Crown and Sceptre Part 69

"I don't like being beaten like this, Master Fred," grumbled Samson, leaning over to smooth the reeking coat of the horse his young master rode; "and it's all your fault."

"My fault? How?"

"Holding me back as you did, and letting that brother of mine get away sneering and sn.i.g.g.e.ring at me, with his nose c.o.c.ked up in the air, and swelling with pride till he's like the frog in the fable."

"How do you know he was sneering at you?" said Fred, who felt stiff, sore, and as if he would give anything to dismount and lie down among the soft elastic heather.

"How do I know, sir? Why, because it's his nature to. You don't understand him as I do. I can't see him, because I can't look through that hill, but I know as well as can be that he's riding on his horse close to Master Scarlett, and going off."

"Going off?"

"Yes, sir, in little puffs of laughing. It's his aggravating way. And he's keeping on saying, 'Poor old Samson!' till it makes my blood bile."

"What nonsense! He is more likely to be riding away jaded, and sore, and disheartened."

"Not he, sir, because he aren't got no heart, and never had none-- leastways, not a proper sort of heart. I can feel it, and I always could. He's a-sneering at us all, and thinking how he has beaten us, when, if you had let me have my head, I could have gone at him sword in hand--"

"And cut his head off?"

"Cut his head off, sir? Why, it aren't worth cutting off. I mean to keep my sword, which is a real good bit o' stuff, and as sharp as a scythe, for better heads than his. I wouldn't stoop to do it. No, Master Fred, I tell you what I'd have done: I'd have ridden up to him right afore 'em all, and I should have said, 'Nat, my lad, your time's come;' and I should have laid hold of him by the scruff of the neck, and beat him with the flat of the blade till he went down on his knees and said he wouldn't do so any more."

"Do what any more, Samson?"

"Everything as he have been doing."

"And suppose he wouldn't have let you beat him before all the others?"

"Wouldn't have let me, Master Fred? He'd have been obliged to. I should have made him."

"You are too modest, Samson," said Fred, laughing.

"Oh no, I'm not, sir--not a bit. I wish sometimes I was a bit more so.

But you should have let me go at him, sir. I'd have made him run, like a sheep with a dog at his heels."

"Ah, Samson," cried Fred, wearily, "it's sore work when brothers are fighting against each other."

"No worse, sir, than two such friends as you and Master Scarlett was.

Why, you was more than brothers. Oh, I don't like this here at all."

"What?"

"Running away with our tails between our legs, like so many dogs with stones thrown at 'em."

"It is miserable work, but better than being taken prisoners."

They rode on down into the coombe, and followed its wanderings with rear and advance guards, though they felt but little fear of pursuit, and for a long time hardly a word was spoken along the ranks. The horses were going at a foot-pace, and as they went the troopers played surgeon to each other, and bound up the slight wounds they had received, for these were many, though not enough to render them beyond fighting if necessity should occur.

Once the general called a halt, and posted scouts on the hills around, while he gave his men an opportunity to water their horses at the running stream at the bottom of the coombe, and to attend to the wounds the poor beasts had received, many a sword-cut intended for the rider having fallen upon his horse.

The surgery in these cases was simple and effectual. It consisted in thrusting a pin, sometimes two, through the skin which formed the lips of the wound, and then twisting a piece of thread round and round the pin, pa.s.sing it first under the head, and then under the point, the result being that the wound was drawn close, and so retained with a pad of thread. This rough treatment generally proved sufficient, and while the treatment was in progress the poor animals stood patiently turning their great, soft, earnest eyes upon the operator with a mournful look which seemed to say, "Don't hurt me more than you can help." Sometimes, but these were the exceptions, when instead of the above a stab had to be attended to, and a plug of flax thrust in, the horse would start, and give an angry stamp with its hoof, but only to stand patiently again, as if it resigned itself to its master, who must know what was best.

The general soon gave orders to continue the march, for he knew that the longer they stayed the stiffer and sorer his force would be; and once more the retreat was continued in a south-westerly direction, while, as the afternoon began to grow old, Samson, after having been very silent for a long time, turned sharply round.

"What are you thinking about, Master Fred?"

"I was wondering whether Scarlett Markham will behave as well to my mother as I did to his."

"He'd better," said Samson, fiercely. Then, after a pause, "Oh, I don't feel afraid about that, sir. He's sure to. You see, he's a gentleman, and there's a deal in being a gentleman. He'll take care of her, never fear. That's not what I was thinking."

"What were you thinking, then?" said Fred, anxiously.

"Well, sir, to speak the plain, downright, honest truth, as a Coombeland man should, whether he be a soldier or a gardener--"

"Yes, yes. Go on. You talk too much, Samson," said Fred, pettishly, for he was faint and sore.

"Well, sir, suppose I do. But I aren't neglecting anything, and there's nothing else to do. Seems quite a rest to hear one's self speak."

"Then speak out, and say what you were thinking."

"I was thinking, sir, that I wish I was a horse just now."

"A horse? Why?"

"So as I could have a good fill of water, and keep on taking a bite of sweet fresh green gra.s.s."

"Why, Samson!"

"Ah, you don't know, Master Fred. I'm that hungry, it wouldn't be safe to trust me anywhere near meat; and not so much as a turnip anywhere, nor a chance to catch a few trout. I wish I could tickle a few; I'd eat 'em raw."

"I'm sorry, Samson, and I haven't a sc.r.a.p of food with me."

"No, sir, nor n.o.body else. You see, we were all out for exercise, and not on the march, with our wallets full. And that aren't the worst of it. Master Fred, I could lie down and cry."

"Because you are so hungry?"

"No, sir; but when I think of what we've left behind at the Hall.

Ducks, sir, and chickens; and there was hams. Oh!" groaned Samson, laying his hand just below his heart, "those hams!"

Fred was weak, tired, faint, and low-spirited, but the doleful aspect of his henchman was so comic that he burst into a fit of laughter.

"Well, Master Fred," said the ex-gardener, letting the reins rest on the horse's neck, as he involuntarily tightened his belt, "I did think better of you than to s'pose you'd laugh at other folk's troubles. Then there was the cider, too. It wasn't so good as our cider at the Manor, sir, for they hadn't got the apples at the Hall to give it the flavour, spite of old Nat's bragging and boasting; but still, it wasn't so very bad for a thirsty man, though I will say it was too sharp, and some I tasted yesterday told tales."

"What of, Samson?"

"My lazy, good-for-nothing brother, sir," said Samson, triumphantly.

"Told tales of your brother--of Nat?"