nevertheless, some amongst them had logic enough to take this as something less than proof convincing, and spent three hours and more ransacking the house and barn, and searching the tor and the moors below it. I learn'd too, that Joan had come in for some rough talk--to which she put a stop, as she told me, by offering to fight any man Jack of them for the b.u.t.tons on his buffcoat. And at length, about sundown, they gave up the hunt, and road away over the moors toward Warleggan, having (as the girl heard them say) to be at Braddock before night.

"Where is this Braddock?"

"Nigh to Lord Mohun's house at Boconnoc: seven mile away to the south, and seven mile or so from Bodmin, as a crow flies."

"Then go I must," cried I: and hereupon I broke out with all the trouble that was on my mind, and the instant need to save these gallant gentlemen of Cornwall, ere two armies should combine against them. I told of the King's letter in my breast, and how I found the Lord Stamford's men at Launceston; how that Ruthen, with the vanguard of the rebels, was now at Liskeard, with but a bare day's march between the two, and none but I to carry the warning. And "Oh, Joan!" I cried, "my comrade I left upon the road. Brighter courage and truer heart never man proved, and yet left by me in the rebels'

hands. Alas! that I could neither save nor help, but must still ride on: and here is the issue--to lie struck down within ten mile of my goal--I, that have traveled two hundred. And if the Cornishmen be not warned to give fight before Lord Stamford come up, all's lost.

Even now they be outnumber'd. So lift me, Joan, and set me astride Molly, and I'll win to Bodmin yet."

"Reckon, Jack, thou'd best hand _me_ thy letter."

Now, I did not at once catch the intent of these words, so simply spoken; but stared at her like an owl.

"There's horse in stall, lad," she went on, "tho' no Grey Robin.

Tearaway's the name, and strawberry the color."

"But, Joan, Joan, if you do this--feel inside my coat here, to the left--you will save an army, girl, maybe a throne! Here 'tis, Joan, see--no, not that--here! Say the seal is that of the Governor of Bristol, who stole it from me for a while: but the handwriting will be known for the King's: and no hand but yours must touch it till you stand before Sir Ralph Hopton. The King shall thank you, Joan; and G.o.d will bless you for't."

"Hope so, I'm sure. But larn me what to say, lad: for I be main thick witted."

So I told her the message over and over, till she had it by heart.

"Shan't forgit, now," she said, at length; "an' so hearken to me for a change. Bide still, nor fret thysel'. Here's pasty an' oat cake, an' a keg o' water that I'll stow beside thee. Pay no heed to feyther, an' if he wills to get drunk an' fight wi' Jan Tergagle-- that's the cat--why let'n. Drunk or sober, he's no 'count."

She hid the letter in her bosom, and stepp'd to the door. On the threshold she turned--

"Jack--forgot to ax: what be all this bloodshed about?"

"For Church and King, Joan."

"H'm: same knowledge ha' I o' both--an' that's naught. But I dearly loves fair play."

She was gone. In a minute or so I heard the trampling of a horse: and then, with a scurry of hoofs, Joan was off on the King's errand, and riding into the darkness.

Little rest had I that night; but lay awake on my bracken bed and watched the burning peat-turves turn to grey, and drop, flake by flake, till only a glowing point remained. The door rattled now and then on the hinge: out on the moor the light winds kept a noise persistent as town dogs at midnight: and all the while my wound was stabbing, and the bracken p.r.i.c.king me till I groaned aloud.

As day began to break, the old man picked himself up, yawned and lounged out, returning after a time with fresh turves for the hearth.

He noticed me no more than a stone, but when the fire was restack'd, drew up his chair to the warmth, and breakfasted on oat cake and a liberal deal of liquor. Observing him, the black cat uncoil'd, stretch'd himself, and climbing to his master's knee, sat there purring, and the best of friends. I also judged it time to breakfast: found my store:* took a bite or two, and a pull at the keg, and lay back--this time to sleep.

When I woke, 'twas high noon. The door stood open, and outside on the wall the winter sunshine was lying, very bright and clear.

Indoors, the old savage had been drinking steadily; and still sat before the fire, with the cat on one knee, and his keg on the other.

I sat up and strain'd my ears. Surely, if Joan had not failed, the royal generals would march out and give battle at once: and surely, if they were fighting, not ten miles away, some sound of it would reach me. But beyond the purring of the cat, I heard nothing.

I crawl'd to my feet, rested a moment to stay the giddiness, and totter'd across to the door, where I lean'd, listening and gazing south. No strip of vapor lay on the moors that stretch'd--all bathed in the most wonderful bright colors--to the lip of the horizon. The air was like a sounding board. I heard the bleat of an old wether, a mile off, upon the tors; and was turning away dejected, when, far down in the south, there ran a sound that set my heart leaping.

'Twas the crackling of musketry.

There was no mistaking it. The noise ran like wildfire along the hills: before echo could overtake it, a low rumbling followed, and then the brisker crackling again. I caught at the door post and cried, faint with the sudden joy---

"Thou angel, Joan!--thou angel!"