The Time Mirror Part 14

"Whoa, there!" came the voice of the burly man on the box. And then: "Well, Jacques, what now? We're away from the castle, but where do we go?"

Mark swung to the ground. Glanced back to where the Chateau Morriere still loomed black and menacing on a distant ridge.

"Every road and bridge is blocked," the other went on. "The peasantry's none too peaceful in these parts, and the baron's taking no chances."

Mark nodded slowly.

"What do you think, Baroc?" he asked. Somehow, he knew that was the man's name.

The burly one scowled.

"Paris, I suppose," he grunted. "If you once get there, and into the slums, the devil himself couldn't rout you out."

"Do you think we can make it?"

"Maybe." A shrug. "We could try the post road."

"All right. Let's go."

They jogged on through the night, the coach swaying and b.u.mping over the rough track. Then lights began to sparkle ahead. Baroc pulled up.

"The Golden c.o.c.k Inn," he grunted, nodding toward the lights.

"Morriere's guards will be there. We'll have to run for it, so be ready for rough going."

The next instant they were rolling again. Closer the lights came, and closer. Now they were almost abreast them....

"Halt!"

A man was running toward them, waving his arms.

Baroc shattered the night with a fearful oath. His long whip cracked over the backs of the double-span of greys ahead. The horses leaped forward.

They were past the inn, driving h.e.l.lbent through the pitch-blackness of the countryside. But behind them was a tumult of shouts, a wild disorder.

Mark shot a glance through the window. Caught a glimpse of running figures.

"Jacques! Are they after us?" There was panic in Elaine's voice.

A clatter of hooves answered her before Mark could open his mouth. The girl clung to him, her face chalky with fear.

"If the baron catches me again, Jacques--"

"He won't catch you! I promise it, Elaine! He won't!"

But the words of Adrian Vance leaped into his brain like red-hot branding irons:

_Elaine Duchard was tortured and murdered by Baron Morriere's retainers!_

Were these men the ones history had marked to do the awful deed?

The thunder of hooves was almost upon them now. The coach rocked from side to side. Bounced wildly from one rut to another.

A hoa.r.s.e bellow from Baroc:

"They're coming, Jacques!"

Then out of the night like the wind itself the riders came. Big men, with fierce eyes and savage, brutal faces. Men cut from the same pattern as their master, Baron Morriere.

"Halt!"

"To h.e.l.l with you!"

A rider surged ahead. He cut in toward the coach's horses.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

Baroc's whip lashed out. Bit into the face of the horseman. Laid the flesh bare from eye to jaw. The man gave a shriek of agony. Pitched from his saddle into the road. The coach leaped high as it struck his falling body.

But the others closed in. One sprang from his horse to a precarious perch on the mounting-board. His bearded face leered in. A knife flashed.

_Boom!_

The man fell back, dead before he hit the ground, his throat torn out by the slug from Mark's horse pistol. The coach was blue with the acrid stench of gunpowder smoke.

"Oh, Jacques! Don't let them get me! I love you so, Jacques--no matter what happens--"

Mark's arm was tight around Elaine. His face was taut and grim as they bounced onward. He fingered the haft of a broad-bladed knife in his belt.

"They won't get you! I promise it--"

Then, suddenly, their enemies were rus.h.i.+ng to the attack again. From all sides they came. The point of a sword cut off Baroc's hoa.r.s.e cry in mid-breath. He pitched from the box.

On through the night plunged the driverless coach, the horses mad with fright. A bridge loomed ahead. They raced for it like creatures from h.e.l.l, flanks lathered, nostrils flaring.

Another rider tried to spring to the coach. Mark's knife flashed out.

Drove home.

Then they were onto the bridge.

With a roar the coach jumped sidewise on the boards. Crashed into the flimsy railing. Tottered for a moment above the stream. Plunged backward into the water, dragging the horses with it.

Mark felt himself hurled back into one corner. His head smashed hard against something. Consciousness waned.

But the rush of water revived him. He lurched half-erect as the river spilled through the windows in a tidal wave.