I was awakened shortly after daylight by a hubbub and stirring in the
street outside, and I lay in bed, listening, half asleep. About six
o'clock the Weasel opened my chamber door, saying that Pittsburg was
filling with refugees from the frontier, and that a battalion of
militia under Cresap had just left to scout on the Monongahela.
I asked him whether messengers had brought me answers to my letters
from Lord Dunmore and Miss Warren, and he replied in the negative and
shut the door.
About seven I arose and dressed, standing by the window and looking
out over the square. The streets of Fort Pitt were lively enough at
this early hour; apparently since daybreak hundreds of refugees, men,
women, and toddling infants, fleeing from the red scourge on the outer
frontiers, had been coming into Pittsburg town. Many were almost
naked, proving their dire peril and hasty night retreat, some drove a
few sheep or calves, some carried geese or chickens in their arms,
others, more fortunate, guided oxen yoked to wagons, on which were
piled bedding, kettles, dishes, and what poor household furniture they
dared linger to gather before leaving their homes to the Cayugas and
their fields to the timber wolf.
At dawn, when the vanguard of this wretched procession had first
appeared, straggling through Pittsburg streets, the town-watch took
charge of the dazed fugitives and found shelter for them in the
fortress; but, as the town awoke and rubbed its eyes to find the
streets swarming with exhausted strangers dragging their numbed limbs
or sitting on steps and porches, the people threw open their doors and
took the outcasts to their firesides. But the houses of the Samaritans
were filled to overflow ere the cloaked watchman had called his last
hour:
"Four o'clock! A sweet June morning and sad tidings from the
frontier!"
And, as the fugitive creatures still came creeping in past the
fortress, the double guard was called out and squads told off to
conduct the unfortunates to the barracks, court-house, "Governor's
Hall," market-sheds, and finally into the churches. And it was pitiful
to see them making their way painfully into the square, where many sat
down on the turf, and some fell down in the street, and others slept,
leaning upright against fences and trees, clasping some poor household
relic to their breasts.
Bareheaded children lay slumbering on stone steps; young women, with
infants at suck, sat dumb and vacant-eyed on the ground, too weak to
reply to those who offered aid. Haggard men, dragging their rifles,
turned sunken, perplexed eyes, slowly answering in monosyllables, as
though stunned by the swift ruin which had overwhelmed them.
And the story repeated was always the same: burning and butchery
everywhere; the frontier a charred, blood-soaked desert; homes, crops,
cattle, the very soil itself had gone roaring up in smoke, and all
behind was blackness--hopeless, unutterable devastation.
The living fled, the dead lay where they had fallen--and the dead were
many. Scarcely a family but had lost a child or a father; few of the
aged escaped; neighbours had fallen under hatchet and knife; friends
had disappeared.
To and fro the good people of Pitt hastened on their errands of pity;
others, having done their part, gathered in groups discussing openly
the riot of the previous evening and the scenes in "Governor's Hall."
It was, truly enough, not the first time that Pittsburg streets had
been filled with fugitives from the far frontiers; but last night's
riot was the first which had ever disturbed the little town, although
there had been a disturbance when, early in the week, a runner from
Cresap came in to announce the fate of Logan's children and the rising
of the Cayugas.
But this new outbreak was very different: people and soldiers had come
to blows; blood had flowed, although nobody exactly understood for
what reason it had been shed. Patched pates and plastered cheeks were
plentiful about the streets; there were rumours, too, of tragedies,
but these rumours proved baseless when the morning wore away. As for
the death of Greathouse, nobody suspected it, because nobody, except
Dunmore and his followers, was aware that Greathouse had fled to Fort
Pitt. It is probable that even Wraxall and Murdy and Tice supposed
that Greathouse had escaped from us, and that he was somewhere in
close cover, waiting an opportunity to rejoin them.
There appeared to be no effort on the part of the town-watch or of the
soldiers to arrest any citizen whose body or apparel bore marks of the
conflict. Citizens and soldiers eyed each other askance, but
apparently without rancour or malice, like generous adversaries who
appreciate a fight for its own sake, and respect each other for stout
blows given and returned.
Certainly neither could complain of the scarcity of knocks. Scores of
noddles had been laid open by citizens' cudgels or by the brass
buckles on the soldiers' belts; scores of pates bore brave bumps and
pretty protuberances, coyly hiding under patches that exhaled the
aroma of vinegar. Many a respectable wig knew its rightful owner no
longer; many a pair of spectacles had been gathered into Shemuel's
basket; many, many hats had vanished into memory, probably, however,
to reappear, peddled by this same Shemuel, when safe opportunity
offered and peace once more smiled her commercial smile.
That morning I had reckoned with my host of the "Virginia Arms." As he
appeared somewhat uneasy about the reckoning of Jack Mount and the
Weasel, I settled that, too, my means permitting me.
However, I observed to Rolfe that the friends of liberty ought to
trust each other implicitly, and he answered that they did, especially
when cash payments were made.
"Is that the Boston creed?" I asked, scornfully.
"I guess it is," said he, with a shrewd wink.
I began to detest the fellow, and was curt with him as he left my
room; but, when Cade Renard strolled in a few moments later, I was
astonished to learn that this same James Rolfe had aided Mount to
throw the tea-chests into the sea, and had beggared himself in
contributing to every secret patriotic society in Boston.
That was my first lesson in ethics. I began to understand why it was
that generous people turned niggards when it came to paying tuppence
tax on tea; how a man might exact what was his due and yet be no
miser; and how he might beggar himself nor stain his name as a
spendthrift.
"He'll lend me what he has," said the Weasel, sitting down to lace his
hunting-shirt; "but he would be unpleasant if I attempted to escape
from here without a reckoning. I am glad you paid; we have no money.
We were speaking of tapping our fat Tory magistrate again--"
"Taking the road?" I exclaimed.
"No, taking the judge's purse. He is so fat, positively he disgusts
us."
I looked at the little man in horror. He returned my gaze mildly, and
tied the leather laces under his chin.
"If," said I, stiffly, "you or Mount require money, I beg you will
borrow it from me, as long as we travel together. Also," I continued,
angrily, "you may as well know that I do not care to figure with you
and Jack Mount in any book or ballad or pamphlet decorated with a
picture of a gallows!"
"Do you suppose we like that picture either?" asked the Weasel, in
astonishment. "Why, Mr. Cardigan, that picture is perfectly repulsive
to us."
"Then why do you take the King's highway?" I asked, blankly.
"You are hurting my feelings," said the Weasel. "Why do you use such
terms? Besides, we discriminate; we only offer ourselves some slight
recompense for the disgust which overpowers us when we meet with fat
Tory magistrates on a moonlit highway."
I stared at him, indignant at the levity with which he used me; but
after a moment I was obliged to believe that he intended no levity,
for never had I seen such guileless innocence in any features. Clearly
the man's past sorrows had been too much for his mind. He was simple.
There was little profit in continuing the subject; if Renard and Mount
chose to justify their reputations I could not prevent them. As far as
I was concerned they had proved kindly and loyal, and, now that I was
so soon to part with them, I desired to do so in gratitude and
friendship.
It was already past eight o'clock by the Weasel's large silver watch,
and still no reply came to me from either Dunmore or Silver Heels.
Renard and I looked out of the window, watching the soldiers
conducting the homeless frontier families to the barracks. We spoke of
last night's riot, computing the casualties suffered by the soldiers
and wondering what proclamation Dunmore would issue, or if he would
have the courage to issue any, considering how the people had shown
their detestation of him.
"If you were not a deputy of Sir William Johnson, Dunmore would have
jailed you for what you said," observed the Weasel. "You have cast the
last grain into the scales and they have tipped him out, repudiated
and dishonoured. _Hic jacet Dunmoreus, in articulo mortis._ But Walter
Butler lives, friend Michael. Beware, sir! _Latet anguis in
herba!_--there lies the snake perdu!"
"Who are you, Weasel?" I asked, curiously. "Truly, you are smoother in
Latin than am I; but I confess myself disguised in this hunting-shirt,
whereas you wear it to the manner born. Yet, I swear you are no
forest-runner withal."
"I was born a gentleman," said the Weasel, simply. "I read the
classics for my pleasure--but I am forgetting, Mr. Cardigan, I am
forgetting so many, many things. It is sixteen years now since I met
with my trouble--sixteen years to forget in--and that with a mind
which is not quite clear, sir, not quite clear. However, I have
remembered enough Latin to entertain you, and that is something, after
all, if it is not an answer to your question."
He spoke gently, but there was a sting in the tail of his speech which
I certainly deserved for my impertinent prying into his past, and I
very promptly asked his pardon for my thoughtlessness.
"I am certain it was nothing more than that," he said, cheerfully;
"pray you, my dear sir, believe me that I took no offence. Sometimes
my tongue is sharp; my infirmity is my poor apology. I do not wonder
at your amusement to hear a shabby forest-runner stammer Latin. But I
shall forget my Latin, too; I shall forget all save what I pray to
forget."
With his forefinger he quietly obliterated a tear in each eye.
"You know I had a wife?" he asked.
"And baby," I added, mechanically.
"Exactly, sir; a wife and baby girl--the sweetest little maid--"
And, following his mania, to which I lent myself out of pity, he
repeated the fragments of the tale I had come to know so well, adding
nothing new, nor casting any light on anything he said.
Mount came in noisily while the Weasel was speaking, but, though the
big fellow was impatient and burning to exhibit the new clothes which
he wore, he sat down quietly until Renard had finished the familiar
tale. Heaven alone knows how many times Mount had heard it, but his
sympathy never failed, and now he looked so tenderly and lovingly at
the Weasel that I almost loved him for it, swaggering, tippling,
graceless purse-taker that he was.
However, after maintaining for a full minute that sober silence which
decency as well as his loyal affection for the Weasel required, he
ventured to call our attention to his new buckskins, fitted, cut, and
stitched in twenty-four hours by four tailor-women, whom he described
as modest and yet no bigots, as they had appreciated the kiss apiece
which he had joyously bestowed upon them.
"No saucy maid durst call me pottle-pot now!" he said, triumphantly,
smoothing his soft, new garments with his fingers, and regarding his
deeply fringed legs with naive delight. "Which brings to mind that I
have drunk no morning draught this day," he added, clacking his tongue
and winking at the Weasel.
"Mr. Cardigan is in some trouble," observed the Weasel, hesitating.
"Oh, then we won't drink while a friend is in trouble," said Mount,
sitting down on the bed.
"It is only that I have no letter from Dunmore or from Miss Warren," I
muttered, looking out into the street to spy if a messenger were
coming our way.
We sat there in silence, gnawing our knuckles, and it did not please
me to wait Lord Dunmore's pleasure like a servant.
That Silver Heels had not yet written also displeased me, for I was
not then habituated to the ways of a maid.
"Do you think the runner I hired to carry my letter to Sir William
will be scalped?" I asked, turning to look at Mount.
"He _has_ been scalped," said Mount, quietly.
Thunderstruck, I sprang to my feet, and finally found tongue to ask
how he had heard such news.
"Why, lad," he said, modestly, "I followed your runner last night when
he left you abed here, and he had not gone ten paces from this inn ere
a man left the shadow of the trees yonder to dog us both. It was what
I feared; but, Lord!--I caught the fellow by the market yonder, and
trounced him till he could neither stand nor sit. I was a fool; I
should have followed your runner and brought him back. I did follow,
but he had struck a fast pace, and besides they delayed me at the
fortress gate with questions about my business. When I cleared the
sentries I started to run; but my journey was short enough, God
knows!"
He paused, looking down at the fur cap he was slowly twirling on his
thumb.
"Your messenger lay dead by the wood's edge," he added, abruptly.
"I had not dreamed the savages were so near," said I, horrified.
"_Some_ savages are," he observed.
"Was he scalped?" I asked.
"In Mohawk style, lad."
"Impossible!" I cried.
"Not at all. I say he was scalped in Mohawk fashion, leaving the raw
strip over the forehead, but I did not say that Mohawks scalped him."
"What do you mean?" I asked, huskily.
"I mean that Walter Butler's men did this, and that your letter is now
in Dunmore's hands."
Rage blinded me. Doubtless I made some noise and talked wildly of
seeking Dunmore, and I know I found myself struggling with Mount to
leave the room. But I was an infant in his grasp, and presently I sat
down again, perforce, while Mount and Renard reasoned with me somewhat
sternly.
"The sooner you leave Pitt the safer for you," said Mount. "The town
talks of little but your accusation of Dunmore last night. You may
think yourself safe because you are Sir William Johnson's deputy, but
I know that Dunmore and Butler will treat you as they did your
messenger if you give them half a chance. What's to prove that the
Cayugas be not your murderers? Tush, lad! This is no time for boyish
fury. Get your kinswoman, Miss Warren, out of this town. Get her out
to-night. Are you waiting for Dunmore's escort and horses? You will
see neither, save perhaps in pursuit of you. Why, lad, the Governor is
crazed with the disgrace you have brought upon him! Trust me, he will
stop at nothing where he can strike unseen."
"You mean he will not answer my letter or accord me escort?" I asked,
astonished.
"If he furnished you escort, it would be an escort of murderers who
would take care you never saw Johnstown," said the Weasel.
"Can't you feel that you are in a trap?" asked Mount. "Gad! it should
pinch you ere this!"
"And you leave it to us to open it for you," added the Weasel, sagely.
"We are none too safe here ourselves. Mayhap some of those same
pamphlets and ballads and books may be sold hereabouts to our
discredit."
"I also think that Cade and I have outstayed our welcome," said Mount,
with a grin. "If we meet your friend Butler, run we must."
At that moment Rolfe came up from below, bearing in his hand a letter
for me, and saying that it had been brought hither by a servant in
Lady Shelton's livery.
I took the letter; the seal had already been broken, and I glared at
Rolfe and pointed to it.
"Ay," he observed, shaking his head; "the slavering servant fetched it
so. It may be accident; it may be design, Mr. Cardigan. You best know,
sir, who may be your foes in Pittsburg town, and what they might gain
by a knowledge of your letters."
"The inn, here, is closely spied," observed Mount, coolly. "Doubtless
my lady Shelton's lackeys can be bribed as well as the King's
ministers."
"The sooner we leave the happier we shall be," said the Weasel,
cheerfully. "Jimmy Rolfe, that stout post-chaise, well provisioned,
and four strong horses might help us to-night--eh, friend?"
"I cannot pay for that," I said, blankly, looking up from my letter.
"The chaise is yours," said Rolfe, resentfully. "Pay when you can,
sir; I trade not with friends in need." And he went out,
disrespectfully slamming the door.
"A rare man," said Mount, "but touchy, lad, touchy. Give the devil his
due and Jim Rolfe would wear shillings on his coat-tails."
"He is a loyal friend," I said, reddening. "I have much to learn of
men."
"And men have much to learn of you, lad!" said Mount, heartily. "Come,
sir, read your nosegay, and may it bring you happiness! Weasel, turn
thy back and make pretence to catch flies."
I went over to the window, and, leaning against the bars, opened the
violated letter and read it carefully:
"DEAR COZZEN MICHAEL,--I am not permitted to accompany you
today to Johnstown it being a racing day and I pledged to
attend with Lady Shelton and divers respectable ladies and
gentlemen.
"And oh Micky why did you say such things to Lord Dunmore
last night? I have been ill of it all night and in a fever
for fear they may harm you, though Lady Shelton assures me
your person is safe, being a deputy of Sir William, and
further says that you are an unmannerly and bold rebel and
desires not your presence in her house, and desires me to
inform you. Oh Micky what have you done? I do not desire any
longer to wed Lord Dunmore and be a Countess, but I had not
thought to have you speak so to Lord Dunmore. He came here
last evening in a white fury and showed me the letter you had
written to him. He says that you are not the messenger he
expected, though you may be a deputy, and he vows he will not
be so vilely used, and he will not give me up but will
publish the banns to-day in Pitt, come what may. Which has
frightened me so I write to you that I do not wish to be a
countess any more and would be glad to go to Aunt Molly and
Sir William.
"I will rise from bed at eleven o'clock to-night and go out
into the orchard with Black Betty. Pray you cozzen, greet me
with a post-chaise and take me away from these dreadful,
dreadful people.
"Your cozzen,
"FELICITY.
"Postscriptum
"To witt, I will not wed you though we be affianced, and I
will wed no man upon your recommendation. With your own
affairs I pray you be dilligently active and concern yourself
not with mine hereafter."
When I had again read the letter I examined the wax. The paper had
been carelessly folded and more carelessly sealed; and I called to
Mount and the Weasel, pointing out that, though the letter was
unsealed, the wax itself had not been broken.
"I do not think," said I, "that this letter has deliberately been
tampered with. This is only carelessness."
"It was certainly sealed and folded in haste," remarked the Weasel,
poking at the wax with his forefinger.
Mount also pretended to believe that negligence or haste accounted for
the open letter, and, satisfied, we sat down to discuss the measures
to be taken for a fortnight flight.
I had a mind to follow Silver Heels to the races, trusting that I
might find a moment to warn her most solemnly not to fail us. Mount
thought the idea most wise, offering to bear me company, and the
Weasel agreed to remain and assist Rolfe to equip and furnish our
post-chaise with the necessaries for a long journey.
It was understood between us that Silver Heels and Black Betty were to
ride in the chaise, and I with them; that Mount and the Weasel would
sit the horses as postilions, and that Shemuel should ride atop. It
was further decided that, as the northern and western frontier were
impassable in view of the border war, we should take the post-road to
the Virginia border, make for Williamsburg, and from there turn north
across Maryland and the Jerseys, reaching Johnstown through New York
and Albany.
I gave the Weasel money to purchase powder and ball, which we all
lacked, and to buy for me a silver watch and a rifle or firelock to
replace the loss of my own. Also, I charged him to purchase pistols
for me and for Shemuel, with flint and ball for the same, and to
sharpen our knives and hatchets against need.
"You waste breath," observed Mount, yawning. "The Weasel never
neglects to file his claws for battle."
"Very well," said I, wincing; "it seems that of us all I alone know
nothing of my own affairs."
"You will learn," said the Weasel, kindly, and I was obliged to
swallow their well-meant patronage and follow Mount to the street.
"If I had my way," said I, resentfully, "I would take Miss Warren from
the races and set out by noon."
"If I had my way," observed Mount, "I should not try to escape
to-night at all."
"Why not?" I asked, in surprise.
"Because of that unsealed letter."
"But we agreed it was accident!"
"Ay, _we_ agree, but mayhap there are others yet to disagree."
"Nonsense!" I said.
"Doubtless," said Mount, with the faintest trace of irony, enough to
flavour his mild smile with that mockery which hurts the pride of very
young men.
Offended, I strode on beside him, and neither he nor I offered to
speak again until Mount suddenly stopped in the middle of the King's
Road and looked back.
"What's amiss?" I asked, forgetting my sulks.
"Oh, we are followed again," said Mount, wearily.
I stared about but could see nobody who appeared to be observing us.
There were numbers of people on the King's Road, trudging through the
dust as were we, and doubtless also bound for the races on Roanoke
Plain. I saw no vehicles or horsemen: the quality in their chairs and
coaches would go by the fashionable Boundary; the fox-hunting horsemen
met at the "Buckeye Tavern," a resort for British officers and
gentlemen; unpretentious folk must foot it by the shortest route,
which was to pass the fortress by the King's Road.
"Are you sure we are followed?" I asked.
"Not quite," said Mount, simply. "I shall know anon. Trust me in this,
lad, and take pains to do instantly what I do. Perhaps my life may pay
for this day's pleasure."
"I will take care to imitate you," said I, anxiously. "You know how
deeply in your debt I stand confessed."
"Good lad," he said, gravely; "I do not doubt you, friend Michael. As
for any debt, your courtesy has long cancelled it."
The quaint compliment had a pretty savour, coming from one whose world
was not my own.
We were now passing that angle of the fortified works through which
the King's Road passes between two block-housen. The sentries,
standing in the shadow of the stockade, watched us without visible
interest, turning their idle heads to scan the next comer, and stare
impudently if it were some petticoat.
So, unquestioned, we passed out into the country, where a few heavily
stockaded farms flanked the road, always built on heights, and always
free from trees or any cover that might shelter an attacking enemy.
Beyond these farms the road became a turnpike, and we stopped at the
toll-gate to pay tuppence to the keeper's wife, who sat nursing a
baby, one hand on a rifle, which she never let go until the evening
brought her husband to keep his perilous vigil there all night.
"No," she said, listlessly, "no Indians have troubled us. Yet, God
knows I sleep not while my man is out here in the night, though they
send a patrol from the fortress every hour."
Mount earnestly advised her to give up the toll-gate until the border
had quieted; but she only stared, saying, "How, then, are we to live?"
And we passed on in silence, side by side.
Beyond the toll-gate a broad road curved out from the turnpike,
running south, and Mount pointed it out as the road we were to travel
that night.
"It crosses the Virginia border by that blue hill yonder," he said,
then suddenly jerked his head over his shoulder.
"I think I am right; I think I know the jade," he said, calmly.
"Is it a woman who follows us?" I asked, amazed.
"Ay, a bit of a lass, maybe eighteen or thereabouts."
"You know her?"
"And she me," said Mount, grimly. "Harkee, friend Michael, if you must
needs know the truth, her father is--Gad! I can scarce say it to you,
but--well--her father is what they call a thief-taker."
"What has that to do with us?" I asked.
Mount spoke with an effort: "Because I have stopped some few
purse-proud magistrates upon the highway, they say evil things o' me.
That lass behind us means to follow me and tell her lout of a father
where I may be found."
I was horrified, and he saw it and stopped short in his tracks.
"You are right," he said, simply; "a gentleman cannot be found in such
company. Go on alone, lad; it is right, and I shall bear no malice."
"Jack!" I said, hotly; "do you believe I would cry quits now?
Damnation! Come on, sir! I would as soon take the King's highway
myself!"
His firm mouth relaxed and quivered a little; he hesitated, then
walked forward beside me with a touch of that old swagger, muttering
something about gentle blood and what's bred in the bone.
"It's all very well," he said; "it's all very well for some of our
people to say that we men are created equal. There's no truth in it. A
broodhound never cast whippets, let them say what they will!"
We were now in sight of the flag-covered pavilion on Roanoke Plain,
and on either side of us the road was lined with those drinking-booths
and peddler-stands and cheap-jack tents which had pitched camps here
for the day rather than pay the tax required to sell their wares
within the racing-grounds.
Around them the townspeople clustered, some munching gingerbread and
pies, some watching the gilded wheel of fortune spin their pennies
into another man's pockets, some paying for a peep into a dark shed
where doubtless wonders were to be seen for a penny. Ragged children
sold colours and cards for the races; peddlers assailed our ears at
every step; fortune-tellers followed us, predicting unexpected
blessings, which turned to curses when we passed along unheeding;
acrobats, tumblers, jugglers, strong men, and merry-andrews hailed us
as their proper prey. And, in sooth, had it not been for the sickening
knowledge of Mount's peril, I should have found keen pleasure in
spending all I had, to see everybody and everything at this show; for
I do dearly love strange sights, and in Johnstown I have always viewed
them all, with Silver Heels and Esk and Peter, when the season of
racing brought these gay folk to our town.
But now I had no stomach for pleasure, nor had Mount, for he scarcely
glanced at the booths as we passed, though there was ale there, and
sweet Virginia wines, which drew the very honey-bees themselves.
Suddenly Mount said, "This will not do; I have been hunted long
enough!"
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"Hunt in my turn," he said, grimly.
"Hunt--what?"
"The lass who hunts me. Follow, lad. On your life, do as I do. Now,
then! Gay! Gay! Ruffle it, lad! Cut a swagger, cock your cap, and woe
to the maid who is beguiled by us!"
The change in him was amazing; his airs, his patronage, his chaff, his
lightening wit!--it was the old Mount again, quaffing a great cup of
ale, pledging every pretty face that passed, hammering his pewter to
emphasize his words, talking with all who would answer him; glorious
in his self-esteem, amusing in his folly, a dandy, a ruffler, a
careless, wine-bibbing, wench-bussing coureur-de-bois, and king of
them all without an effort.
Peddler and gypsy were no match for him; his banter silenced the most
garrulous, his teasing pleased the wenches, his gay gallantries made
many a girl look back at him, and many a smile was returned to him
with delicate surplus of interest.
"Which is the maid?" I asked, under my breath.
"Yonder, stopping to stare at gingerbread as though she had never
beheld such a sweet before. Now she turns; mark! It is she with the
pink print and chip hat on her hair, tied with rose ribbons under the
chin."
"I see her," said I.
She was a healthy, red-cheeked, blue-eyed girl, with lips a trifle
over-full and bosom to match withal. She appeared uneasy and
uncertain, watching Mount when he raised a laugh, and laughing herself
as excuse, though her mirth appeared to me uneasy, now that I
understood her purpose.
She had been edging nearer, and now stood close to us, at the entrance
to an arbour wherein were set benches in little corners, hidden from
prying eyes by strips of painted cloth.
"Will no maid pity me!" exclaimed Mount. "I am far, far too young to
drink my wine alone in yonder arbour!"
"I have not been invited," cried a saucy wench, laughing at us over
the shoulder of her companion, who backed away, half laughing, half
frightened.
"God helps those who help themselves," said Mount, turning to find her
who had followed him close to his elbow.
He smiled in her face and made her a very slow and very low bow,
drawing a furrow through the dust with the fluffy tail on his
coon-skin cap.
"If I knew your name," he said, "I might die contented. Otherwise I
shall content myself with a life of ignorance."
She seemed startled and abashed, fingering her gown and looking at her
shoe-buckles, while Mount bent beside her to whisper and smile and
swagger until he entreated her to taste a glass of currant wine with
us in the arbour.
I do not know to this day why she consented. Perhaps she thought to
confirm her suspicions and entrap some admission from Mount; perhaps,
in the light of later events, her purpose was very different. However,
we three sat in the arbour behind our screens of painted cloth, and
Mount did set such a pace for us that ere I was aware there remained
not a drop of currant in the decanter, no more cakes on the plate, and
he had his arm around the silly maid.
Intensely embarrassed and ill at ease with this pot-house gallantry,
which was ever offensive to my tastes, I regarded them sideways in
silence, impatient for Mount to end it all.
The end had already begun; Mount rose lightly to his feet and drew the
girl with him, turning her quietly by the shoulders and looking
straight into her eyes.
"Why do you follow me?" he asked, coolly.
The colour left her face; her eyes flew wide open with fright.
"I shall not hurt you, little fool," he said; "I had rather your
father, the thief-taker, took me, than harm you. Yes, I am that same
Jack Mount. You are poor; they will pay you for compassing my arrest.
Come, shall we seek your father, Billy Bishop, the taker of thieves?"
He drew her towards the gate, but she fell a-whimpering and caught his
arm, hiding her face in his buckskin sleeve.
Disgusted, I waited a moment, then turned my back and walked out into
the sunshine, where I paced to and fro, until at last Mount joined me,
wearing a scowl.
As we turned away together I glanced into the arbour and saw our lass
of the ribbons still sitting at the table with her head buried in her
arms and her pink shell-hat on the grass.
As for Mount, he said nothing except that, though he no longer feared
the girl, he meant, hereafter, to trust to his heels in similar
situations.
"It might be less irksome," said I, curling my lip.
"Ay; yet she has a pretty face, and a plump neck, too."
"The daughter of a thief-taker!" I added, contemptuously.
"Pooh!" said he. "She has thirty sound teeth and ten fingers; the
Queen of Spain has no more."