(_In the approved manner of the Sporting Feuilleton._)
Alone in a first-class compartment of the Scotch Express Ralph
Wonderson, athlete and sportsman, journeyed northwards for the grouse
hunting. He was surrounded by gun-cases and cartridge-belts, and, as the
train flashed through the summer landscape, he reflected pleasantly that
"Grey Bob," his magnificent hunter, was snugly ensconced in the
horse-box adjoining.
It was dusk when they arrived at the little Highland station. As he
stepped out of the carriage with jingling spurs he was greeted by Grey
Bob, who stood impatiently pawing the platform. Flicking a speck of dust
from his favourite's glossy neck, Ralph leaped lightly into the saddle
and cantered out of the station towards Clancrachan Castle.
As he rode through the gathering darkness he caracoled with an enviable
lightness of heart. Was not his host for the next three weeks his
bosom-friend, young Lord Tamerton? And was not the beautiful
golden-haired Lady Margaret Tamerton with her brother? Little marvel
that Ralph tossed his rifle high in the air and caught it again and
again from sheer exuberance of spirits.
When he reached the ancient castle he found dinner over and the guests,
among whom were some of the keenest sportsmen in Britain, assembled in
the gun-room.
"In the nick of time, Ralph!" exclaimed Lord Tamerton, clasping his hand
warmly. "We are trying to create a mediæval atmosphere in keeping with
our surroundings, and as host I was about to announce in the approved
manner of Chivalry that the Champion of to-morrow's hunt shall be
rewarded with the hand of my only sister, Lady Margaret. It is for you
to do your _devoir_ like a _preux chevalier_."
There was a chorus of laughter and applause. Only Ralph remained
serious. His fingers tightening on those of Lady Margaret, he plunged
his eyes earnestly into hers. Doubtless he read there what he had hoped
to see.
* * *
It was a merry party which set out next morning, and, as each cavalier
passed Lady Margaret, who stood on the terrace, he playfully pledged
himself to do his knightliest.
Soon they parted, each taking his own route. Ralph, urging Grey Bob to
his best paces, plunged straight into the heart of the forest, his
loader running sturdily at his stirrup. A curious, taciturn fellow, this
loader, with a tangled mass of flaming red hair and a bushy red beard
which almost obscured his features and hung below his sporran.
Arrived at what appeared a suitable spot, Ralph tethered Grey Bob to a
sapling and took up his position behind a massive oak. He was extracting
the field-glasses from the case at his side when his pulses contracted
as he felt a cold rim of metal pressed suddenly against the back of his
neck. In a flash he realised that it was the muzzle of a rifle. There
was a grim, tense silence for a full minute.
"Take these," said the cold, drawling voice of the loader, "and write as
I dictate."
Ralph took the paper and fountain-pen which were thrust over his
shoulder and prepared to write.
"Commence," continued the voice. "_I--Ralph Wonderson--hereby
confess--that I poisoned--the late Lord Tamerton.--I also hereby
renounce--all pretensions--to the hand--of Lady Margaret Tamerton._ Now
sign it."
In obedience to a further command Ralph handed back the sheet. He could
not forbear a grim smile as he did so. He had written the single word,
"_Rats!_"
It was received with a loud exclamation of protest. Ralph ducked and
turned in one catlike movement and hurled himself upon the loader. The
rifle flew away, discharging itself uselessly into the branches of the
oak. Clasping his adversary by the throat Ralph pushed him backwards to
the ground, and the pair rolled over locked in a deadly embrace. Then
suddenly the loader relaxed his grip and lay limp and still.
Breathing heavily, Ralph raised himself to his knees and pulled away the
false wig and beard of his prostrate foe. Not altogether to his surprise
he beheld the features of Sir Ernest Scrivener, _alias_ Marmaduke
Moorsdyke.
A low gasp of relief made him glance up. Seated on her black palfrey was
Lady Margaret, who had been watching the struggle with breathless and
agonised anxiety.
"Madge!" cried Ralph, rising to his feet. "What are you----"
Her quick cry of warning came too late. Wheeling round, Ralph found that
the treacherous baronet had seized a second rifle and had levelled it
directly at Lady Margaret's heart.
"I rather think," said the slow, sneering voice, "that I am now in a
position to enforce my commands. You will walk steadily backwards for
two miles. If you refuse I shall shoot Lady Margaret. And I shall shoot
to kill."
His nerves as steady as steel in this desperate crisis, Ralph swiftly
analysed the situation. If he backed away as commanded, Sir Ernest would
then mount Grey Bob and ride off with Lady Margaret, and Ralph realised
that even her death was preferable to this. If he made a dash at the
assailant, the latter, to save his own skin, would almost certainly
fire. But Ralph knew that Sir Ernest, in spite of his threat, had no
intention of shooting Lady Margaret if it could possibly be avoided.
He determined to remain perfectly still. The probabilities were that
Scrivener, realising he had been outwitted, would sooner or later turn
his rifle suddenly on Ralph, and Ralph, in all the pride of his
magnificent physical powers, knew that in that brief moment he could
hurl himself upon the other.
But Sir Ernest knew it also.
Ralph stood motionless. Lady Margaret, playing her part bravely, sat
motionless on her palfrey. Sir Ernest lay motionless, his rifle pointed
inflexibly at her heart. No word was spoken.
A grouse in the oak-tree croaked jeeringly.
* * *
An hour passed. Two hours. Three. Four. There was not the tremor of a
muscle among the three.
Five hours passed. Six. Seven. Then Ralph felt that the strain could be
borne no longer. He resolved to count a hundred and at the end of that
time to rush desperately forward, hoping against hope that the murderous
bullet would not find its billet.
_Ninety-seven ... ninety-eight ... ninety-nine_ ... Ralph caught his
breath sharply. The finger on the rifle trigger had relaxed.
Sir Ernest had fainted.
In thirty seconds Ralph had bound him hand and foot. With a long,
quivering sigh of relief Lady Margaret slid from her horse and threw
herself into her rescuer's arms. Ralph crushed her to his breast in a
passion of gratitude.
But Lady Margaret quickly disengaged herself. "What about the grouse?"
she exclaimed.
"Great heavens!" exclaimed Ralph, snatching out his watch. "It's four
o'clock! I have only one hour, and the others will have had eight."
He seized his field-glasses, sprang into the oak and swept the
surrounding country. There was not a grouse in sight. He gave vent to an
exclamation of despair.
"Follow me!" said Lady Margaret. "I know their sanctuary. You can do it
yet."
Snatching up the rifles, Ralph followed the girl as she threaded her way
through the trees. At last she halted abruptly. "Look!" she whispered.
"There they are."
And, indeed, Ralph saw that all the trees around him were congested with
grouse. He levelled his rifle and fired.
Bang! A grouse fell at his feet. He snatched the second rifle from Lady
Margaret, who had assumed the _rôle_ of loader. Bang! Another fell.
There was no escape from that deadly eye.
Lady Margaret had been brought up to sport from her earliest youth. As a
child she had watched many of the finest shots in Europe. But she had
never seen anything like this. Such unerring precision enthralled her.
And she played her own part nobly. Almost before Ralph had surrendered
the empty rifle the loaded one was in his grasp. And when the barrels
grew red-hot, her quick wit saved the situation and she thrust them into
the stream which trickled at their feet.
Bang!... Bang!... Bang!
* * *
Again the guests were assembled in the gun-room.
"Oyez! Oyez!" cried Lord Tamerton merrily. "I proclaim the champion to
be Ralph Wonderson, with a total bag of two thousand brace."
Amid a clamour of laughter and congratulation Lady Margaret came shyly
forward and laid her left hand on Ralph's shoulder.
On its third finger glittered a magnificent hoop of diamonds.
* * * * *
Illustration: LATEST WAR NEWS.
"WE'LL SOON 'EV THE KAISER PINCHED NAH. THE COPPER'S GORN FROM OUR
COURT!"
[The Press Bureau does not guarantee the accuracy of this statement.]
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