THE END OF A RACE FOR LIFE
The wounded man had fainted, and lay a dead weight in Herrick's arms.
It was no easy task to hold him securely in his place and at the same
time urge the horse forward at its topmost speed. Herrick knew that
this must be a race for life, yet his heart leaped with excitement as
the splendidly powerful animal he rode made light of its double
burden, and with neck outstretched went on at a swinging gallop. To
Herrick's surprise and relief no further shots were fired. The men who
followed had only revolvers, probably, and the distance was too great
for them to be effective. On they went, the trees by the wayside
literally flashing past them, the long road before them with never a
turning to right or left. Glancing back, Herrick saw that at least
half a dozen men followed, all well mounted, and riding as though
prepared for a long stern chase. For some time the distance between
hunted and hunters did not seem to lessen at all. This was something,
but it was not enough. There was no shortening in his horse's stride
as yet, but the double burden would certainly tell its tale presently.
How long was the race to last, and where was the goal of safety? Since
they were upon a road at right angles to the one by which the
cavalcade had entered the forest, Herrick knew that they might have
many miles to traverse before they reached the open country. When they
had entered the forest he had noted how it stretched away on either
side, and that the chase should happen here instead of in the open
had its advantages. If he could distance his pursuers sufficiently, he
might chance upon some deep green glade down which safety might be
found. In the open, it was true, some town, or village, or other place
of refuge might present itself, but who could say that, for the young
Duke, escape from one enemy might only mean falling into the hands of
another? Though no fatalist, Roger Herrick had a creed that what was,
was best; that come life or death, the circumstances mattered little
so that honor was clean. Fear touches such a man with difficulty, and
he is ever good friend or dangerous enemy, as the chance may be. And
where there is no hampering fear, no vain longing for different
circumstances and thought of what might be done in them, a man's
resourcefulness has full play. This race was on a forest road,
therefore Herrick's whole mind was concentrated on how this fact might
be used to advantage. There was a turn in the road in the far distance
that might be in his favor, since for a few moments, at least, he
would be out of sight of his pursuers. Round such a bend in the road
it might be possible to plunge suddenly into the depths of the forest.
By the roadside, too, there was now a strip of turf, another point in
his favor, for the sound of the beating hoofs of his horse would be
deadened to those behind.
As Herrick turned his horse on to the turf he glanced back. It would
seem that his pursuers were conscious that he had a chance of escape,
for they were riding hard now, and the distance between hunters and
hunted had lessened materially. One man, indeed, mounted upon a speedy
animal, was overhauling him rapidly. In a few moments he would be
close enough to fire. Such a risk must be avoided at all hazards.
Herrick shifted the position of the unconscious man a little, so that
he could have his right arm free, but the movement had the effect of
slackening his horse's pace for an instant. The man behind noticed
this and shouted to his companions in a triumph which was short-lived,
for Herrick had turned and fired at the horse, which reared up
suddenly, beating the air with its forelegs for a moment, and then
rolled over with his rider. The shot startled his own horse, and he
plunged forward, sweeping round the bend of the road with as gallant a
stride as that with which he had begun the race. The road turned again
to the left, then sharply around to the right to avoid a sudden
shoulder of rising ground, and beyond there was a dip in the forest, a
narrow, winding way going down into thick undergrowth. It was not a
path Herrick would have chosen, but the winding road might lead the
pursuers to suppose their quarry was still in front of them, and he
could feel that the double weight was beginning to tell upon his
horse. His stride had quickly shortened after the sudden burst on
being startled by the revolver shot.
As Herrick plunged deeper into the undergrowth, he heard his pursuers
gallop past. There was no knowing for how long they would be deceived.
Two hundred yards of straight road would betray his subterfuge at
once, and how near that piece of straight road might be Herrick did
not know. He rode his horse deeply into the thicket, and then turned
along a narrow green glade which ran back parallel with the way they
had come. For some while he followed this path, scheming as he went.
When the disappointed hunters returned they would almost certainly
discover this way. How could he deceive them? He urged his horse into
a gallop again.
"We will win now, my gallant beauty," he whispered. He checked him
presently, and turned sharply from the path in the direction of the
road, letting the horse walk carefully among the fallen leaves. When
he saw the road, Herrick halted and listened. Save for the murmur of
wind in the trees there was no sound. He walked the horse to the edge
of the road, and looked to right and left. There was no one in sight,
so he crossed it and plunged quickly among the trees on the opposite
side.
All this while, so far as he could tell, the wounded man had neither
uttered a sound nor made a voluntary movement. Herrick now began to
wonder whether he had been carrying a dead man before him. The roadway
was left far behind them, for a time at least they were safe; and
coming to a small opening, across which a little brook ran its narrow,
bubbling course, Herrick dismounted, and, laying the young Duke on the
grass, began to examine him. The bullet had passed through his arm and
torn an ugly wound in his side. It had bled freely, and Herrick did
not think the bullet had lodged in the body. He had laid him down upon
the bank of the brook, and made shift to cleanse the wound as best he
could, with naught to hold water but his hands, held cupwise. He
bathed his face, too, and contrived to get a little trickle of water
between his lips.
With a sigh Maurice opened his eyes presently, but did not speak. He
looked at Herrick without any recognition in his look, and then he
closed his eyes again. The horse had gone to a little distance, where
a break in the bank enabled him to get at the water and drink; now he
came back, and nosed the prostrate man, perhaps looking for a caress
for his part in the day's work. The touch roused Maurice again.
"Where's Christine?" he murmured.
"Safe with Gaspard Lemasle."
"Who are you?"
"Roger Herrick."
"I don't seem to remember," he answered feebly.
"You have been wounded," Herrick answered. "I will dress it as best I
can, and then----"
"Yes; then call Christine."
Herrick tore out the sleeve from his own shirt. He could bind up the
wound after a fashion, but what was he to do then? It was evident that
his companion was not in a state to be carried farther on horseback,
and where was he to get succor? They could hardly hope to remain there
long undiscovered, and which way to go for help Herrick did not know.
They had no food, either, of any sort. Even if the wounded man became
conscious enough to know the dire straits they were in, it was
doubtful whether he knew anything about the forest roads. Had he not
been a virtual prisoner at Passey for years?
As he was binding the linen round the wounded arm he glanced at
Maurice to see if he winced with pain. His eyes were open, staring not
at him, but beyond him, in that uncanny fashion which compels one to
turn and see upon what such a look is fixed. Herrick was turning when
his arms were suddenly seized from behind and a cord drawn tightly
round them, while rough hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him on
to his back.
"Tie his feet, too," said a man, suddenly springing across the brook.
"Whom have we here?"
"A wounded man," said Herrick, without attempting to struggle. He
might want all his strength for that presently.
"Ay; and for a priest you're a poor hand with a wounded man," was the
answer.
For a moment Herrick thought they had fallen into the hands of their
pursuers after all, but as a score of men surrounded them he saw they
were not those who had attacked them at the clearing. This surely was
a band of real robbers.
The man who had stooped down to look steadily into Maurice's face
suddenly stood upright.
"Quick! Fetch the old mother," he said excitedly to a youth near him;
and then looking down at Herrick he said, "Who is he?"
"A wounded man. I never saw him before to-day."
"How came he thus and how did you come into his company?"
"An attack in the forest, and I helped him to escape. It was a small
affair; but if you have skill in such matters, pray bind up his wounds
without delay. He is weak from loss of blood."
The youth returned, hurrying forward an old woman with bent form, and
chin and nose which nearly met, as they seemed to peck at each other
continually.
"Mother, look into this man's face," said the man who seemed chief of
this forest band.
"Ay, sore hurt he is," said the old hag, bending over him, "but I have
salves--I have salves."
"But his face, mother; who is he?"
"A wounded man
In a forest lay,
Who the fates decree
Shall be Duke one day,"
chanted the old woman in a piping key. "I saw it all as the flame died
out of my fire last night. I have salves; let me fetch them. There is
money, much money in this."
"Mother, is it not he of Passey?"
"Who the fates decree
Shall be Duke one day.
"Let me go. Would you have him die when there is so much money in the
air?"
The robbers were evidently half afraid of this old beldame, who
probably found her pretended witchcraft and doggerel rhymes
profitable.
"The mother speaks truly," said Herrick. "It is he of Passey. Duke
even now, and there is much money for those who help him."
"You said you never saw him before to-day."
"I spoke truly also."
The man turned away, and, beckoning the other men round him, talked
eagerly for a few moments, and with many gesticulations. When the old
woman returned, some of the men went quickly into the wood, and the
chief turned to her.
"Quickly, mother, and so that he may travel."
"Whither?"
The man stretched out his arm.
"Cannot you see the money in that direction?"
"Ay, if you can reach it, plenty of it; but that is not the road to
Vayenne, and there is money that way, too," said the woman, bending
over her work.
"As much?" queried the man.
"Why ask? Is it not the Vayenne road he must take so that he may be
Duke one day?"
"Make up another riddle against that time, mother, and read my fate."
"It would put the fear of God in thee, Simon; thou art best in
ignorance."
The man turned away with an uneasy laugh. He, too, feared the old
woman, although he would not have it appear so. He stopped to look
down at Herrick.
"What can we do with the priest?" he murmured to himself, but not so
softly that another behind him did not hear.
"Why not knife him?"
"Ay; why not?"
"The mother loves not such," urged the man, "and alive he will be
dangerous."
"I like not knifing a man when the blood is cold in me," Simon
answered.
"I'll do it, I have no such sentiment."
"Time enough," Simon said. "Besides, since he helps this scholar of
Passey, he's no friend to him of Vayenne." And then, turning to
Herrick, he went on: "I marked you when you came to the brook; you
rode not like a priest."
"What matter how I rode so we have fallen among friends?" said
Herrick.
"Friends? Hardly that; but at least we would not let the wounded man
die. Dead he is but carrion as any other man; alive he is worth much
gold. There are those beyond Montvilliers who will pay handsomely for
him."
"Beyond Montvilliers! You would sell him into the hands of his
country's enemies? That were traitor's work indeed!"
"The country's rulers would hang me to the first tree if they caught
me. To-day the game is mine; to-morrow----" And he snapped his fingers
and laughed.
He walked away, and soon afterward the men who had gone into the woods
returned with a rough litter. Into this the young Duke was carefully
lifted, and whether he were conscious or not Herrick could not tell.
These traitors would keep him alive if they could; at least there was
more hope with them than with those others who were bent on slaying
him, and Herrick found what consolation he could in the thought.
Lifting his head to watch what was happening about the litter, he had
not heard any one approach him until he found the old hag bending over
him. Behind her stood the man who wished to knife him. They had come
upon him stealthily, so that Simon should not stay their crime,
Herrick supposed, and he gave himself up for lost. Indeed, he saw the
knife in the man's hand.
"This one has no hurt," said the old woman, bending over him.
"Not yet, mother. Is he to live to tell of what we do?"
"Give me a moment, my son," she answered, and closed her eyes.
"Quickly, mother, or Simon will save him. He likes not the deed, but
he will be glad enough when it is done."
Herrick was conscious that a shout might save him; yet he did not
utter it. The face of the hag seemed to fascinate him with its closed
eyes, so hollow that they were almost like empty sockets, and its
mumbling mouth and pecking nose and chin.
"Quick, mother!" said the man impatiently.
"I cannot see him dead, my son, yet cannot I follow his course. Put up
the knife. He must be left to chance."
"Curse the fates that mock you," said the man in a rage.
"Mock me!" screamed the hag, striking him across the face with her
bony hand. "Mock me--me! Get you gone, or I'll set the finger of death
on you or ever the year is out. Simon, I say, Simon! This sham priest
must be left to the will of Fate. I have said it."
Simon, who had mounted Herrick's horse, made a sign and three men
carried Herrick to a tree at the edge of the open. To this they bound
him in an upright position, winding and knotting the rope tightly from
his feet upward--so tightly that he could not move an inch either way.
The end of the rope they wound round his throat but loosely.
"Fate must set you free if she will," said the hag.
Simon did not look at him. It seemed to Herrick that he would not
willingly have treated him thus, but that fear of the old woman
compelled him. He set the man who had wished to use the knife to be
one of the litter-bearers, that he might have no chance of returning
and doing the captive harm.
"March!" he said, and placing himself at the head of the band he led
them through the trees, following no path but in the direction he had
pointed, the way where much money lay, and which did not lead to
Vayenne.
The hag stood by the brook watching them go, stood there for some time
after the last of them had disappeared among the trees; then she
entered the forest in the opposite direction, mumbling and
gesticulating as she went.
Save for the wind in the trees there was no sound, and even the wind
sank presently into silence. Twilight came, then darkness. A numbness
crept through Herrick's frame, and there was a strange singing in his
head. His throat was parched, for in ministering to his wounded
comrade he had forgotten to drink himself. Then came intervals of
forgetfulness, then clear consciousness again, and a feeble effort to
free himself. In the little patch of night sky overhead shone a star,
the North Star surely. That way lay England--home--and in a moment all
his life seemed to flash past him. Was it his throat that swelled, or
was it that the rope was tightening? Then came oblivion!