The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First by George Manville Fenn (classic romance novels .TXT) 📕

don’t know about that,” said Mark bluntly. “We retreated at last, when they got too many for us, but we charged six of ’em.—Didn’t we, Darley?”

“Yes; and upset four, and the other two ran,” said Ralph modestly. “But we only had to fight two at a time, and of course that made it even.”

“Very,” said the old man drily; and his eyes sparkled in the gloom at the frank way in which the two deadly enemies were relating their adventures.

“Then some more came down from up above,” continued Mark, “and two more got up again, and the odds seemed to be too great, and we retreated.”

“And very wisely too,” said Master Rayburn. “But let me look at your hurt, Mark, lad.—Tut-tut! soaked with blood.—Wound in the thigh.”

“Ah! Don’t touch it,” shouted the lad. “You hurt.”

“This must be seen to, my dear boy. I’ll come home with you and dress it.”

“Yes do, please. It makes me wriggle like a worm on a hook; but he’s hurt too.”

“Yes, I see. Roughly-bandaged, but, tut-tut-tut—why, the sword thrust has gone through. There is blood on both sides.”

“But it’s only through the skin, I think,” said Ralph.

“Only through the skin, my lad! It must be worse than that. But the other side? You paid them for this, I hope.”

“Oh yes, we gave them as much as we could, but we didn’t kill any one.”

“But we saw them carrying one away,” said Ralph.

“Oh yes: so we did.”

“The villains! And they wounded you both like this.”

Mark glanced at Ralph, and Ralph glanced at him.

“No,” said Ralph quietly; “they did not wound us.”

“Then how came these injuries?” said the old man anxiously.

“Oh, never mind,” cried Mark pettishly; “it doesn’t matter. We got ’em—somehow.”

“How was it, Ralph Darley?” said the old man sternly.

“He overtook me, and we quarrelled, and fought,” said the lad quietly.

“Ah!”

“And just in the middle of it we found that these men had surrounded us.”

“Yes, yes, yes; don’t make such a fuss about it, Master Rayburn,” cried Mark hastily. “And then we had to join and whip the beggars, and we did whip ’em at last; and my leg hurts horribly, and you stand there talking, instead of coming home to doctor it.”

“Yes,” said the old man, looking at the lad curiously, and then at Ralph. “Come along, boy. You, Darley, you had better come up to the Black Tor, and be attended to there.”

“No, thank you, Master Rayburn; I must make haste back. Come and see to my arm when you have done his.”

Ralph turned upon his heel as he spoke, and hurried away through the bushes; while, feeling puzzled, and yet pleased and hopeful, Master Rayburn gave the cob its head, and walked on and up the steep zigzag beside his young friend, carefully avoiding all allusion to the lads’ duel, and discussing the possibility of an expedition to drive the marauders out of their stronghold.

“I’m not a man of war, Mark,” he said; “but I shall have to carry a pike instead of an eel-spear against these villains. We shall none of us be safe.”

“Oh yes, we’ll talk about that to-morrow,” said Mark peevishly. “This hurts horribly. I say, don’t say anything to my father about my fighting alongside that young Darley. I was obliged to, you see.”

“Of course you were, my lad! We must all make common cause against such an enemy. No, I will not say anything unless you wish me to.”

“Thank ye. Father mightn’t like it, you see.”

“But you will tell him?”

“No, I think not—I don’t know—well, there, not to-night. I’m giddy, and feel sick. I didn’t notice it so much when I was hot and all in the fight, but it’s very painful now. Would you mind putting your arm round me? I feel as if I should fall off.”

“My poor brave boy!” said the old man gently, as he supported the wounded lad. “There, only a little farther. Ah! Hoi! Rugg! Dummy Rugg! Here, quick!”

The lad, who was perched upon a block of stone half-way up the zigzag, evidently watching for his young master’s return, sprang down and came running to them.

“What’s the matter?” he cried hoarsely. “Don’t say Master Mark’s hurt!”

“Hush! Quiet, boy!” said Master Rayburn quickly. “Help me to get him into his own room without frightening Miss Mary.”

“Yes; but what’s the matter?” cried the boy.

“Been attacked—fighting—slightly wounded.”

“But who done it?—I know. It was them Darleys. Which of ’em was it?”

“Quiet, I tell you, boy! Can’t you see he has fainted? Why do you want to know?”

“To kill him,” said the lad, through his teeth.

“Humph! you young savage,” muttered Master Rayburn; “then you will not know from me. Lead the pony carefully, Dummy,” he continued aloud. “Where is Sir Edward? where is your young mistress?”

“Out in the garden, waiting for him to come home to supper. Who hurt him?”

“Will you mind the pony’s head, or must I come and lead him?” cried the old man angrily.

“Yes; but I want to help Master Mark,” cried the lad.

“Mind the pony, sir. Ah! here is one of the men. Here, you are stronger than I am. Lift Master Mark up carefully, so as not to jar his leg. Dummy, run in and get a chair.”

This was done, another of the serving men coming out to see what was the matter, and they lifted and bore in the half-fainting lad; while Master Rayburn disencumbered himself of his creel and rod, and prepared to follow, to turn chirurgeon instead of angler, when Dummy caught him by the sleeve.

“You won’t tell me who did it?” he said sharply.

“No: it is no affair of yours, boy,” said the old man; and he shook him off, and entered the gate.

“Yes, it is,” muttered Dummy; and he did what he had never done before—sprang after the old man, entered the hall, and caught him by the sleeve.

“You here, sir!” cried Master Rayburn. “What is it now?”

“Is Master Mark going to die?”

“Yes, when he grows to be an old man. Not now. Go away.”

“Yes, I’ll go away,” muttered Dummy, as he slunk out, and away through the gate. “But I want to know who it was. I know it was one of them Darleys, and I’m going to see; and if it was, I’ll kill him.”

As he spoke, the lad stood for a few moments thinking of what he had better do, and ended by dashing down the steep zigzag path leading to the bottom of the rock, when he made his way through the gap, and began to run at a dog-trot in the direction taken by Ralph a quarter of an hour before.

Ralph, on parting from Mark and Master Rayburn, walked away quite briskly till he was well out of sight, and then he stopped short to lean against a tree and rest for a while, for he felt deadly sick. He laid his left hand upon his sleeve, and felt that it was very wet; but the bandage had stopped the bleeding, though not the pain, which was like the sensation of a hot iron being plunged into his flesh, accompanied by throbbings which at times seemed too painful to bear.

But after a few minutes’ rest he went on again, light in spirit, in spite of the bodily suffering; and the way seemed short when he was walking, for his mind was full of the recollections of the day.

For that day had begun well. The walk had been delightful in the pleasant cool breeze which blew from the hills, and promised a ripple on the water of the open river he was bound to fish, and he had not been deceived. In fact the grayling had risen freely to the natural fly he had softly thrown, and his creel had grown heavier till well on in the afternoon, when he had started back with his load.

Then came the pad, pad of the pony’s hoofs on the soft grass, with an occasional click when the shoe caught upon a stone. Then he was overtaken by Mark, and the encounter followed, one which was more full of pleasure in its memories than pain, and the lad’s lips curled in a smile as he went over everything which had passed till they parted.

Somehow these thoughts would be pleasant, although mingled with them came others of their next meeting. Every now and then, though, the lad’s progress was hindered by the throbbing of his wound, and the giddy, faint sensation which followed; and twice over, when his forehead turned damp, he threw himself down amongst the ferns to lie for a few minutes on the cool moist earth, with the result each time that the sensation of swimming and sickness passed off.

Then he rose again, and plodded on, getting nearer and nearer to home; but the darkness increased till it became hard work to avoid the stones which lay about, and his way beneath the trees near the river grew solemn and gloomy in the extreme.

Once he started as he was listening to the croaking of the frogs down among the sedges and rushes, for a peculiar hoarse cry arose from close by; but he was country boy enough to know that it was the peculiar sonorous squawk of a heron, evidently a visitor to the river for the sake of the aforesaid frogs.

A little farther on, after one of his rests, just as he was starting again, a low whoo-whoo-whoo! was uttered close to his ear, and answered from a little farther on, to be apparently echoed again from the trees high up on the side of the cliff.

But after the first startled sensation, he walked on steadily enough, for the cry of the brown owl was quite familiar to him, and he knew that it was only uttered in all probability close to some patch of ivy, where small birds roosted, to startle them out, ready for the sharp dash of their enemy’s claw, from whose four-way talon clutch there was no escape.

“How cowardly I am to-night,” he said to himself. “Everything sounds different. It’s being tired, and feeling the pain of my wound. Soon be home now.”

Then he began thinking of his father, and what he would say about the two encounters; and in imagination he saw his stern frowning face.

But he was satisfied that Sir Morton would be glad to hear the news about Captain Purlrose and his men, and he began to think that there would be some talk of attacking the gang of thieves in their lurking-place; for, as Master Rayburn had said, they could not be allowed to harbour there.

Ralph gave quite a jump now, for he heard a sharp rustling sound, followed by the rattle of a little stone, a short distance behind him, and he increased his pace, with his heart beating heavily.

“Just as if some one was following me,” he thought, “and stepped upon a stone, and sent it rolling.”

But he soon calmed down again, though he did not slacken his pace, keeping on as fast as his weakness and the darkness would allow, with the result that it was not more than half of his ordinary rate.

Again he was startled by a sound behind, this time as if a piece of dead wood had cracked sharply, from the weight of some one following.

This time it was nearer, and succeeded by a rustling, plainly enough caused by some one or something forcing a way through the bushes. Some one or something? The lad felt that it must be something. If it had been some one, he would have spoken; but what thing could it be?

He was in a dense part of his way now, with the sky quite hidden by the overhanging boughs, so that it was not possible to see more than a few feet behind or before him, and hence he looked back in vain; and though he listened intently there was no heavy snorting breath, such as he would probably have heard if it had been pony or cow.

“It’s some one tracking me,” thought