CHAPTER XIX
THE HUT IN THE WOOD
The grinding of wheels, the sharp stroke of horses' hoofs, and thevoices of men lessened and died into silence. No sound disturbed thenarrow, winding lane which twisted its way now between neglected andforlorn looking fields, presently through woods of larch and pine, againacross some deserted piece of common land. One might have followed thelane for hours without meeting a soul, without hearing a human soundbeyond the echoes of one's own footsteps sent back from the depth of acopse. For miles it went, turning now this way, now that, until astranger would wonder whither it was leading him, and speculate whether,at the end, he might not find himself on the same high road which he hadleft long ago. At one part, for a mile or more, the lane skirted aforest, where, down short vistas, could be seen deeper depths beyond,solemn gloom which might serve to hide in, or might contain lurkingdanger. Old cart ruts here and there made short incursions into it,their limit marked by a small clearing and a few tree stumps, showingthat timber had been brought out; but no such track gave any sign ofpenetrating far, and offered little temptation to explore. There was atrack, however, so casual in its departure from the lane that a strangerwould hardly have noticed it, which ran deeply into the forest, losingitself at intervals in a small clearing, but going on again, althoughanyone but those who had knowledge of it might miss it a score of times,and wander hopelessly amongst tangled undergrowths and into swampydepressions. This track presently crossed a larger clearing, where was ahut set up by charcoal burners long ago. Time had cracked and warped itsplanks, but pieces had been nailed across weak places, giving the hut abotched and tumble-down appearance but keeping it weather-tight. The hutwas divided into a shed for tools and storage, or perhaps for stabling ahorse upon occasion, and a larger chamber which served as a dwelling.From a hole in the roof of this part a thin wreath of smoke was curlingupwards towards the overhanging trees, losing itself in their foliage.Twilight came early here, and the great world seemed shut outaltogether.
Presently the door of the hut opened, but he was no charcoal-burner whostood on the threshold, listening and looking up at the sky above theclearing. His hair was white, his figure a little bent, and there was ananxious look upon his face, a permanent expression rather than onecaused by any tardy arrival this evening. The man he waited for was tooerratic in his goings and comings to make a few hours', or even a day's,delay a cause of wonder.
He went back into the hut, but in half an hour or so came to the dooragain. He was not a woodsman used to distinguishing sounds at a longdistance, and the sound that presently reached him was close by. Inanother moment a man, leading a horse, came out of the gloomy shadowsinto the clearing.
"Master Gilbert! Master Gilbert! You're late. Thank God you're back oncemore. I've a hare in the pot which begins to smell excellently."
"I'll do justice to your cooking, Golding, never fear. I'll look to themare first; she's had a trying day."
He led the animal into the small shed, and for some time was busy makingher comfortable for the night.
"Ah! the smell is appetising," he said as he joined Golding, "and I amravenous."
"And in good spirits, surely."
"Yes, we baulked them again, Golding. Yesterday afternoon we made in thedirection of Witley, and had as narrow a squeak of capture as I want toexperience. A troop was before us on the road, and one fellow with theeyes of a lynx sighted us. The poor fellow I was helping was a bit of acoward--no, I won't call him that, but constantly being hunted had takenthe heart out of him, and he was inclined to give up the struggle. Iurged him on, and we made for Witley, openly, and as if we wereconfident of a hiding-place in the town. Fortune favoured us, and wepulled up short in a hollow, the troop riding by us in desperate haste.Hot footed they poured into Witley, but for some reason which I did notunderstand they went no further. Half an hour afterwards they came back,all but two of them. I had counted them as they passed. Those tworemained in Witley until long after nightfall, then they rode back, andmy man had a free country before him."
"You'll run the risk once too often, Master Gilbert."
"That is probable, but, by Jove! I shall have done some good with mylife. This was the thirty-eighth man I've helped out of the clutches ofthese devils."
"And I was the first," said Golding. "It's wonderful how you schemed toget me out of Dorchester, Master Gilbert."
"And it's marvellous how you manage to make this hut a home that one isglad to get back to, Golding."
"Maybe we'll get back to Lenfield presently, Master Gilbert, and you'llthen shudder at the thought of what you had to put up with here."
"It will be some time before there will be safety for me at Lenfield,"said Crosby.
"And meanwhile a hare's no such bad fare, if the preparing and cookingof it does present some difficulties in a place like this," said Goldingas he replenished his master's plate.
Crosby had eaten little in the last twenty-four hours, and was silentfor some time.
"Thirty-eight is something, but it's a drop in the ocean," he saidpresently. "I wish I could open the prison doors in Dorchester beforethe assizes commence. There'll be murder enough done there in a fewdays, Golding."
"That is beyond your power, Master Gilbert," and the old man said it asif he feared his master would make the attempt.
"Yes, I am powerless. I wonder what became of that girl, Golding."
"Do you mean Harriet Payne?"
"I had forgotten her name for the moment," said Crosby. "When I came toDorchester after they had arrested you, I found out where you were, butI could hear nothing about her. I would give a great deal to set herfree."
"Yes, Master Gilbert."
"It is frightful for a woman to be in the clutches of these devils, andwhen that fiend Jeffreys comes to Dorchester, God help the women hejudges! I wonder what has become of the girl."
"She may have been released."
"Why should they release her when they would think it was within herpower to betray me?"
Golding shrugged his shoulders. "It was only a suggestion," he said.
"What is in your mind?" Crosby asked.
"An unjust thought, Master Gilbert. Since thirty years ago the one womanI ever thought of jilted me, I've had no love for any woman. I'm afraidof them and unjust in my thoughts of them. My opinion concerning womenis of no value."
"What were you thinking about Harriet Payne?"
"She was a bit flighty, Master Gilbert, and rather given to look down onthe other servants. That kind of girl is open to flattery."
"And then, Golding?"
"Then! Well, I'm no judge of women, but it seems to me that once they'refond of flattery you can make them do almost anything. She was agood-looking girl, was Harriet Payne, and if some young slip of a dandygot hold of her--well, she might make a bargain with him and getreleased that way."
"Was she that kind of girl?"
"I'm not saying so; I'm only putting it as a possibility," Goldinganswered. "Such bargains have been made, Master Gilbert, if the talesthey tell be true."
Crosby clenched his teeth suddenly, and struck his fist irritably on hisknee. One such tale he had heard, told of the brutal Colonel Kirke, awoman's honour sacrificed to save her lover, and sacrificed in vain. Hewas prepared to believe any villainy of such a man, and there were many,little better than Kirke, free to work their will in the West Countryto-day. He was conscious of the ribbon about his neck, he rememberedthat handclasp in the hidden chamber below Aylingford Abbey, and thankedHeaven that the fair woman who had done so much to help him was inLondon.
"Such thoughts make me sick, Golding," he said after a long pause. "Ifeel that I must rush into the midst of such villains and strike, strikeuntil I am cut down. Sometimes there comes the belief that if a man hadthe courage to charge boldly into such iniquity, God Himself would fightbeside him and give him victory."
"There peeps out the Puritan faith of your fathers, Master Gilbert. It'sa good faith, but over confident of miracles. You'd be
foolish throwingyour life away trying the impossible when there is so much you are ableto do well."
"I argued like that only a few hours since," said Crosby. "But, for allthat, there's a taste of cowardice left behind in the mouth. I shouldhave been back early this afternoon but for the fact that this troop Ispoke of was still hanging about the highway yonder."
"They did not see you!" Golding said in alarm. "They will not track youhere?"
"They were not watching for me. I take it the men were ordered not tofollow us beyond Witley, but to wait for other prey that was expected. Idid not see how it happened, nor where, only the result. They hadcaptured a coach, and were guarding it on the way to Dorchester. Whatunfortunate travellers it contained I do not know, I was at too great adistance to see. But in the midst of the villains there was a capturedhorseman, and they seemed to be ill-treating him. I touched the marewith the spur, thinking to go to his aid, but drew rein againimmediately. There was at least a score of men to 'do battle with."
"A wise second thought," said Golding.
"Leaving a taste in my mouth," said Crosby. "I thought I heardsomething, Golding."
"It was the mare in the shed."
"I heard her, but something else besides, I fancy," and, with Golding athis heels, he went out of the hut to listen. There were stars in the skyover the clearing. The night had fallen, and strange sounds came fromthe gloomy depths of the forest, sounds which might well set anunaccustomed ear intent to catch their meaning. Gilbert Crosby may nothave been able to account for all of them, but they did not trouble him.It was another sound he waited and listened for.
"There is nothing, Master Gilbert," Golding whispered.
"Wait."
Golding saw that a pistol was in his master's hand, so he took oneslowly from his pocket and tried to look into the darkness.
It was well that Gilbert Crosby saw the coach from such a distance, thathe could not catch a glimpse of the travellers. Had he known who thetravellers were, the spurs would have been driven deep into the mare'sflanks and there would have been no drawing rein; had he even recognisedthe horseman who was being ill-treated he would not have paused to countthe cost. A trooper or two might have gone down before his fierceattack, but a score of men, trained in fighting and on the alert, cannotbe scattered by one. Gilbert Crosby would have been flung lifeless onthe roadside, or overpowered and carried a prisoner to Dorchester.
The two women sat silently in the coach. Harriet Payne sobbed quietly.She was tired of abusing Martin, weary of telling her mistress that theyought to have kept to the high road and safety. At first she had brokenout at intervals with her wailing, and Barbara's commands to be silenthad not much effect.
Barbara did not answer her, did not look at her. Her own thoughts andfears were trouble enough. A trap had been laid for her, doubtless itwas of her uncle's contriving, and it was unlikely that she would beable to send even a message to Judge Marriott. Her mission was doomed tofailure, and she was in the hands of her enemies. What could they compelher to do? Was marriage with Lord Rosmore the only way out? She wouldnever take that way. Though they accused her of treason, though deaththreatened her, she would never marry him. To Judge Marriott she wasprepared to sacrifice herself, but to Lord Rosmore never, not even tosave the life of the man she loved. There had been moments when analliance with Rosmore had not appeared so dreadful to her, moments whenher disappointment concerning Gilbert Crosby had helped to make Rosmoreless repugnant to her; but from the moment she had determined tosacrifice herself these two men stood in clear and definite antagonism.The one she loved, the other she hated. Why she should so love and sohate she could not have explained fully, but the love and hate werefacts, and she made no attempt to reason about them.
She heard Martin's voice at intervals, complaining, garrulous, and thensuddenly jesting, jests not meant for her ears, but fitted to the roughcompany in the midst of which he rode. Poor Martin, she thought, MadMartin. This might make him mad indeed, drive from him entirely thatstrange wit he had and which he used so wonderfully at times. He hadbeen her playfellow, and her teacher, too, in many things, yet he wasone of God's fools. There was compensation in that surely.
Barbara winced presently when Martin's voice was raised in highercomplaint.
"What are you trying to do, you fool?" cried a gruff voice.
"I want to see that my mistress is happy. She would like me to ridebeside her window; and I will, too."
It was probably at this moment that Gilbert Crosby caught sight of thecavalcade, and thought the prisoner was being vilely ill-used. Wellmight he think so, for Martin attempted to force his way through thetroopers and get to the window.
"She's used to me," he literally screamed. "See what an ugly fellow isbeside the window now! Truth, I never saw so many ugly men together. Letme pass!"
"Peace, Martin, I am all right!" Barbara called from the window, fearfulthat these men might do him an injury.
"Take that idiot further back!" roared the voice of the man in commandof the troop. "He does naught but frighten the lady."
Martin received a cuff on the head, and was hustled to the rear, a manriding on either side of him.
"Who was the gentleman who struck me?" whined Martin, rubbing his head.
"Sayers. His is a good hand for dusting off flies," laughed one of themen beside him, willing to get some sport out of this madman.
"Flies! To judge by my head he must have fancied he saw a bullock beforehim. Lucky I dodged somewhat, or I'd have no head for flies to settleon. And who is the gentleman with the voice of thunder?"
"That's Watson."
"It's a good voice, but there's no music in it. You have never heard himsing, eh?"
"Aye, but I have. He can roar a fine stave about wine and women."
"I'll go and ask him to favour us," said Martin, jerking his horseforward.
"Stay where you are," and the man's hand shot out to the horse's bridle.
"Very well, very well, if you like my company so much. It's a strangething that they should put wine and women into the same song."
"Strange, you fool! Strong enough and beautiful enough, are they notboth intoxicating?"
"I know not," Martin answered. "I have no experience of strong women."
"Strong wine and beautiful women," I said.
"Did you. I am rather dull of hearing."
"You're a dull-witted fellow altogether to my thinking."
"It is most true, sir. I am so dull that I cannot see the wit in yourconversation."
"I can cuff almost as vigorously as Sayers," said the man a littleangrily, when his companion on the other side of Martin laughed.
"I will believe it without demonstration," said Martin, cringing in hissaddle. "You frighten me, and now I have lost my stirrups. I am no riderto get on without them. I shall fall. Of your kindness, gentlemen, findme my stirrups."
"Plague on you for a fool," said one.
"A blessing on you if you get my feet into the stirrups."
"Stop, then, a moment."
Martin pulled up, and the cavalcade went on. The two men, one on eitherside, brought their horses close to Martin's, and bent down to find thestirrups. Martin suddenly gave both horses the spur in the flanks with abackward fling of his heels, and at the same time struck each man aheavy blow on his lowered head. The horses sprang aside, one riderfalling in the roadway, the other stumbling with his animal into theditch by the roadside. The next instant Martin had whipped round his ownhorse, and was galloping back along the road.
It had been the work of a few seconds, and a few seconds more elapsedbefore the cavalcade came to a standstill.
Then a voice roared orders, half a dozen shots sang about the fugitive,and there were galloping horses quickly in pursuit.
Expecting the shots, Martin had flung himself low on the horse's neck.The animal, frightened by the swinging stirrups and driven by the spur,plunged madly along the road. So long as the road was straight, Martinlet the horse go, but at the first bend, wh
en there was no chance of hispursuers seeing him, he checked the animal a little, slipped from hisback, and with a blow sent him careering riderless along the road.
"He'll make a fine chase for them, and should find his way back toWitley," said Martin as he crouched down in a ditch which divided theroad from a wood. Cracking branches might have betrayed him had heentered the wood just then. Half a dozen horsemen passed him, gallopingin pursuit, and when the sounds had died away, and he was convinced thatno others followed, he crawled from the ditch and went straight beforehim into the wood. At a clearing he stopped and looked at the stars,then continued his way along a narrow track that went towards thesouth-west, in which direction lay Dorchester. He had no mind to enterthe town as a prisoner, but he meant to reach it all the same, and assoon as possible.
For an hour he pushed forward, and then came suddenly to the edge of aclearing of some size. He stopped. He saw nothing, he was not sure thathe heard anything, but the air seemed to vibrate with some presencebesides his own.
Perhaps he had heard the low sound which the opening door of the hutmade.
"You're a dead man if you move," said a voice out of the darkness.
Fairley started and made a step forward, but stopped in time.
"I should know that voice. I am Martin Fairley."
"Fairley!"
Crosby hurried forward to meet him.
"Have you been a prisoner in Dorchester?" Martin asked.
"A prisoner! No."
"The devil take that wench!"
"What wench?" Crosby asked.
"Give me something to drink and a mouthful of food. The story may betold in a few words, and then we must get to Dorchester."
"Martin! Why? Surely she--"
"Yes; she will be there within an hour or so. That is why we go toDorchester to-night."