Beau Brocade Part 38

Beau Brocade drew himself up to his full height, sought and found in the pocket of his coat the black mask which he habitually wore; this he fixed to his face, then drawing a pistol from his belt, he overtook Jock Miggs, clapped him vigorously on the shoulder, and shouted l.u.s.tily,-

"Stand and deliver!"

Jock Miggs, aroused from his pleasant meditations, threw up his hands in terror.

"The Lud have mercy on my soul!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed as he fell on his knees.

"Stand and deliver!" repeated Beau Brocade, in as gruff a voice as he could command.

Jock Miggs was trying to collect his scattered wits.

"B ... b ... but ... kind sir!" he murmured, "y ... y ... you wouldn't harm Jock Miggs, the shepherd ... would you?"

"Quick's the word! Now then..."

"But, good sir ... Oi ... Oi ... Oi've got nowt to deliver..."

Jock Miggs was pitiful to behold: at any other moment of his life Bathurst would have felt very sorry for the poor, scared creature, but that yelping hound was drawing desperately near and he had only a few minutes at his command.

"Naught to deliver?" he said with a great show of roughness, and seizing poor Jock by the collar.

"Look at your smock!"

"My smock, kind sir?..."

"Aye! I've a fancy for your smock ... so off with it ... quick!"

Jock Miggs struggled up to his feet, he was beginning to gather a small modic.u.m of courage. He had lived all his life on Bra.s.sing Moor and it was his first serious encounter with an armed gentleman of the road.

Whether 'twas Beau Brocade or no he was too scared to conjecture, but he had enough experience of the Heath to know that poor folk like himself had little bodily hurt to fear from highwaymen.

But of course it was always wisest to obey. As to his old smock...

"He! he! he! my old smock, sir!" he laughed vaguely and nervously, "why..."

"I don't want to knock the poor old cuckoo down," murmured Bathurst to himself, "but I've just got three minutes before that cur reaches the top of the clearing and ... Off with your smock, man, or I fire," he added peremptorily, and pointing the muzzle of his pistol at the trembling shepherd.

Miggs had in the meanwhile fully realised that the masked stranger was in deadly earnest. Why he should want the old smock was more than any shepherd could conceive, but that he meant to have it was very clear.

Jock uttered a final plaintive word of protest.

"Kind sir ... but if Oi take off my smock ... I sha'nt be quite d ... d ... decent ... sir ... wi' only my s.h.i.+rt."

"You shall have my coat," replied Bathurst, decisively.

"Lud preserve me! ... Your coat, sir!"

"Yes! it's old and shabby, and my waistcoat too.... Now off with that smock, or..."

Once more the muzzle of the pistol gleamed close to Jock Miggs's head.

Without further protest he began to divest himself of his smock. The process was slow and laborious, and Jack set his teeth not to scream with the agony of the suspense.

He himself had had little difficulty in taking off his own coat and waistcoat, for earlier in the day, before he had been so hard pressed, the pain in his shoulder had caused him to slip his left arm out of its sleeve.

Moreover, the excitement of these last fateful moments kept him at fever pitch: he was absolutely unconscious of aught save of the rapid flight of the seconds and the steady approach of dog and men towards the clearing.

Even Jock Miggs, who up to now had been too intent on his own adventure to take much heed of what went on in the gloom beyond, even he perceived that something unusual was happening on the Moor.

"What's that?" he asked with renewed terror.

"A posse of soldiers at my heels," said Beau Brocade, decisively, "that's why I want your smock, my man, and if I don't get it there'll be just time to blow out your dull brains before I fall into their hands."

This last argument was sufficiently convincing. Miggs thought it decidedly best to obey; he helped his mysterious a.s.sailant on with his own smock, cap and kerchief, and not unwillingly attired himself in Beau Brocade's discarded coat and waistcoat.

"A pistol in your belt in case you need it, friend," whispered Bathurst, rapidly, as he slipped one of the weapons in Miggs's belt, keeping the other firmly grasped in his own hand.

There was no doubt that the hound was on the scent now: the men had ceased shouting but their rapid footsteps could be heard following closely upon the dog, whose master was muttering a few words of encouragement.

Anon there came a whisper, louder than the rest,-

"This way!..."

Then another,-

"There's a path here!"

"Be gy! this confounded darkness!"

"Steady, Roy! steady, old man! Eh? What?"

"This way!"

"Can't you find the trail, old Roy?"

And the gorse was crackling beneath rapid and stealthy footsteps. There was now just the width of the clearing between Beau Brocade and his pursuers.

"This way, Sergeant. Roy's got the trail again."

Neither Jock Miggs nor yet Beau Brocade could see what was going on at the further end of the clearing. The dog, wildly straining against the leash, was quivering with intense excitement, his master hanging on to him with all his might.

Miggs, scared like some sheep lost among a herd of cows, was standing half-dazed, smoothing down with appreciative fingers the fine cloth of his new apparel, terrified every time his hand came in contact with the pistol in his belt.

But Beau Brocade had crept underneath a heavy clump of gorse and bramble, and with his finger on the trigger of his weapon he cowered there, ready for action, his eyes fixed upon the blackness before him.

The next moment the outline of the hound's head and shoulders became faintly discernible in the gloom. With nose close to the ground, powerful jaws dropping and parched tongue hanging out of its mouth, it was heading straight for the clump of gorse where cowered the hunted man.

Beau Brocade took rapid aim and fired. The dog, without a howl, rolled over on its side, whilst Jock Miggs uttered a cry of terror.

Then there was an instant's pause. The pursuers, silenced and awed, had stopped dead, for they had been taken wholly unawares, and for a second or two waited, expecting and dreading yet another shot.

Then a mild, trembling voice came to them from the darkness.