watch the process of salting, and help us to secure young Sampson
Tramplara, or whoever does it. You will give evidence against those who
are acting fraudulently. You will assist me in exposing the rascality.
It will not then be possible for your good name to suffer, though your
pocket may and probably will be lighter.'
'Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Herring,' said the unfortunate man;
'I shall never be able to repay what you are doing for me save by my
prayers. I accept your proposal. How is it to be carried out?'
'You must go after your friends, and make some excuse for deserting
them. Then return to me, and I will take you with me. I must start the
constable, who is going to the same spot by another route. Stay! you
have a brown speckled shawl over your arm.'
'It belongs to a lady of my party.'
'Take it with you. Your black suit might be visible, but enveloped in
the shawl you will be unobserved amidst the heather.'
The moor was clear. No one was visible on the flank of Cosdon or on the
hill-side opposite, as Herring and his companion stole cautiously under
cover to a place which commanded the sluice. Herring placed the pastor
at some distance from himself; he wished the constable to be with him,
so that they might make a rush together on the man they desired to take.
The constable had made a considerable detour; he had, in fact, worked
round the hill from an opposite direction. Herring was on the look-out
for him, and signed to him with a handkerchief fluttered behind a rock
where to rejoin him.
The day was bright, but a cool wind blew from the north-west, rolling
scattered masses of white cloud, like giant icebergs floating in a polar
sea. Autumn was closing in. The days were shortening, the fern
becoming russet, the heath had lost its bells; only a few sprigs of
heather retained their harsh, dry blossoms. The gorse no longer bloomed
throughout, though here and there one little gold flower still showed.
'When the furze is out of bloom, then sweet love is out of tune,' says a
Devonshire proverb, which acquires its force from the fact that the
gorse is in flower throughout the year. The whortleberry leaves were
turned orange and crimson. Out of the peat the coral moss showed its
scarlet incrustations.
'To my thinking,' said the constable, who found silence irksome, 'the
worts' (whortleberries) 'of the wood ain't to compare with the worts of
the moor. The wood worts is the bigger, but the moor worts is the
sweeter. Do you like wort-pie with clotted cream on it as thick as the
pastry?'
Herring nodded.
'He who don't like that don't know what good living is,' said the
constable.
This functionary was a stout man, with a florid face and very pale blue
eyes. He was silent for a while, and then he began again.
'I suppose I mightn't stand up and stretch my legs,' he asked; 'I'm in
such a constrained and awkerd position sitting here on my 'aunches so
long.'
'Certainly not,' said Herring, hastily. 'I entreat you to remain as you
are.'
'There was a little fellow I knowed when I was a boy in Tawton--he's
dead now. He had been to sea, but he warn't good for much, he were so
small in size. He've a told me oft and oft the tale how he were tooked
by pirates in the Mediterranean, and sold as a slave at Morocco, in one
of them American States, I reckon. He said that the Moors couldn't make
much of 'n, he were so small. He were no good to work in the mines, and
he were no good to wheel weights. So, as they was determined to have
their money's worth out of he, they made 'n sit day and night in one
constrained and unnatteral position--hatching turkey eggs.'
Then he relapsed into silence, but not for long.
Presently he spoke again. 'I s'pose I mayn't light a pipe?' his faint
mild eyes looked pleadingly at Herring.
'Certainly not.'
'I didn't s'pose I might. I axed because it be tedious waiting. No
offence meant.'
After a further weary pause, he said in an undertone--'You don't think
now, master, that he we be going to take will prove dangerous?'
'I dare say he will show fight. If he be young Mr. Sampson Tramplara,
he probably will.'
'Oh!' the rosy apple cheeks looked less cheery. 'Look here, sir; my
body be as big as a rhinoceros, but my soul be no bigger than a nit.
There seems a deal o' me, looking at me cursorily, sir; but it ain't
heart, sir, it be bacon.'
'Hush!' whispered Herring, 'look out. Here comes some one from the
mine.'
'That be young Mr. Sampson Tramplara,' said the constable. 'From
battle, murder, and sudden death, good Lord deliver us.' He spoke in an
undertone. The wind blew up the valley, and there was not the remotest
chance of his being heard. Then he added in a whisper, 'You'll mind
what I said, in confidence, sir, about my courage. I'll back any one
up, sir, but don't'y thrust me forrard. There be divarsity of gifts, and
I be famous at backing.'
Herring held up his finger. He looked in the direction of Flamank, but
could not distinguish him. He was among the tufts of brown heather, and
the speckled cloak was over him, completely merging him in the bushes.
'Keep a sharp look-out,' whispered Herring, 'and when I touch you,
spring up, and run with me down on Sampson Trampleasure. We must not let
him slip away.'
They saw the young man come stealthily up the valley, looking right and
left, evidently somewhat uneasy. The 'leat' or channel of water came to
a grip in the moor-side, and was carried over it in a long wooden
launder on daddy long-legs' supports. The stream was conveyed thence,
still in wood, and covered, round an elbow of hill, and reached the
washing-floors by a rapid incline. A wire conducted on poles from the
mine to the sluice let the water on without the necessity of ascending
to the launder head, which was invisible from the mine itself.
The stamping-mills were working, and the drum was revolving and
grinding. A second leat carried the water to put these in motion.
Herring and the constable could hear the thud, thud of the hammers and
the monotonous crunching of the crusher.
Young Tramplara knelt down by the sluice, and took a packet from his
breast pocket. Presently the poles supporting the wire creaked and
swung in the direction of Ophir, and the sluice door was lifted. At
once the water rushed down the wooden trough, and Sampson was seen,
after a furtive glance round, to sprinkle the advancing stream with the
contents of his packet.
Herring touched the constable, and both rose and advanced from behind
the rock. Tramplara's back was towards them, and he was unaware of their
approach. The wind was from him, and he did not hear their steps. At
the same time the Reverend Israel Flamank rose and shook off his brown
shawl. Herring and the constable were within a few paces of the young
man, when he stood up, dusted his hands, and turned. Instantly he saw
them, and uttered a cry of mingled rage and alarm. He turned sharply to
run; then, thinking better of it, turned back again, and faced them,
and, quick as thought, drew a pistol from his pocket and presented it at
the head of John Herring. As he fixed him with his eye, Sampson
recognised with whom he had to do, and Herring saw the flash of
recognition in his evil eye. 'By God!' said Sampson between his teeth,
'I am not sorry for this. I'll settle old accounts with you this
minute.'
Herring saw the finger twitch at the trigger, and instinctively bent his
head. He heard the report at the same moment, followed by a cry and a
heavy fall behind him. He was himself unhurt, and his first impulse was
to close with Sampson, but, turning his head, he saw the constable lying
motionless, and, with a call to Mr. Flamank to run after Sampson, he
stooped over the prostrate man.
The constable's face was mottled; all colour had deserted it but a dead
purple in blotches in the cheeks. His eyes were closed, and he was
motionless. Seeing the pistol produced, the worthy man had sprung
behind John Herring, true to his word that he was good at backing. When
Herring bent his head, the constable had received the charge which was
designed to blow out Herring's brains.
John Herring scooped water out of the stream, and threw it over the poor
fellow's face. Then he tore off his neckcloth, and ripped open his
waistcoat in search of the wound. The freshness of the water brought the
man round. He opened his pale eyes, looked scaredly at Herring, and
closed them again.
'Are you much hurt? Where did the shot strike?' asked John Herring.
Again the constable opened his eyes cautiously, and now he turned his
head stiffly.
'Where is he?' he asked huskily.
'He has run away. Are you seriously hurt?'
'Very,' sighed the poor man.
'But where?'
'I can't speak yet. Wait a bit, and I will tell'y.'
In the meantime Sampson Trampleasure was running. He stopped his flight
after he had gone some little distance, and looked back. He saw Herring
bowed over the prostrate man, opening his waistcoat and uncovering his
breast. With a curse, he turned and ran on.
Flamank, with tails flying, waving the brown shawl like a lasso over his
head, ran after him, shouting, 'Heigh! stop, Mr. Sampson! stop! You have
killed the constable! You must be hung! Stay and let me catch you!'
'Try to stand,' said Herring to the constable. He lifted him to his
feet.
'I be the father of fourteen, and another coming,' said the poor man.
He was dreadfully frightened; he peered about him in all directions.
'And the eldest fifteen,' he murmured. 'Be you sure the murderous
ruffian be out o' harm's way?'
'Certain. Have you been hit?'
'Ay, I have.'
'Then where?'
'Here,' said the constable, holding up his hat.
The ball had gone clean through it.
Just then Mr. Flamank returned, panting and very hot.
'I can't catch him. I have run and shouted my best, but he would not
wait to be caught.'
'He shall not escape me,' said Herring.
*CHAPTER XXIX.*
*A RACE.*
Sampson Trampleasure ran to the mine, burst through the assembled
visitors, who tried to arrest him with inquiries after Mr. Flamank, and
about the washings and cradlings and puddlings, and the whips and whims.
He had an oath and a curse for all who stood in his way. He thrust to
the stable, where he saddled and bridled his horse, and, in another
moment, was galloping over the rough road.
The shocked visitors shook their heads, and concluded that there had
been a breakage in the machinery. It did not occur to them that there
had been a break-up of the entire concern. That fact was revealed to
them later by the Rev. Israel Flamank.
Sampson Trampleasure reached the Okehampton road and sped along it in
the Launceston direction. When he had crossed the bridge over the Taw
at Sticklepath, and was ascending the hill on the other side, he looked
back and saw some one on a grey in pursuit. He knew the grey mare--she
belonged to Mr. Battishill, and he was certain that John Herring
bestrode her.
'Ah!' said Sampson; 'a race between us which shall reach Launceston
first.'
Mr. Battishill's mare had been a good horse once, but was now old.
Sampson had a young and sound cob under him. The mare would be unable
to endure so long a journey, she must be exchanged at one of the next
stations. Sampson knew he could keep his distance and get first to
Launceston, but that was not sufficient. He must delay Herring long
enough to allow him to see his father, and, with or without his father,
to leave Launceston before Herring rode through its gate. Believing
that he had killed a man, he was in great fear for himself, and he would
not have scrupled to fly without warning his father, but that he was
misapplied with money. He must make for a seaport that same night; an
hour would suffice, if he could gain that.
The sun was setting as he rode over Sourton Down. There was a turnpike
there. He called the man of the bar to him.
'You know me. I am Sampson Trampleasure, junior. I am riding a race
with a gentleman for a wager; my horse is getting beat, and I must
secure a fresh mount at Bridestowe. Here is a guinea; I will give you
four more if you will delay the gentleman a quarter of an hour.'
'All right, sir! We have to go some ways for our tea-water; I'll fasten
the bar and go for mine.'
Sampson did not wait to hear how Herring was to be detained; he rode as
hard as he could down the hill to Bridestowe, and drew up at the inn
door.
'Here!' he shouted, 'give my horse some gruel; he is beat. Have you a
horse I can hire, hostler? Mine won't carry me to Launceston.'
'He's not done yet,' said the hostler. 'Most of our osses be gone on wi'
two chaises, but there be one in the stables that be fresh. But how
about getting of her back again?'
'I'll leave mine if I take her,' said Sampson. 'I'm back again
to-morrow, and I'll ride her here.'
'You can look at her,' said the hostler; 'her ain't a beauty to look at,
but her can go brave enough.'
Sampson went into the stable. Presently he came out.
'No, Daniel, I don't like her looks. Be sharp with the gruel and put a
quart of your strongest ale into it; my bay will carry me with that
inside him.'
The hostler went leisurely about his work.
'Daniel, this won't do. There has been a breakage at Ophir, and I must
be sharp and tell my father. We must be back to-morrow before daybreak,
or everything will be spoiled.'
'All right, sir; I'll look peart.'
Sampson was not satisfied with the man's undertaking to look alert. He
went himself to the bar and gave his bay a quart of ale.
As he was galloping out of Bridestowe, he heard the clatter of horse's
hoofs descending the hard road from Sourton Down, and he knew that
Herring was at his heels.
Herring had reached the toll-gate, and found it barred. He had been
unable to make the man hear. He found both the gate-house and bar
locked. He was greatly annoyed, and, riding back, lashed his grey, and
tried to make her leap the bar. But the mare was too old and tired to
risk it, and she swerved. Then he tried to get round by a side lane,
and through fields, but found this also impracticable. Full a quarter
of an hour passed before he could get through. The man arrived at last,
put down his water-can, and leisurely unfastened the bar. Herring was
in too great haste to waste time in remonstrance.
The grey was failing; she tripped, and almost fell several times in
descending the hill to Bridestowe. He drew rein at the inn, and called,
'Hostler! here, I say!'
'All right, sir.'
'Have you a spare horse? I must ride on at once.'
'There've a been a gent here already inquiring,' said Daniel. 'Be you
come from the same quarter?'
'I want a horse at once. I have no time for answering questions.'
'Because, if you be,' continued Daniel, composedly, 'there be no 'urry.
The gent, that be young Mr. Tramplara, have a gone ahead already with
the news. He says he must tell his father at once, and they'll be back
early to-morrow morning.'
'Have you a horse, or not?'
'He sed, afore daybreak. Them was his very words.'
Herring was out of his saddle. 'The grey cannot go on. You must let me
have a horse.'
'This grey ain't got the go in her like the bay Maister Tramplara rode.
How old be her?'
'Never mind the age.' He drew the fellow's hand away as he was turning
up the lips to examine the teeth. 'Is there a horse available?'
'There be one, sure,' answered Daniel; 'I offered her to the young
Maister Tramplara, but he wouldn't have her. Her's not so bad to go,
but the looks of her ain't nothing to boast of.'
'Off with the saddle and bridle, and bring her round.'
The hostler, a little man, with his toes turned in, very broad in body
but short in stature, scuffled into the stable, and was a long time
before he reappeared. Herring was impatient. He took a glass of cyder
at the bar, and then went to the stable and met the little man coming
out.
'There be summat the matter wi' the oss,' he said. 'Her's lame. Bide a
wink, and I'll fetch a lantern.'
After having found a lantern, adjusted a tallow candle in the socket,
and lighted it, Daniel went with Herring into the stable. The horse that
was so good to go could not go a step. She was dead lame.
'Here,' said Herring; 'hold the light. Take the candle out of the
lantern, and I'll turn up her hoofs. There it is!'
A knife-blade had been driven into the frog of the off front hoof, and
snapped short in it.
'Is the Squire home at Lea Wood?' asked Herring. He set his teeth, and
his brow contracted; his blood was up.
'I reckon he be, unless he be away,' answered Daniel.
Herring ran to his grey, re-saddled her, and rode out of the village to
the house, situated a mile outside. He rang the bell, and asked to be
allowed to see Mr. Hamlyn for a moment, and the Squire came to him in
the hall. Herring told his story--that he was in pursuit of a man, with
a warrant for his apprehension in his pocket. He drew it forth. He
related how the horse had been wilfully lamed at the post-house to
arrest him, and he begged to be allowed the use of one of the Squire's
horses. His request was at once and readily granted. In a quarter of
an hour he was well-mounted on a fine horse--Squire Hamlyn was noted for
his good horses--a horse perfectly fresh, and was in full and fast
pursuit. 'If I do not catch you now,' said Herring, laughing bitterly,
'it will not be my fault.'
But much time had been lost. It was already dusk. In another half-hour
it would be dark. The heavy clouds that had rolled in broken masses
through the sky all day had spread out over the entire surface, and
obscured all light from the stars. Only to the west the declining day
looked wanly over the ragged fringe of Cornish moorland heights. The
road was no longer over open down, but ran between hedges, with trees on
both sides. It lay in valleys with high hills well wooded folding round;
the hills cut off the light, the dark foliage absorbed it. Sampson
Tramplara was pushing on as well as he could, but his bay was feeling
the length of the journey and the pace.
'Get out of the road, confound you!' shouted Sampson, as a dark figure
was overtaken and made his horse swerve. 'What the devil do you mean by
not standing aside?' Sampson had a hunting whip, his hand through the
loop. He lashed at the foot-traveller, as he trotted by, with an oath.
It was too dark for him to discern a face, but he saw that the person
was a woman. It did not matter, the lash had curled round her. She must
learn a lesson--so hard to teach women and pigs--that when a rider is in
the road she must get on one side. He could not have hurt her, as she
uttered no cry. Sampson was without spurs, but he dug his heels into the
flanks of his bay and urged him on to a canter. Then he heard
distinctly the clatter of horse-hoofs coming along the road at a good
pace--at a gallop. Herring had got a fresh mount, and would be up with
him in ten minutes. His bay could not get on faster--that was
impossible. What was to be done?
Sampson looked back along the road. He could no longer see the
foot-passenger. She had doubtless gone down a side lane. There was
light enough for him to see that the road was clear. He had come to a
place where heavy oak woods closed in on the highway, and the trees
overarched making it doubly obscure. If Herring was to be stayed, this
was the place, now was the time; in another ten minutes it would be too
late. Further on the road would be lighter and less solitary.
Quick as thought, Tramplara dismounted and led his horse along the road
to a gate, He unfastened the gate, and took the bay through into the
wood, where he tied him up behind the hedge. Then he unhinged the
gate--it was a large five-barred gate--and with some little effort
carried it into the road, and threw it down across it.
He looked at his legs; he wore light tight breeches--they would be seen
if he stood aside in the hedge, waiting the result. So he went through
the gateway and leaned his back against the post, standing inside with
his arms folded. If there had been sufficient light, and any one had
been there to note his face, an ugly smile would have been seen covering
it. 'By God,' he muttered, 'he escaped me once to-day: this time he
shall not escape.'
He heard the tramp of the horse approach nearer; it was descending a
hill, and muffled, then ascending the next. Herring's voice was
audible, cheering on his horse. Not another sound but the rush of the
Lew Water, a petty river, swirling over its stony bed, and breaking
against snags of timber that had fallen from the banks.
Yes! a night-jar in the wood screeched; then was silent, then screeched
again intermittently, as though signalling danger.
Late in the year though it was, in the hedge, close to Sampson, was a
glow-worm. The light annoyed him. He could distinguish by it the
crane's-bill leaf on which the insect sat. He put up his foot and broke
down the earth, and then stamped it and the luminous little creature
together. Through the interstices of the clouds one star was visible.
He would have torn it out of the sky and stamped it to darkness in the
mire, if he could have reached it.
Louder, more distinctly, came the clatter of hoofs. The road was level,
and the pace of the horse accelerated. 'On, old fellow, we shall soon
be up with him!'
Sampson heard Herring's voice almost in his ear. His heart gave a
bound, and then--a cry, a crash, and, for a moment, silence.
'The gate has done it,' said Sampson Tramplara, stepping lightly into
the road.
He was right; the gate had done it. The horse had been spurred on to a
good speed, and neither he nor his rider had noticed the obstruction
till the poor brute's legs were between the rails, and he was down and
floundering. Herring was flung, and lay his length on the road.
Sampson went up to him; he was unconscious. Then Sampson turned his
attention to the horse.
'Where did Herring get this brute?' he asked. 'He'll do for me, if he
has not hurt himself. Come up, old fellow, don't lie and go to sleep
there.'
He took the reins, and brought the horse up on his haunches, but the
poor animal was unable to stand. He had broken or severely injured one
foot.
'No good to me,' said Sampson; 'lie as you are. I must force my bay to
go on.'
He went back to Herring, and stood over him, a foot on each side. Then
he drew the pistol out of his pocket.
'This time you shall not escape me,' he said with an oath; 'I'll take
precious good care of that.' And he put the muzzle of his weapon to the
ear of the unconscious man. 'Ah! you're deaf enough now, but I'll bark
into your ear such a bark as will make you jump into eternity. I reckon
I have done for one man to-day, and if I have to run at all, I may as
well run for two as for one.'
He drew the trigger, but no report followed.
'Curse it!' he said, and flung the weapon on the road; 'I forgot I had
already fired it off, and haven't had time to load again.' He paused,
still astride over Herring. 'It is just as well,' he said; 'I can beat
your brains out as well as blow them out, and then no one will know but
what you smashed your skull in your fall. Where's that pistol?'
He turned to look for it where he had thrown it. It was too dark for
him to see, so he groped in the road till he found it.
Then he came back to Herring, lying unconscious and without motion.
'I wonder is he dead already?' he said, and felt him, and put his hand
to his heart.
'He's alive for the moment,' muttered Sampson, 'but not enjoying life
now, nor like to have another and a sweeter taste of it. So, my boy--one
for Ophir--one for me--and one for Mirelle! You threatened to break a
ruler across my head, did you? I'll break something a deal harder over
yours, or batter yours in.' He drew a long breath and raised his hand,
holding the pistol by the muzzle. 'Ready,' he shouted; 'here goes!--one
for----'
A scream of fury and fear combined, the scream of a beast rather than of
a human being, and, in a moment, some one was on him, grasping his arm,
and wrapping him round in rags rank with peat smoke. He could hardly
make out who or what had grappled with him. He tried to disengage
himself, but the hands, with long nails like claws, tore at him, and the
rags entangled his arms, and the hoarse, discordant shrieks in his ear
deafened, bewildered him.
Had a scarecrow assumed life, or leaped on him from a field, to arrest
his murderous hand, or had some spectre of the wood, some dead creature,
risen out of the leaf-mould that had covered it to attack him? For a
moment fear curdled his heart's blood and paralysed his arm; and the
creature, whatever it was, took advantage of the moment to wrench the
whip out of his hand.
'I'll kill you! I'll rip your heart and liver out wi' my nails. I'll
bite my way through to 'em----'
Then Sampson recovered himself. He knew with whom he had to do.