Ralph Darley’s disposition led him to determine to say nothing about what had passed, but his lame legs forced him to confess how it was his ankles were so bad, and Sir Morton was furious. He was ready to declare war on a small scale against his neighbour, and carry fire and sword into his camp. But Ralph’s legs were better the next day; and when the whole history of the two encounters had been gone over, he thought better of the affair, to the extent of determining to wait till his son was quite well again; and when he was quite well, there were other things to dwell upon.
For one, Nick Garth, who had been across to one of the villages beyond the moor, came back with his head bleeding, and stripped to breeches and shirt.
His account of his trouble was that he was coming home in the dark, keeping one eye upon a flickering light some distance away up the mountain-side. Sometimes it was visible, at others all was black; and he was wondering whether it had anything to do with the witches’ fire of which he had heard tell, when all at once he found himself surrounded by seven or eight wild-looking figures, either in long gowns or cloaks, who seized him; and upon his resisting wildly, they knocked him down, took the best of his clothes away, emptied his pockets, and departed, carrying off a large basket he was taking home, a basket containing two chickens, two ducklings, and a big pat of butter, the present of a married sister beyond the moors.
The next day news reached the Black Tor that the witches had been seen again by two different miners, and in each case the tale was the same.
The witches were crowding together in a huddled way, in their long cloaks, over a fire. A caldron was hung from three sticks, joined together at the top, and one of the men declared that they must have been busy over some unhallowed work.
“Why do you say that, man?” asked Mark.
“Because they were chanting some horrible thing together.”
“You heard that?”
“Ay, Master Mark, I heered it.”
“A song?”
“Song, Master Mark? Save us, no! A song makes your eyes water if it’s about solemn things, or it makes you laugh if it’s comic; but this made the marrow in my bones turn hard as taller, for it went through me; and as I watched them, they all got up and joined hands, and began to walk slowly round the great pot over the fire, and the light shone on their horrible faces and long ragged gowns. I wanted to run away, but my legs was all of a tremble. I’d ha’ give anything to run, but they legs wouldn’t go, and there I stood, watching ’em as they danced round the fire a little faster, and a little faster, till they were racing about, singing and screeching. And then all at once they stopped and shouted ‘Wow?’ all together, and burst into the most horrid shrecking laughter you ever heered, and the light went out. That seemed to set my legs going, master, and I turned to get away as fast as ever I could go, when I heered some kind o’ wild bird whistle over the mountain-side, and another answered it close to me: and before I knew where I was, the great bird fluttered its wings over me, and I caught my foot in a tuft of heather, and fell.”
“Well, and what then?” asked Mark.
“Nothing, sir, only that I ran all the way home to my cottage yonder, and you ask my wife, and she’ll tell you I hadn’t a dry thread on me when I got in. Now, sir, what do you say?”
“All nonsense!” replied Mark bluntly, and he walked away.
Another few days passed. Mark had been very quiet and thoughtful at home, reading, or making believe to read, and spending a good deal of time in the mine with Dummy Rugg, who twice over proposed that they should go on exploring the grotto-like place he had discovered; but to his surprise, his young master put it off, and the quiet, silent fellow waited. He, though, had more tales to tell of the way in which things disappeared from cottages. Pigs, sheep, poultry went in the most unaccountable way, and the witches who met sometimes on the mountain slope had the credit of spiriting them away.
“Then why don’t the people who lose things follow the witches up, and see if they have taken them?”
“Follow ’em up, sir?” said Dummy, opening his eyes very widely. “They wouldn’t dare.”
Then came a day when, feeling dull and bitter and as if he were not enjoying himself at home, as he did the last time he was there, Mark mounted one of the stout cob ponies kept for his and his sister’s use, and went for a good long round, one which was prolonged so that it was getting toward evening, and the sun was peering over the shoulder of one of the western hills, when, throwing the rein on his cob’s neck, and leaving it to pick its own way among the stones of the moorland, he entered a narrow, waste-looking dale, about four miles from the Tor.
He felt more dull and low-spirited than when he started in the morning, probably from want of a good meal, for he had had nothing since breakfast, save a hunch of very cake-like bread and a bowl of milk at a cottage farm right up in the Peak, where he had rested his pony while it had a good feed of oats.
The dale looked desolation itself, in spite of the gilding of the setting sun. Stone lay everywhere: not the limestone of his own hills and cliffs, but grim, black-looking millstone-grit, which here and there formed craggy, forbidding outlines; and this did not increase his satisfaction with his ride, when he took up the rein and began to urge the cob on, to get through the gloomy place.
But the cob knew better than his master what was best, and refused to risk breaking its legs among the stones with which the moor was strewn.
“Ugh! you lazy fat brute,” cried Mark; “one might just as well walk, and— Who’s that?”
He shaded his eyes from the sun, and looked long and carefully at a figure a few hundred yards ahead till his heart began to beat fast, for he felt sure that it was Ralph Darley. Ten minutes after, he began to be convinced, and coming to a clearer place where there was a pretence of a bit of green sward, the cob broke into a canter of its own will, which brought its rider a good deal nearer to the figure trudging in the same direction. Then the cob dropped into a walk again, picking its way among great blocks of stone; and Mark was certain now that it was Ralph Darley, with creel on back, and rod over his shoulder, evidently returning from one of the higher streams after a day’s fishing.
Mark’s heart beat a little faster, and he nipped his cob’s sides; but the patient animal would not alter its steady walk, which was at about the same rate as the fisher’s, and consequently Mark had to sit and watch his enemy’s back, as, unconscious of his presence, Ralph trudged on homeward, with one arm across his back to ease up the creel, which was fairly heavy with the delicate burden of grayling it contained, the result of a very successful day.
“He has his sword on this time,” said Mark to himself, “and I’ve got mine.”
The lad touched the hilt, to make sure it had not been jerked out of the scabbard during his ride.
“Just a bit farther on yonder,” he muttered, gazing at the steep slope of a limestone hill to his right, and a mile distant, “there are some nice level bits of turf. I can overtake him then, and we can have a bit of a talk together.”
The cob walked steadily on, avoiding awkward places better than his master could have guided him, and suddenly stopped short at a rocky pool, where a little spring of water gushed from the foot of a steep slope, and lowered its head to drink.
“You don’t want water now,” said Mark angrily; and he tightened the rein, but his cob had a mouth like leather; and caring nothing for the bit, bore upon it heavily, stretched out his neck, and had a long deep drink.
“I wish I had spurs on,” muttered Mark; “I’d give you a couple of such digs, my fine fellow.”
Then he sat thinking.
“Good job I haven’t got any on. I should trip, for certain, when we were at it.”
Then the cob raised its dripping mouth, which it had kept with lips very close together, to act as a strainer to keep out tadpoles, water-beetles, leeches, or any other unpleasant creatures that might be in the water, took two or three steps back and aside, and then, noticing that there was a goodly patch of rich juicy herbage close by the spring, it lowered its head once more, uttered a snort as it blew the grass heavily, to drive off any flies that might be nestling among the strands, and began to crop, crop at the rich feed.
“Oh come, I’m not going to stand that,” cried Mark, dragging at the pony’s head. “You’re so full of oats now that you can hardly move, and he’ll be looking back directly, and thinking I’m afraid to come on.”
The cob’s head was up: so was its obstinate nature. It evidently considered it would be a sin to leave such a delicious salad, so tempting and juicy, and suitable after a peck or two of dry, husky oats; and, thoroughly determined not to pass the herbage by, it set its fore feet straight out a good distance apart, and strained at the reins till, as Mark pulled and pressed his feet against the stirrups, it seemed probable that there would be a break.
“Oh, you brute!” cried the lad angrily; “you ugly, coarse, obstinate brute! Pony! You’re not a pony, I feel sure; you’re only a miserable mule, and your father was some long-eared, thick-skinned, thin-tailed, muddle-headed, old jackass. Look here! I’ll take out my sword, and prick you with the point.”
The cob evidently did not believe it, and kept on the strain of the bit, till the lad took a rein in each hand, and began to saw the steel from side to side, making it rattle against the animal’s teeth.
This seemed to have a pleasant effect on the hard mouth, and produced the result of the cob nodding its head a little; and just then, to Mark’s great disgust, Ralph turned his head and looked back.
“There! I expected as much. Now go on, you beast, or I’ll kill you.”
The pony snorted with satisfaction, for in his excitement, the rider had slackened the reins a little. Down went the animal’s muzzle; there was another puff to blow away the insects, and it began to crop again, with that pleasant sound heard when grazing animals are amongst rich herbage.
Then followed a fresh struggle, and the pony won, taking not the slightest notice of the insulting remarks made by its rider about its descent, appearance, and habits.
But at last, perhaps because it had had its own way, more probably because it was not hungry, and just when the rider was thinking of getting down to walk, and sending Dummy Rugg to find the animal next day, it raised its head, ground up a little grass between its teeth and then began to follow Ralph once more, as he trudged on without turning his head again.
Still, try as he would, Mark could not get the animal to break into a canter; in fact, the way was impossible; and when the sun had sunk down below the western hill, which cast a great purple shadow, to begin rising slowly higher and higher against the mountain on his left, he and Ralph were still at about the same distance apart.
“I can’t halloa to him to stop,” muttered Mark angrily; “I don’t want to seem to know him, but to overtake him, and appear surprised, and then break into a quarrel hotly and at once. Oh! it’s enough to drive anyone mad. You brute! I’ll never try to ride you again.”
Rather hard, this, upon the patient beast which had carried him for many miles that day, and was carefully abstaining now from cantering recklessly amongst dangerous stones, and giving its master a heavy fall. But boys will be unreasonable sometimes, almost as unreasonable as some men.
Finding at last that drumming the cob’s sides was of no use, jerking the bit of not the slightest avail, and that whacks with the sheathed sword only produced whisks of the tail, Mark subsided into a sulky silence, and rode at a walk, watching the enemy’s back as he trudged steadily on.
The vale grew more gloomy on the right side, the steep limestone hill being all in shadow, and the rough blocks looked like grotesque creatures peering out from among the blackening bushes; and as he rode on, the lad could not help thinking that by night the place might easily scare ignorant, untutored, superstitious people, who saw, or fancied they saw, strange lights here and there.
“And in the sunshine it is as bright as the other hill,” thought Mark, as he glanced at the left side of the dale; “not very bright, though. It’s a desolate place at the best of times;” and once more he glanced up the steep slope on his right.
“Wonder why they call it Ergles,” he mused. “Let’s see; it’s up there where the cave with the hot spring is. Not a bit farther on.”
He was still a long distance from home, and knowing that before long Ralph Darley would turn off to the left, he again made an effort to urge on the cob, but in vain.
“And he’ll go home thinking I’m afraid,” muttered the lad; “but first time I meet him, and he isn’t a miserable, wretched, contemptible cripple, I’ll show him I’m not.”
“Then you shall show him now,” the cob seemed to say, for it broke into a smart canter, but only because the bottom of the dale was here free from stones, and in a very short time Ralph was overtaken.
“Here, hi! fellow! clear the road,” shouted Mark; and he essayed to stop. But now, the way being good, the cob was anxious to get on and reach its stable, passing Ralph quickly enough, and enraging its rider more and more.
“Oh, you brute, you brute!” he muttered. “Now he can’t help thinking I’m afraid of him. If I only had a whip.”
For the moment Mark felt disposed to turn in the saddle, and make some insulting gesture at the lad behind—one that would make him, if he had any courage within, come running rapidly in pursuit. But the act would have seemed too weak and boyish, when he wanted to be manly; and he refrained, contenting himself with dragging hard at the rein, till a hundred yards farther the ground grew stony again, and the pony dropped into a walk, and picked its way in and out more slowly than ever.
This had the result that Mark desired, for a glance back showed him that Ralph was coming on fast, and in a few minutes he had overtaken him, just as he sprang off his pony and faced round.
“Oh, it is you,” said Mark haughtily.
“Yes,” said Ralph, meeting his eyes boldly.
“I thought it was. Well, you are not lame now?”
“No.”
“And I see you have a sword.”
“Yes, I have my sword.”
“Then as we are equal now, and if you are not afraid, we may as well have a little conversation with them.”
“Fight?” said Ralph quietly. “Why?”
“Ha-ha!” laughed Mark, with his face flushing. “Why? Because we are gentlemen, I suppose; because we have been taught to use our swords; at least I have; and it’s the worse for you if you have not.”
“But I have,” said Ralph firmly, his own cheeks beginning to look hot; “but I don’t see that this is a reason why we two should fight.”
“Then I’ll give you another,” cried Mark; “because you are a Darley, and I am an Eden, and we cannot meet without drawing swords. Your people were always a set of cut-throats, murderers, robbers, and thieves.”
“It’s a lie,” cried Ralph hotly. “My people were always gentlemen. It was your people who always insulted ours, as you are insulting me now, and did a few minutes ago, when you passed me going quietly on my way.”
“That’s enough,” said Mark sharply. “Out of the way, beast,” and he drew his sword and struck the cob sharply on the flank, sending it trotting onward at the risk of breaking its knees.
“This is your doing,” said Ralph quietly, as he threw down his rod, and passed the strap of his creel over his head, to swing it after.
“Bah! don’t talk,” cried Mark hotly. “This place will do. It is as fair for you as for me.”
He made a gesture with his sword toward a tolerably level spot, and Ralph bowed his head.
“Then draw,” cried Mark, throwing down his cap.
Ralph followed his example, and the next moment his own bright blade leaped from its sheath, and without further preliminary, they crossed their trusty blades, which emitted a harsh grating noise as they played up and down, flashing in the paling evening light, each awaiting the other’s attack.
Mark, in the fear that his enemy would doubt his prowess, began the attack; and in defending himself from his adversary’s thrusts Ralph soon showed him that he had learned the use of his thin rapier from a master the equal of his own teacher, thus making the hot-headed youth more cautious, and ready to turn aside the thrusts which followed when he ceased his own.
They fenced equally well, and for a few minutes no harm was done. Then all at once, in response to a quick thrust, a spot appeared high up above the russet leather boot which came half-way up Mark’s thigh, and Ralph leaped back with a strange feeling of compunction attacking him that he could not understand.
“Nothing,” cried Mark angrily; “a scratch,” as he pressed his teeth upon his nether lip; and they crossed swords once more, with the wounded lad commencing the attack with as much vigour as before. And now, forgetful of everything but the desire to lay one another hors de combat, they thrust and parried for the next minute, till Ralph uttered a faint cry, as his adversary’s sword passed through his doublet, between his right arm and ribs, a sharp pang warning him that the blade had pierced something more than the velvet he wore.
Mark dropped the point of his blade, for at that moment a whistle rang out, and he looked inquiringly in the direction from which it had come, leaving himself quite open to any treacherous attack had it been intended.
But none was meant, Ralph standing with his left hand pressing his side, just below the armpit, as another whistle was heard from a fresh direction. Others followed, and the adversaries looked sharply at each other.
“Not birds,” said Ralph quickly.
“Don’t look like it,” said Mark bitterly, as he drew his breath with a hissing noise, as if in pain.
“We’re surrounded,” cried Ralph excitedly, as they saw six or seven men appearing from different directions, and evidently all making the spot where the lads now stood the centre for which they aimed.
“You coward!” cried Mark bitterly—“a trap—your father’s men. En garde!” he shouted. “You shall pay for this!”
“My father’s men?” cried Ralph angrily, as he ignored the other’s preparations for a fresh attack. “You’re mad; can’t you see they’re those scoundrels who came to us—Captain Purlrose and his men. Look, there he is—up yonder by that hole.”
“What do they mean, then?” cried Mark, dropping the point of his weapon.
“Mischief to us,” cried Ralph.
“Or me,” said Mark suspiciously.
“To us, I tell you,” cried Ralph.—“You won’t give in?”
“No; will you?”
“Not if you’ll stand by me.”
“And I will,” cried Mark excitedly.
“But you are wounded.”
“So are you.”
“I don’t feel it now.”
“No more do I. Hurrah, then; let them come on!”
But the men did not come on, and the two lads, now breathing hard from their exertions, had time to think as well as recover their breath, for the men, after carefully approaching singly from different directions, so as to surround the combatants, now halted as if by one consent a good fifty yards away, each looking upward from time to time at the burly cloaked figure high above them, and now standing upon a big block of stone, making signals by waving his arms and pointing.
In answer to one of these signals, the men all took off the long cloaks they wore; and in a moment the thought flashed through Mark Eden’s brain that these men must have been seen seated round their fire, somewhere above, and hence had arisen the rumours of witches on the mountain slope, the cloaks being their long gowns.
And now, as the men stood fast, in spite of several signs from above, Ralph suddenly said:
“Perhaps they’ve only come to see us fight, and are waiting for us to begin again.”
“Not they,” cried Mark excitedly. “I know: they mean to take us prisoners, and keep us till we’re ransomed.”
“Perhaps. That is why we have heard of so many robberies,” said Ralph, whose hot anger against his enemy was fast cooling down.
“Yes, that’s it. The dogs!” cried Mark. “I know there’s a big cave up there that you go in through a narrow crack. I saw it once. They couldn’t get my father to have them up at the Tor, and so they’ve taken possession of the cavern and turned robbers. Well, my father will soon rout them out of there.”
“If yours don’t, mine will,” replied Ralph. “But they don’t seem disposed to interfere. Are they stopping to see us fight?”
“If they are,” cried Mark hotly, “they’ll have to wait a long time. I’m not going to make a raree-show of myself to please them.”
“Nor I neither,” cried Ralph. “But,” he added hastily, “you know I’m not afraid?”
“Say you know that I’m not afraid either, and I’ll say the same.”
“Oh, I’ll say that,” replied Ralph, “because I know it.”
“That’s right, then,” said Mark; “and we can finish having it out another time.”
“Of course. I say, though, your leg’s bleeding a good deal.”
“Oh, never mind that. So’s your arm.”
“Can’t be deep,” said Ralph, “because it only smarts a bit. I say, look there! That’s Captain Purlrose upon the stone, and he’s making signals again.”
The wide ring of men saw the signs made by the burly figure above, and they all wrapped their cloaks round their left arms, and then drew their swords.
“Then they do mean to fight,” cried Mark excitedly.
“Yes, but they don’t come on. I say: you’re not going to let them take you prisoner, are you?”
“I’m not going to run away,” said Mark sturdily.
“But they are six to one,” said Ralph.
“Yes, if you stand still and look on. If you won’t let them take you, they’ll only be three to one.”
“I’m going to make a dash for it,” said Ralph, setting his teeth hard, for his wound smarted a good deal, and there was a peculiar warm feeling as of something trickling down his sleeve.
“What, run away?”
“Who said I was going to run away?” cried Ralph. “Look here: in war two kings who hate one another often join together against an enemy.”
“Of course,” said Mark.
“I hate you and all your family, but we don’t want any one else to set up here, near our homes, do we?”
“No,” said Mark sharply.
“Then I’ll stand by you like a trump,” cried Ralph; “if you’ll stand by me now. It’s long odds, but we’ve got right on our side.”
“Shake hands on it then,” cried Mark— “No, we can’t do that, because it’s like making friends, when we’re enemies and hate one another.”
“No, we can’t shake hands,” said Ralph warmly, “but we can make our swords kiss hilts, and that’s joining together for the fight.”
“Agreed,” cried Mark; and the lace steel shells of their rapiers clinked together, making the men, who were watching them intently, exchange glances. “I say,” said Mark hastily, “wasn’t that a mistake?”
“What?”
“Joining like that. It’s making our swords friends.”
“Only till this skirmish is over,” said Ralph.
“Oh yes; of course. We can make the blades kiss then. Here, what’s that Captain what-you-may-call-him doing, waving his arms like that?”
“Means for them to come on and attack. He’s savage because they don’t,” said Ralph.
“Yes, that’s it. I believe they’re afraid of getting more holes in their jerkins.”
“Ha-ha!” laughed Ralph; “and they have no room, I suppose. Look here, let’s have a dash for it.”
“What! run away? That I won’t, from them, so long as I’ve got a sword.”
“Run away! No!” cried Ralph, who was bubbling over with excitement, the slight wound he had received acting as a spur to his natural desire to punish some one for his pain. “Can’t you see that if we make a dash at them on one side, we shall only have two to fight for a bit till the others can come up; and we might wound the first two if we’re quick, before their companions could attack.”
“Well said, general,” cried Mark excitedly. “That’s right. Let’s look sharp then, for my leg hurts as if it was getting stiff.”
“Never mind your leg. Hallo! hark!”
“Why don’t you come on yourself, then?” shouted one of the men, in answer to a good deal of gesticulation from the captain. “Take care you don’t get a hole in your skin.”
“Hurrah!” cried Mark; “they are afraid. Ready?”
“Yes; come on!” cried Ralph; and the two lads made a rush at the men who stood in their homeward way, astonishing them so that they turned and ran before the attacking party had gone half-a-dozen paces.
But a yell of execration rose from the others, as they now made a rush after the lads, who became pursuers and pursued as well.
A savage yell, too, came from high up the mountain slope, the captain being joined by the rest of his gang, and standing shouting and waving his hands furiously.
The position now was this: Two men were running, with the lads some five-and-twenty yards behind, and gaining on them fast. Two men were fifty yards away, to right and left; and two more were right behind, sixty or seventy yards, in full pursuit.
“Forward!” shouted Mark. “No mercy, Darley; run your fellow through, and then turn and spit that fellow on your right.”
The two men in front heard the words, and redoubled their efforts, but they were heavy, middle-aged scoundrels, and plodded clumsily over the stone-strewed ground; while, forgetting their wounds in the excitement, Mark and Ralph bounded along, leaping blocks that stood in their way, and gaining so fast upon their flying enemies, that in a few minutes they were close up: and the retreating pair, in response to the yells of their companions, and in despair, turned at bay, when Mark, who was first, leaped straight at his man, turning the fellow’s rusty sword aside, and came upon the lower part of his chest with his knees, like a stone from a catapult.
Down went the man, with his sword flying out of his hand, and Mark nearly fell a couple of yards beyond him, but, active as a fallow deer, he saved himself by a couple of leaps, as his feet touched the ground; and he turned, to see Ralph’s man down and motionless, as his companion leaped to his side, and faced round to meet the next two, who, urged on by the shouts from the hill, charged at them, carried on by their legs, almost involuntarily, their spirit having little to do with it.
The next minute swords were clashing, there were a few quick parries and thrusts, and one man dropped his weapon, as Ralph’s sword passed through his shoulder, almost simultaneously with a sharp clang, caused by the shell of Mark’s weapon striking against that of his adversary, whose blade broke short off at the hilt. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, the lad struck sidewise at the fellow with his fist, catching him in the ear, and he staggered sidewise, hors de combat.
“Now for the others,” cried Ralph wildly, his blood up, and ready for anything; and they were about to dash at them, when, to their utter astonishment, the last two turned and ran up the slope toward their captain and the rest of the party, who were coming to their aid.
“No, no, stop, stop!” yelled Mark, half choking the while with a hoarse hysterical laugh. “Oh, what a game! Here, look; that fellow’s getting his sword.”
Without another word, the pair dashed at the disarmed man, who had risen and picked up his weapon, but he turned and fled.
“Who’d have thought of that?” cried Mark wildly. “Shall we turn and attack the others as they come on?”
“No,” said Ralph, recovering his coolness; “let’s trot on now. It’s madness to try it again.”
“Well, I suppose it would be pushing it too far. They can’t say we’re cowards if we retreat now.”
“No; but we can say they are,” cried Ralph. “Why, what a set of curs, to be beaten by us.”
“Yes, and they can’t fight a bit. I could parry their thrusts with a stick. But here; I can’t lose my pony. Where is he?”
“And I can’t lose my rod and creel,” cried Ralph. “There’s your pony yonder ahead.”
“And your fish are right back there. I’ll come with you to fetch them.”
“No, no; let them have ’em. We must retreat now. Two, four, six, eight-nine of them now; and I don’t think those fellows who are down are much hurt. Come along.”
For Captain Purlrose was now descending the slope, and his men were approaching menacingly, spurred on by a shower of oaths, threats, and abuse from their leader.
“Well, I suppose we must; but my blood’s up now,” said Mark, “and I hate running from such a set of curs.”
“So do I,” said Ralph; “it’s like being beaten, when we won. I say, were you hurt?”
“Only where you jobbed that sword of yours into my leg. Phew! it’s getting stiffer every moment. I shan’t be able to walk directly. Were you?”
“What, hurt? No, only where you scratched me.”
“It was pretty deep, then, for your sleeve’s soaked. Here, let me tie my handkerchief round it.”
“No, no,” said Ralph; “they’ll overtake us. Let’s make a run for it now.”
“Shall we?” said Mark unwillingly.
“Yes, we must. I can’t use my arm any more.”
“Well, I don’t think I can run much farther.”
“You must,” cried Ralph, sharply as he looked over his shoulder. “We’re not fit to fight.”
He thrust his sound arm through Mark’s, and they ran on pretty swiftly for a hundred yards or so, with the enemy in full pursuit, and then Mark stopped suddenly.
“Can’t go—any farther,” he said. “My leg’s awful.”
Ralph looked round, to find that the men had given up the pursuit, and were going back.
“Can we catch your pony?” he said.
“I think so. He’s grazing yonder.”
“Would he let me catch him?”
“No,” said Mark. “He’d be off directly. There, I think I can hobble on now for a bit. What! are they coming again?”
“No; only watching us,” said Ralph rather faintly. “Would you mind tying that tightly round my arm?”
For answer, Mark seized the handkerchief Ralph held out, and knotted it last round his companion’s arm.
“Now let me do something to your leg.”
“No; it doesn’t bleed now,” said Mark. “Let’s get on. If they see us crippled, they’ll come on again, and if they do I’m good for nothing. It doesn’t bleed; it only feels of no use. There, let’s get on. Are they watching us?”
“No, I think not. It’s getting so dark there. I say; I can see they’re lifting one of the men to carry him.”
“Wish some one would carry me,” groaned Mark.
“I don’t think I can,” said Ralph. “Perhaps I could, though, if you could hold on.”
“Bah!” cried Mark sharply. “Likely. Come on, and I’ll coax that beast of a pony. If I can only get hold of him, I’ll make him carry us both.”
They pressed on in silence, Mark using his sword as a walking-stick with one hand, and compelled to accept his enemy’s arm, till they came up to where the cob was grazing.
It let them come close up before raising its head, and then, after contemplating them for a bit, twitching his ears, as Mark uttered a series of blandishments, and ended by tossing its head, and spinning round, as upon a pivot, to trot off. It failed in this, however, for Ralph thrust his foot through the trailing rein, and brought the animal up short.
“Well done!” cried Mark. “There, jump on, and then pull me across like a sack.”
“Nonsense! Get on yourself. I’ll help you.”
“I shan’t, it’s my pony. You’re wounded, so get on.”
“After you,” said Ralph, and, after a little more bandying of words, Mark felt so sick with pain that he had either to lie down on the earth or mount.
He did the latter, after several groans, for his leg was very stiff and painful.
“There’s a coward for you,” he said. “Now jump up behind.”
“There is no need,” said Ralph. “I can walk.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Never mind.—Get on with you.”
This last to the pony, who walked quietly along with his burden in the pleasant evening light.
For some minutes now neither of the lads spoke, being too much engrossed by pain and the strangeness of their position.
“I say,” said Mark at last, “you’d better come up to the Tor, and drop me, and I’ll lend you the pony to carry your wounded arm home.”
“No,” said Ralph quietly. “I shall come a bit farther, and then strike off. You can get safe home now.”
“Yes, I suppose so; but you ought to have the pony, or one of our men, to see you safe.”
“He’d finish me off,” said Ralph grimly, and Mark was silent.
“I say,” he said at last; “I shan’t say we fought.”
“Why?” asked Ralph, in surprise.
“Because it’s like bragging so, to talk of two fights. I shall say the robbers attacked us, and we beat them off; then they’ll get the credit of our wounds.”
“But it will not be true.”
“I shan’t say they wounded us,” replied Mark. “If my father likes to think they did it, I shall let him.”
“I shan’t,” said Ralph quietly. “I shall tell my father everything.”
“Well, I suppose it will be best,” said Mark. “But, I say, that fight doesn’t count, you know. We must begin again where we can’t be interrupted.”
“When your leg’s better.”
“Yes, and your arm’s all right.”
“Of course.”
“Queer thing being such enemies, Darley, isn’t it?”
“Very,” said Ralph quietly.
“But I suppose it comes natural, though, to our families.”
“I have always thought so,” replied Ralph.
“I say, I’m glad you’re not a coward, though. They say that all the Darleys have been cowards.”
“Yes; and all the Edens too.”
“It’s a lie—an abominable lie,” cried Mark hotly. “Do you mean to say I’m a coward?”
“How could I, after the way you helped me to fight those ruffians this evening? I thought you very brave,” said Ralph gravely.
“Thank ye. That’s what I thought about you. But I think it’s a pity you are a Darley.”
“Don’t say that. I am very proud to be one, but I say—”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you think, instead of paying compliments to one another, we ought to go and get our wounds properly seen to?”
“Yes, it would be more sensible. You’ll turn off, and go round by the cliff?”
“Yes, where the path comes up from the river,” replied Ralph.
“And we’ll finish that fight as soon as ever we can,” said Mark.
“Very well. I suppose we must see who’s best man.”
“Of course.—Hallo! who’s this?”
A figure was dimly-seen coming up through the bushes, along the track just mentioned, and directly after, it became fully visible as Master Rayburn with his fish-creel on his back, and rod on shoulder; and they saw the old man stop short and cry:
“Shade of good Queen Bess! What’s the meaning of this?”
Neither of the lads answered, for a feeling of confusion which troubled them. They felt abashed at being seen in each other’s company; but they had to stop, for the old man planted himself right in the middle of the narrow track, where it passed between two blocks of stone, and as soon as the cob reached him, it began to sniff at his breast and creel, and stood still. “The wolf and the lamb together,” said the old man drily, and in the most serious manner; “but which is wolf, and which is lamb?” Then, without waiting for a reply, he caught sight of something in the dimming light beneath the trees, and said; “What’s this? Surely, my dear lads, you two have not been fighting? You have—and with swords.”
Mark’s cheeks flushed, and his eyes fell for a moment before the old man’s piercing eyes; but he recovered himself directly, before Ralph could speak, and said:
“Yes, we’ve had a desperate fight coming home. Set upon by about a dozen ruffians, and if it had not been for young Darley here—”
“You did as much as I did, or more,” cried Ralph.
“Oh, never mind who did most. We don’t know. Had enough to do without. But we whipped them, Master Rayburn, and made the beggars run.”
“Where was this?” cried the old man.
“In the vale at the foot of Ergles. They came down from the cave there.”
“Were they a set of disbanded soldiers—those who came up to Cliff Castle, Ralph?”
“Yes, and to the Black Tor, too,” cried Mark.
“I thought as much,” said the old man eagerly. “Then this accounts for the witches seen on the mountain, and the thefts that have taken place.”
“Too late, Master Rayburn,” cried Mark, laughing. “We caught that fish first.—Didn’t we, Darley?”
“Yes; we said that was it,” replied Ralph.
“Then I am too late; and I had made up my mind to go out that way, after I had taken home my fish—after dark—and watch. So you had to run for it?”
“Well, I 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 the lad at last, as again he heard, very near him now, the rustle of the leaves and the flying back of twigs.
So impressed was he now, and satisfied that whoever followed might mean him harm, that he essayed to draw his sword as he hurried on; but the sheer agony caused to the stiffened wound made him drop his hand at once, and trust to getting out of the wood to where the ground was more open, and he could reach the cliff, for he felt that now he could not be many hundred yards from the way leading to the step-like path cut in the stone.
Again there was a quick rustle, as if his pursuer had tried to diminish the distance, and a minute later this sounded so near that, convinced of his follower being one of the men who had attacked them that evening, Ralph suddenly faced round—just when the sensation was strong that some one was about to leap upon him and strike him down—and shouted aloud:
“Keep back, whoever you are. I am armed.”
“Ralph! that you?” came from a short distance in his rear.
“Yes, yes, quick!” cried the lad faintly; and he staggered on now, to find himself a minute later in his father’s arms.
“Why, Ralph, boy, what does this mean? I have half-a-dozen men out hunting for you.”
“I’ll—I’ll tell you presently,” panted the lad, who was bathed in sweat. “Draw your sword, and be on your guard. Some one has been following me this last half-hour.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Be on your guard.”
“Not fancy, is it, my boy?” said Sir Morton, rather doubtfully.
There was a sharp rustling sound, and a foot kicked a stone, as its owner was evidently retreating fast.
“Humph! Then some one has been following you.—Hallo, there! stop!”
“Hoi! hillo!” came from a distance in answer.
“Quick!” said Sir Morton. “This way, man. Found—found!”
The cliffs echoed the words, and Sir Morton took the lad’s arm and pressed it firmly—fortunately the left.
“I beg your pardon, Ralph. I thought you were scared by the darkness of the wood. Some one was after you; but it would be folly to try and catch him in this gloomy place. Why, what’s the matter, boy? you are reeling about. Feel faint?”
“Yes,” panted the lad heavily. “I have been fighting—wounded. Help me, please.”
Sir Morton Darley passed his arm under his son’s, and helped him quickly along; a whistle brought Nick Garth and another man to his side; and the former carried the lad right up the slope to the entrance of the castle, where a little rest and refreshment recovered the sufferer sufficiently to enable him to relate why he had brought back no fish, a task he had hardly ended, when Master Rayburn entered to dress his second patient’s arm.
“We must put an end to such alarms as this, Master Rayburn,” said Sir Morton angrily.
“Ay; and the sooner the better,” cried that gentleman, as he carefully re-bandaged the lad’s hurt.—“I wonder,” he said to himself, “whether Ralph has told him how he obtained his wound? Is this the beginning of the end?”