THE TWO HIGHWAYMEN.—THE MURDER AT THE GIBBET’S FOOT.—THE
RIDE TO THE GOLDEN PIPPIN.
The evening set in a stormy mood; sudden, gusty showers rattled against
the traveller; whilst the wind swept over the country, bending the tall
trees, and whistling round the peasant’s cot, and making the chimneys
appear as if they were the residences of imprisoned spirits, which
moaned and groaned most dismally to hear.
The clouds came rapidly across the sky; now darkening the earth, and
now they had fled past, leaving the moonbeams pouring a flood of light
upon the fields and roadways; but this was soon followed by another
darkness, a cold rain, and rushing wind, the night being inclement and
very boisterous—not to say a night too bad to permit travelling.
It was late on such a night, when down a lone cross-road a single
horseman might be seen to ride slowly and carefully. He was wrapped
up in a large cloak, and rode a powerful horse, and appeared to be
somewhat tired.
There was much difficulty in travelling over a bad road, that was loose
and shifty, with here and there a slough of some magnitude.
In a very wild and desolate spot stood a mound of stones that had
been heaped at the foot of a gibbet, and had been collected there in
consequence of the unpopularity of the occupant of the instrument of
punishment.
On the gibbet, swinging to and fro, was the body of a malefactor,
hung in chains—an awful and disgusting spectacle—whose death no one
regretted, inasmuch as he was the terror of the whole neighbourhood.
It was the body of a highwayman, or of a robber, who had committed all
kinds of depredations, and several murders. He was the son of a person
of property, but addicted to vicious courses, and, to support them, he
had recourse to robbery and murder.
Several of his former friends were robbed, and at length his own father
fell by his hands, when he refused to give up his purse in the road at
this spot. His own son shot him through the heart.
This was the last crime he ever committed; for he was taken and tried,
when enough was proved that would have hung a hundred men; and there
was not one man who could, or who would, speak one word in his favour.
He was executed; and so detested was he by all, that every one who came
by this spot threw a stone, until it grew, by these means, a goodly
heap, which remained a memento of their hate.
It was this spot the stranger was nearing, and to which he appeared to
look up with some degree of either curiosity, or interest; but, before
he got there, there was another horseman riding along the country
lane, and who would arrive there about the same time as the first; but
when he came there, it was easy to perceive that he was not alone, but
another horseman was in waiting beneath some trees, and hidden from the
traveller.
In a few moments more, the traveller reached the spot, and, looking up
at the dead body that was swinging to and fro in the night air, the
other horseman rode up; upon which the traveller was about to push his
horse forward at an increased speed, when he found that there was not
space enough.
“Which side do you take?” he inquired of the stranger.
“Stand and deliver!” was the reply.
“That is uncivil,” replied the stranger, “and a request that I do not
feel at all disposed to consent to.”
“Deliver your money and a pocket-book, or you are a dead man.”
“Nay,” said the stranger; “I have means of defence, too.”
And, as he spoke, he pulled out a bright, double-barrelled pistol,
which he levelled and cocked, saying, as he very leisurely did so,—
“Beware! you are playing with a determined man. I am not disposed to
play. Get out of my way, or you are a dead man!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the other, and made way at the same moment, thus
bringing himself alongside the traveller, leaving him room to go on.
“You are not to be frightened—well, well, go on.”
The traveller put his spurs to his horse, but at the same moment
received a bullet from the treacherous highwayman.
“Ha!” cried the traveller, putting his hand to his side, and in a
moment more he staggered and fell over the side of the horse on to the
ground.
“Ha, ha, ha!” said the highwayman, who immediately dismounted; but
before he could search the body, the other horseman came up at a gallop.
“Well, Fred, have you quieted him?”
“I have.”
“Resisted, then?”
“Yes. Have you got your lantern?”
“Yes; but it is not yet lighted. But that is soon done.”
“Then let us have it as quick as you can; for he has fallen down here
in a slough, and I should like to get the money without more mire than
I am obliged to put up with.”
“Here it is,” said the other, handing the lantern—a small one, which he
had lighted by means of some chemical matches.
The highwayman took the lantern, and, after some examination, he
secured the pocketbook and the purse, and having done this, he examined
the fingers, but saw no rings and no watch, and he said to his
companion,—
“Just come here. Did you ever see such a set of features as these? They
are truly strange and singular; I could never forget them.”
“Indeed! I must have a look at them,” said his companion, dismounting
and bending over the body; and when he looked at them, he said,—
[Illustration: The highwaymen examine the traveller’s body.]
“I saw that man to-day where I dined, and thought he took the other
road, and there waited for him.”
“Did you, though?”
“Yes, till I was tired; and then I came across the country in search of
you, but did not expect you to have any quarry.”
“Did you ever see such a countenance? it is most strange and ghastly.”
“Yes, it is; but he has died a violent death, you see, and therefore
there is much to be done by way of allowance.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that; but the nose, mouth, and teeth——”
“They are not the most agreeable in the world, certainly. Well, well,
it don’t matter; you have done all your business with him, have you
not?”
“I have got all, I believe,” said the other. “He has no watch or
chain—not even a ring has he got on his finger.”
“Perhaps you’ll find enough in his purse and pocket-book to console
you; though I must say, Ned, that he dined very sparingly. But no
matter the amount; ride on, for you know it is not a good plan to stand
longer here than necessary; for we may have other riders down upon us.”
“Not very likely, on this road, and at this hour; but ’tis bad. I’m
off, and he will remain behind till found by some frightened peasant
or other, who will go to the nearest market town, with a frightful
account.”
“Ride away; I hear horses’ feet, I think.”
“I am ready; forward! ho!”
The two highwaymen rode off at a rapid rate, conversing as they went;
but yet it was in suppressed tones for some distance; and after some
riding, one of them pulled up his horse, partially, saying,—
“Well, I don’t think it wise we should thus wear our steeds out; there
is no need of our riding for life; our horses never ought to be put to
their mettle, unless there be plenty of occasion, which there is not.”
“No—all is right, to-night.”
“Have you done much lately, Ned?”
“No; I have been rather upon the seek than find; I have been looking
out brightly, but have not been successful.”
“I have myself only done moderately; but I have done better than I
should have done, because I was fortunate enough to come across a fat
grazier who had more money than any three or four persons I have met
lately.”
“Your fortune is somewhat like mine.”
“You have met with little good then, Ned.”
“Indeed, I have not; but it is a long lane that has no turning.”
“Yes; indeed, it is.”
“However, I hope this queer-looking customer will reward one for one’s
pains; if you can but keep the game a going, you are sure to succeed
in the end; ’tis only two years or better since I first began to ride.”
“That is, put a period to other people’s rising.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, then, where do you intend to put up for the night? for I suppose
you do not intend to stay out all night any more than myself.”
“No; I think of going on until I come to ‘The Golden Pippin,’ where
I intend to stay for the night. The landlord can wink hard at his
friends, and not know they are in the house, or he can tell them a
thing if they want to know anything at all to their interest.”
“He’s the sort of man; I know him. I was thinking of going there; I
don’t know better or snugger quarters than are to be had at his hostel.”
“Then we’ll have a good supper and a bottle at ‘The Golden Pippin.’”
“With all my heart; but you don’t think there’ll be any danger of our
being pursued for this matter.”
“Oh, dear, no; the direct road lies another way, and we shall be quite
fifteen miles from the spot where the body lies.”
“So far.”
“Yes; we have come over the ground very rapidly, and have gone more
than two-thirds of that distance. When we get there we shall be safe,
easy, and comfortable; and right good wines are there to be had at ‘The
Golden Pippin.’”