FullReads

For a moment it seemed that he did not hear me. ‘Pray Heaven I dowsed the light in time!’ he chattered. ‘Three visits in one night is more than my sins deserve. . . . Yes; the lane enters a half-mile this side of Alton, and returns back–‘

‘Well enough I know where it returns back’ said I. ‘Man, did you bewitch them?–as, a while ago, you bewitched me?’

‘Eh?’

I felt that he was peering at me in the dark.

‘Something has bewitched them,’ I persisted. ‘Either the wine or that devil’s toy of yours has hold of them; or the both, belike. These are the same men, and have travelled full circle, listen to them!–’tis the music of the spheres, sir.’

‘I believe you are right,’ said my host, with a chuckle. ‘O, Copernicus!’

I drew the door open gently and looked aloft. The night, before so starry, was now clouded over. The troopers–I could hear their horses’ hoofs above the whoops and yells of their chorusing–were winding downhill by a sunken way within ten yards of me. A gravel path lay between me and the hedge overlooking it. This I saw by the faint upcast rays of the lanterns they had lit for guidance. I tip-toed across to the hedge, and, peering over, was relieved of my last doubt: for at the tail of the procession and under charge of one drunken trooper for whipper-in, rode all my poor comrades with arms triced behind them and ankles lamentably looped under their horses’ bellies.

Even as they passed a thought came into my head: and the face of the whipper-in–seen dimly in the shadow of a lantern he joggled at his saddle-bow–decided me. I slipped off my sash, looped it loosely in my hand, and so, without waiting to say farewell to my host, slid down the bank into the lane.

Though I shot over the frozen bank a deal faster than ever I intended and dropped on the roadway with a thud, the trooper, bawling his chorus, did not turn in his saddle. I tip-toed after him, between a walk and a run, and still he did not turn. Not till I was level with his stirrup did he guess that I was on him; and even so he could scarcely roar out a curse before I had my sash flung over him and with a jerk fetched him clean out of his saddle. As he pitched sideways, the lantern fell with a clatter and rolled into the hedge.

‘What the devil’s up with you, back there!’ At the noise, I heard two or three of the midmost troopers rein up.

‘Right! All right!’ I called forward to them, catching the horse’s bridle and at the same time stooping over the poor fool–to gag him, if need were. He lay as he had fallen. I hope I have not his death to my account, and for certain no corpse lay in the road when I passed along it a few hours later.

‘Right!’ I called sturdily, deepening my voice to imitate that of my victim as nearly as I could match it–

‘Crop-headed Puritans, tow-row-row!’

Still shouting the chorus, I mastered the reluctant horse, swung myself into saddle, and edged up towards my comrades.

‘Carey! Shackell!’ I called softly, overtaking them.

At the sound of my voice, they came near to letting out a cry that had spoilt all. Masters, indeed, started a yell: but Small Owens (whose bands I had fortunately cut the first) reached out a hand and clapped it over his mouth.

‘How many be they?’ I asked as we rode.

‘Twenty-two,’ answered Randles, chafing his wrists, ‘and all drunk as lords.’

‘If we had arms,’ said Carey, ‘we might drive the whole lot.’

‘But since you have not,’ said I, ‘we must pitch our attempt lower. In three minutes we shall reach the high-road; and then strike spurs all to the right for Farnham!’