CHAPTER XXIX
THE DAWN
A while ago, in an agony of longing, he had cried out for a moment'srespite! for a disguise! and now there stood before him Jock Miggs insmock and broad-brimmed hat, with pipe and shepherd's staff. Hispursuers, headed by the yelping dog, were still a quarter of a mileaway. Five minutes in which to do battle for his life, for his freedom,for the power to keep his oath! The plan of action had surged in hismind at first sight of the wizened little figure of the shepherd besidethe further approach to the clearing.
Beau Brocade drew himself up to his full height, sought and found in thepocket of his coat the black mask which he habitually wore; this hefixed to his face, then drawing a pistol from his belt, he overtook JockMiggs, clapped him vigorously on the shoulder, and shouted lustily,--
"Stand and deliver!"
Jock Miggs, aroused from his pleasant meditations, threw up his hands interror.
"The Lud have mercy on my soul!" he ejaculated as he fell on his knees.
"Stand and deliver!" repeated Beau Brocade, in as gruff a voice as hecould command.
Jock Miggs was trying to collect his scattered wits.
"B ... b ... but ... kind sir!" he murmured, "y ... y ... you wouldn'tharm 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 lifeBathurst would have felt very sorry for the poor, scared creature, butthat yelping hound was drawing desperately near and he had only a fewminutes at his command.
"Naught to deliver?" he said with a great show of roughness, and seizingpoor 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 smallmodicum of courage. He had lived all his life on Brassing Moor and itwas his first serious encounter with an armed gentleman of the road.Whether 'twas Beau Brocade or no he was too scared to conjecture, but hehad enough experience of the Heath to know that poor folk like himselfhad 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 tohimself, "but I've just got three minutes before that cur reaches thetop of the clearing and ... Off with your smock, man, or I fire," headded peremptorily, and pointing the muzzle of his pistol at thetrembling shepherd.
Miggs had in the meanwhile fully realised that the masked stranger wasin deadly earnest. Why he should want the old smock was more than anyshepherd 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 shirt."
"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 thatsmock, 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. Theprocess was slow and laborious, and Jack set his teeth not to screamwith the agony of the suspense.
He himself had had little difficulty in taking off his own coat andwaistcoat, 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 itssleeve.
Moreover, the excitement of these last fateful moments kept him at feverpitch: he was absolutely unconscious of aught save of the rapid flightof the seconds and the steady approach of dog and men towards theclearing.
Even Jock Miggs, who up to now had been too intent on his own adventureto take much heed of what went on in the gloom beyond, even he perceivedthat 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 bejust time to blow out your dull brains before I fall into their hands."
This last argument was sufficiently convincing. Miggs thought itdecidedly best to obey; he helped his mysterious assailant on with hisown smock, cap and kerchief, and not unwillingly attired himself in BeauBrocade'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 theother firmly grasped in his own hand.
There was no doubt that the hound was on the scent now: the men hadceased shouting but their rapid footsteps could be heard followingclosely upon the dog, whose master was muttering a few words ofencouragement.
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. Therewas now just the width of the clearing between Beau Brocade and hispursuers.
"This way, Sergeant. Roy's got the trail again."
Neither Jock Miggs nor yet Beau Brocade could see what was going on atthe further end of the clearing. The dog, wildly straining against theleash, was quivering with intense excitement, his master hanging on tohim with all his might.
Miggs, scared like some sheep lost among a herd of cows, was standinghalf-dazed, smoothing down with appreciative fingers the fine cloth ofhis new apparel, terrified every time his hand came in contact with thepistol in his belt.
But Beau Brocade had crept underneath a heavy clump of gorse andbramble, and with his finger on the trigger of his weapon he coweredthere, ready for action, his eyes fixed upon the blackness before him.
The next moment the outline of the hound's head and shoulders becamefaintly discernible in the gloom. With nose close to the ground,powerful jaws dropping and parched tongue hanging out of its mouth, itwas heading straight for the clump of gorse where cowered the huntedman.
Beau Brocade took rapid aim and fired. The dog, without a howl, rolledover on its side, whilst Jock Miggs uttered a cry of terror.
Then there was an instant's pause. The pursuers, silenced and awed, hadstopped dead, for they had been taken wholly unawares, and for a secondor two waited, expecting and dreading yet another shot.
Then a mild, trembling voice came to them from the darkness.
"There 'e is, Sergeant! Just afore you--standing ... see!..."
The Sergeant and soldiers had no need to be told twice. Their pause hadonly been momentary and already they had perceived the outline of JockMiggs's figure, standing motionless not far from the body of the deaddog.
With a scout of triumph Sergeant and soldiers fell on the astonishedshepherd, whilst the same mild, trembling voice continued to pipeexcitedly,--
"Hold 'un tight, Sergeant! Jump on 'im! Tie 'is legs! Sure, an' 'tishe, the rascal!"
Jock Miggs had had no chance of uttering one word of protest, for one ofthe soldiers, remembering a lesson learnt the day before at the smithy,had thrown his own heavy coat right over the poor fellow's head,effectually smothering his screams. Another man had picked up the stillsmoking pistol from the ground close to Miggs's feet.
"Pistols!" said the Sergeant, excitedly. "The pair o' them too," headded, pulling the other silver-mounted weapon out of Miggs's belt, andthe black mask out of the pocket of his coat: "and silver-mounted, begy! ... And his mask! ... Now, my men, off with him.... Tie his legstogether--off with your be
lts, quick! ... and you, Corporal, keep thatcoat tied well over his head ... the rascal's like an eel, and'llwriggle out of your hands if you don't hold him tight.... Rememberthere's a hundred guineas' reward for the capture of Beau Brocade."
Poor old Miggs, smothered within the thick folds of the soldier's coat,could scarce manage to breathe. The men were fastening his knees andankles together with their leather belts, his arms too were pinionedbehind his back. Thus trussed and spitted like a goose ready forroasting, he felt himself being hauled up on the shoulders of some ofthe men and then borne triumphantly away.
"We've gotten Beau Brocade!"
"Hip! hip! hurray!"
And so they marched away, shouting lustily, whilst Beau Brocade remainedalone on the Heath.
The excitement was over now. He was safe for the moment and free. Butthe hour of victory seemed like the hour of death; as the last shouts oftriumph, the last cry of "Hurrah!" died away in the distance, he fellback against the wet earth; his senses were reeling, the very groundseemed to be giving way beneath his feet, a lurid, red film to be risingbefore his closing lids, blotting out the darkness of the Moor, and thatfaint, very faint, streak of grey which had just appeared in the east.
God, to whom he had cried out in his agony, had given him the respitefor which he had craved. He was safe and free to think ... to think ofher ... and yet now his one longing seemed to be to lie down and rest... and rest ... and sleep...
Many a night he had lain thus on the open Moor, with the soft,sweet-scented earth for his bed, and the tender buds of heather as apillow for his head. But to-night he was only conscious of infinitepeace, and his trembling hands drew the worthy shepherd's smock closerround him.
His wandering spirit paused awhile to dwell on poor Miggs in his sorryplight.... Ah, well! the morning would see Jock free again, but in themeanwhile...
Then all of a sudden the spirit was back on earth, back to life and to amad, scarce understandable hope. His hand had come in contact with apacket of letters in the pocket of Miggs's smock.
Far away in the sky the eastern stars had paled before the morninglight. One by one the distant peaks of the Derbyshire hills emergedfrom the black mantle of the night, and peeped down on the valley below,blushing a rosy red. Upon the Heath animal life began to be astir--inthe morass beyond a lazy frog started to croak.
Beau Brocade had clasped the letters with cold, numb fingers: he drewthem forth and held them before his dimmed eyes.
"The letters!..." he murmured, trembling with the agony of this greatunlooked-for joy. "The letters!..."
How they came there, he could not tell. He was too weary, too ill toguess. But that they were her letters he could not for a moment doubt.He had found them! God and His angels had placed them in his hands!
Ah, Fortune! fickle Fortune! the wilful jade and the poor outlaw were tobe even then after all. And 'twas Beau Brocade, highwayman, thief, whowas destined in a few hours to bring her this great happiness.
"Will she ... will she smile, I wonder..."
He loved to see her smile, and to watch the soft tell-tale blush slowlymounting to her cheek. Ah! now he was dreaming ... dreams that never,never could be. He would bring her back the letters, for he had swornto her that she should have them ere the sun had risen twice o'er yongreen-clad hills. And then all would be over, and she would pass out ofhis life like a beautiful comet gliding across the firmament of hisdestiny.
A moment but not to stay.
In the east, far away, rose had changed to gold. From Moor and Heath andBogland came the sound of innumerable bird-throats singing the great andwonderful hymn of praise, hosanna to awakening Nature.
The outlaw had kept his oath; he turned to where the first rays of therising sun shed their shimmering mantle over the distant Tors, and inone great uplifting of his soul to his Maker he prayed that sweet deathmight kiss him when he placed the letters at her feet.
PART IV
H.R.H. THE DUKE OF CUMBERLAND
Beau Brocade: A Romance Page 29