CHAPTER EIGHT.
HOW RALPH SECURED THE WOLF'S CUB.
The perspiration broke out in great drops upon Mark Eden's face; and forsome minutes he hung there, expecting moment by moment that each was hislast, for he knew that he could do nothing, and that he must not stirhand or foot.
And now he began to realise how mad his attempt had been. Better farthat he had resigned himself to circumstances, and climbed back to thetop. But even then he felt he could not have done this. It would havebeen like humbling himself to an enemy of his house, and a flush ofpride came into his pallid cheeks as he felt that he had boldly playedhis part. Then a sense of misery and despair crept over him as hethought of home, of his father and sister, and their sorrow when theyknew of his fate.
All that passed off, and a flush of anger and indignation made histemples throb, for he distinctly heard Nick Garth say,--
"Why not? Heave it down yourself, then, and put him out of his misery."
What else was said he could not make out; voices were in hurriedconverse evidently a short distance back from the edge of the cliff, andthen Mark recognised Ralph's tones, as he said huskily,--
"Can you hold on?"
A bitter defiant taunt came to Mark's lips, and he cried,--
"Your doing, coward! Are you satisfied with your work?"
There was no answer, but the hurried murmur came over the edge of thecliff again, followed by what sounded like angry commands, and then allwas silent for a few moments.
"Don't move," cried Ralph then. "I've sent for help. They've gone forropes. One will be here directly. I sent for it before. Can you holdon?"
Mark made no reply, for no words would come. Hope had sprung up at thepossibility of escape, for life seemed then to be very sweet, but therewas a bitterness to dull the bright thought, for the lad felt that itwas the hated enemy of his house who was trying to help.
Then a dull feeling of apathy, as if he had been half stunned, came overhim as he hung there in a terribly cramped position, with his facepressed against the wall.
And now, as if his hearing had become sharpened, the murmur of therushing river came up quite loudly, and the wind seemed to be gatheringforce, while all this was, as it were, preparatory to his fallingheadlong down. Then he must have lost his senses for some little time,for the next thing he heard was a voice crying out, in tones full ofdespair,--
"Too short, too short, Ram!"
"Ay, so it be. Good ten foot."
"Could I help him if you lowered me down?"
"Lower you down? Are you mad? I couldn't hold you; and you'd breakyour neck."
Mark heard every word now, for his senses had suddenly recovered theirtone and something more.
Then what seemed to be another long space of time elapsed, and Ralphshouted to him,--
"This rope is too short, but there'll be another here soon."
Mark could make no reply, and he hung there, listening to the murmur ofvoices once more. Then the rush of the river sounded like the distantboom of thunder. There was a loud _cizz_, _cizz_, going on somewhere onthe cliff face from a cricket, and the birds were singing more loudlythan he ever remembered to have heard them before.
Once more his senses must have left him and come back, for he heard thevoice above louder than ever, followed by Ralph shouting,--
"Can you tie the rope round you?"
Mark could not answer for some little time; then his lips parted, and hegasped out the one word,--
"No."
A sharp rustling followed, as of a rope being rapidly drawn up. Then itwas lowered again; and as Mark strained his eyes round into the leftcorners to get a glimpse, he saw a loop swinging to and fro, and itstruck him again and again; but those who lowered it, in the hope ofnoosing the lad and drawing him up, soon found that the bush and thesufferer's position precluded this.
"Can you push your arms through the loop, and hang on?" cried Ralph now.
"No," was the discouraging reply, for Mark fully realised the fact thatif he loosened his desperate hold for a moment he must fall.
"Haul up!" shouted Ralph. "Quick!"
The rope rattled and scraped again; and then, as Mark hung there,half-insensible, he heard what sounded like quarrelling.
"You shan't go, Master Ralph. Who's to meet Sir Morton if you get afall trying to save a thing like that?"
Even in his half-insensible state Mark felt a quiver run through him;and then he lay listening again, as if to hear what was taking placeabout some one else.
"Silence!" came to his ear. "How dare you, sir! Now, all of you lowerme down."
There was a rustling and scraping directly after, which seemed to last along time, before something brushed against the listener, and hequivered, for he felt that he was going. Then there was a pantingnoise, which came up, as it were, out of the darkness, and he wasclutched tightly, hot breath came upon his cheek, and a hoarse voiceyelled in his ear,--
"Got him! Haul up steadily!" and directly after, the voice became awhisper, which said,--
"Pray God the rope may not break."
Mark was conscious now of being scraped against the rock, and brushed bytwigs, for what seemed to be a very long time, before he was roughlyseized by more hands, and dragged heavily over the cliff edge, to bedropped upon the short grass, as a voice he had heard before criedharshly,--
"You've done it now, Master Ralph, and got your wolf cub after all."
"Yes," panted Ralph hoarsely, as Mark felt as if a cloud had suddenlyrolled away from his sight, and he saw clearly that half-a-dozen menwere surrounding him, and Ralph Darley, his greatest enemy, was kneelingat his side, saying softly,--
"Yes, I've got the wolf cub after all;" and then the two lads' eyes met,and gazed deeply into each other's in a curious stare.
That stare had the same effect on both lads--that of making them feeluncomfortable.
Mark Eden, as he recovered from the shock of being so near a terribleending to his young life, felt that, surrounded as he was by enemies, heought to spring to his feet, draw his sword, and defend himself to thelast; while Ralph Darley knew that, according to all old familytraditions, he ought to order his men to seize a hand and foot each,give his young enemy two or three swings, and launch him headlong offthe mighty cliff, and then stand and laugh at the capers he would cut inhis fall.
For people had been very savage in their revenges out in that wild partof England, shut away from the civilisation of the time by moor andmountain. Ralph knew, too, that though they were better then than inthe early days of the Wars of the Roses, they were still brutal enough,and that he would gain the applause and respect of his men by givingthem the order. But Mark Eden had not drawn his sword to begin cuttingand thrusting; and instead of leaving the lad to hang till he fell, he,Ralph Darley, had, in opposition to his father's men, risked his ownlife to save that of his enemy--going down over a hundred feet, swingingat the end of a couple of ropes badly tied together.
"Seems very stupid," the two lads thought.
"What does he mean by coming here, and getting into such a horribleposition--an idiot!" said Ralph to himself.
"How dare he, an insolent Darley, come down by a rope and save my life!"said Mark to himself.
Then there was an awkward pause, with the two lads scowling, andavoiding each other's gaze, and the men nudging one another, and winkingknowingly. Nick Garth whispering behind his hand to Ram Jennings, thatthe young cocks would set up their hackles directly, whip out theirspurs, and there would be a fight; and, in expectation of this, the men,six in number, now spread themselves into an arc, whose chord was theedge of the cliff, thus enclosing the pair so as to check any design onthe part of the enemy to make a rush and escape.
Mark, who did not feel so breathless and numb now, sat up on the grass,and resumed his old role of ignoring his enemies, putting his handsbehind him, to feel for the ravens hung from his sword-belt, taking themout from their awkward position, to find that they were limp andliterally c
rushed. The reason for this was that when Ralph, as heswung, seized him, he had to do this from behind, clasping him round thechest, just under the arms, and then, as the rope was hauled, flinginghis legs about him to help to hold, with the consequence that theyformed a sort of sandwich, he and Mark being the slices of bread, andthe young ravens the meat.
"Hah!" said Mark softly, as if to himself; "you two will never dig outany young lambs' eyes. Feed the fishes instead;" and, rising to hisfeet, he untied his kerchief from about the dead birds' legs, and gaveeach a swing, sending it on its first and last flight, out from thecliff edge, away into the gulf.
"Now's your time, Master Ralph," whispered Nick, "Whip out your sword,and show him how you can fight."
Ralph turned upon the man with an angry glance, and Nick shrank backinto his old position with a sheepish grin, which, in conjunction withhis cross eyes, did not improve his personal appearance.
Without so much as glancing at his enemies, Mark now took off his capand smiled, for the egg he had so carefully placed in the lining wasintact.
"Well done!" he said aloud. "That's for Master Rayburn at the cottage.Here, one of you fellows, take that to him, and say I sent it. I daresay he'll give you a coin for your trouble."
Ram Jennings made an awkward shoot forward, and seized the egg.
"Don't break it, clumsy," cried Mark; and then with a quick motion, hethrew his cap on the grass, took a step or two back toward the edge ofthe cliff, and, quick as lightning, drew his sword.
"There," he cried, with a scornful look at Ralph; "seven of you to one.Come on."
A low growl from the men greeted this display, but Ralph did not stir,and Mark stood for a moment or two _en garde_. Then with a bitter laughhe continued: "I suppose I must surrender. You don't draw. Take mysword. My arm's wrenched, and I can't use it."
As he spoke he threw his sword at Ralph's feet; his enemy picked it upby the slight blade, and the men closed in.
This movement sent a flash of anger from their young master's eyes.
"Back," he cried hoarsely. Then taking a step or two toward Mark, andstill holding the sword by the blade, he presented the hilt to hisenemy. "Take your sword, sir," he said haughtily. "The Darleys aregentlemen, not cowards, to take advantage of one who is down. That isthe nearest way back to Black Tor," he continued, pointing.
For a few moments Mark stood gazing at his enemy, with his face flushingto his temples; then turning haggard and pale, as a flood of mingledsensations rushed through him; shame, mortification, pride, angeragainst self, seemed to choke all utterance, and he could not even stir.He felt that he wanted to be brave and manly, and apologise for hiswords--to thank the gallant lad before him for saving his life--to makehim see that he was a gentleman--to strike him and make him fight--to dosomething brave--despicable--to do he did not know what--before heaccepted this permission to go, but he could for the moment do nothing--say nothing.
At last, with a hoarse gasp, he literally snatched at the sword, andglared at his enemy with a menacing look, as if he were about to thrustat him; and Ralph's hand darted to his own hilt, but with an angrygesture, he let it fall, and stood firm.
Then a cry, mingled of rage and shame, escaped from Mark; and he thrusthis sword back into its sheath, and pushing Nick aside, as the man stoodin his way, he hurried down the hill.
"Yah-h-ah!" growled Nick savagely, "you aren't going to let him off likethat, master?"
Mark heard the words, and turned round.
"How dare you speak to me like that!" cried Ralph, glad of some one onwhom to vent the anger he felt.
"Because Sir Morton, if he'd been here, would have had that young Edentied neck and heels, and pitched into one of the cells. Because you'rea coward, sir. There!"
"Ah-h-ah!" growled the other men in chorus, as they glared at the lad.
"Then take a coward's blow," cried Ralph; and he struck the man with allhis might across the face, using the back of his hand.
There was another growl from the men, but no one spoke, and Mark Edenturned again, and strode down the hill, while the men untied and coiledup the ropes, and slowly followed their young master down the slope, andthen up once more toward the Castle, Nick Garth shaking his head a gooddeal, and looking puzzled, and a great deal interested in the bloodwhich he kept smudging off, first with one hand, and then with theother, from his face.
"Here," he cried at last, as Ralph disappeared through the gateway,"what's best to stop this here? I can't go with it all tied up."
"Bucket o' water from the well," said Ram Jennings, grinning. "Say,Nick, he aren't such a coward, arter all."
"No," growled Nick, after a double wipe; "and, for such a little 'un, hecan hit hard."
Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First Page 8