THE MAN ON THE ROAD
Dick Langford told Brack's story to Picton Woodridge and Captain Ben.
Both listened attentively: it was immensely interesting to them. From
time to time Ben looked at his friend to see how he took it. Dick,
absorbed in his tale, did not notice the look of strained attention on
their faces. They were silent when he finished.
"Not bad for Brack, eh?" said Dick.
The simple question made them start.
"You fellows seem all nerves this morning," said Dick. "When I told
Pic on deck, he staggered; I thought he was going to faint. You're not
afraid the fellow will board the yacht, are you?"
Ben laughed as he said: "No, I don't think we're afraid, not of one
man, even if he be an escaped convict."
"You'll want all your nerve to-morrow," said Dick to Picton. "There's
three of my horses to ride, and two of 'em are brutes."
"Thanks," said Picton, smiling; "a pleasant prospect. Worth coming all
these miles for, isn't it, Ben?"
"Depends upon what Langford calls a brute," replied Ben.
"Pitcher's not so bad; he's what I call a humorous horse, full of
pranks and no vice about him. He's number one. Now we come to the
first brute, Planet, a gelding with a temper; as likely as not he'll
try and pitch you into the crowd."
"Then he ought to have been named Pitcher," said Picton.
"We don't all get our right names, I mean names that fit; we're
saddled with 'em by unthinking parents. Sis has a maid, Evangeline
Mamie; now that's what I call a big handicap for the girl," said Dick.
They laughed, and Picton asked him to pass on to number two brute.
"The Rascal," said Dick; "he's a terror. He's lamed a couple of my
chaps, and Pete's right when you're in the saddle, but it's a deuce
of a job to get there. He rises on his hind legs, and conducts an
imaginary band with his fore legs, but he's got a rare turn of
speed, and he ought to win the West of England Handicap Steeplechase
to-morrow, and the Torbay and South Devon Steeplechase the next day."
"Then you expect to bring off the double with him?" said Picton.
"Yes, and if you do not, Sis says she'll never speak to you again."
"Then I'll do it if I die in the attempt," said Picton.
"Don't be heroic, no one wants you to die. You can kill The Rascal if
you like, but promise me to come off unscathed," said Dick, laughing.
"I'll try," said Picton.
"Pitcher ought to win the Maiden Hurdle Race, and Planet the St.
Marychurch Hurdle Race. Now you have a nice little program mapped out
for you, and I fancy you'll win the four events. If you do, it will be
a day for rejoicing at Torwood, and the wearer of the pink jacket will
be an honored guest if he cares to desert the _Sea-mew_ for my humble
abode."
"Dick, you're incorrigible," said Picton, laughing. "You really expect
to win four races?"
"I do; Gordon won the lot at a meeting not far away on one occasion."
"That's quite possible--he's a good rider."
"So are you."
"He is," said Ben; "few better."
"What are you doing to-day?" asked Dick.
"Nothing in particular; basking in the sunshine in your glorious bay."
"Then you like Torquay?" said Dick.
"Who could help liking it? And what a county lies behind it! I envy
you the Devonshire lanes, Dick."
"Then come and live among them. I can pick you an ideal spot, and it
shall be well within your means, Mr. Millionaire."
Picton laughed.
"No millions here--a few thousands," he said; "just sufficient to keep
my head above water."
"And the _Sea-mew_ afloat," said Dick.
"I'll manage that," said Ben.
"Will you come ashore and have a look at Pitcher and the two brutes?"
said Dick.
"What do you say, Ben? Shall we?" asked Picton.
Ben knew he wished to go--Rita was at Torwood--it was not the horses
so much, although they were an attraction.
"Yes," said Ben promptly, and the matter was settled.
They went ashore. Dick Langford's dog-cart was at the Queen's and
thither they adjourned. In a quarter of an hour they were going at
an easy pace to Torwood, which lay about midway between Torquay and
Newton Abbot.
How fresh everything looked! The trees were just budding, tingeing the
almost bare branches with tips of green. The air was cool and soft;
there were no motors about--only an odd one or two, the tourist season
had not commenced--but there would be plenty of people at the races on
the following days.
"Wonder what that fellow's up to!" exclaimed Dick, as he saw a man
push through the hedge and disappear down the hill and across the
meadow.
"Probably belongs to the place," said Picton.
"Then what the deuce did he get through the hedge for? Why didn't he
go to the gate?" said Dick.
"Short cut, perhaps," said Picton.
"Wonder if he's that chap from Dartmoor?" laughed Dick, and he felt
Picton start.
"The man's got on your nerves," he said. "I'll say no more about him."
Picton was looking at him as he went rapidly across the meadow;
something about the figure appeared familiar, so did the long stride;
he wondered if Ben noticed it, but the Captain was otherwise occupied.
The incident was forgotten, and when they came in sight of Torwood,
Picton became animated. He saw a figure on the lawn, and knew who it
was. She recognized them and waved her handkerchief. This met with a
quick response.
Torwood was a typical Devonshire home, not large, but a commodious,
comfortable, well-appointed house, standing on the hillside; trees at
the back, a terrace, then a level stretch of lawn, then a sweep down
to the road; a small lodge and gate at the drive entrance; a steep
incline to the house. On the right were the stables, half a dozen
loose boxes, and a three-stall building. Dick Langford was far from
being a rich man, but he was happy and contented, with his sister.
He was a partner in a firm of auctioneers at Newton Abbot, and was
accounted a ready salesman; there was always laughter in front when he
wielded the hammer; quick at repartee, there were many people prompt
to draw him out, but he got his prices, and that paid the firm and the
customers.
Rita Langford was like her brother, of a bright and cheerful
disposition, was popular in the neighborhood, and Torwood was a
favorite house.
"So glad to see you, Mr. Woodridge, and you too, Captain Bruce. When
did you arrive in the bay?"
"In the morning, yesterday; it was beautiful. How grand the country
looks, and Torwood even prettier than ever!" said Picton.
"I induced him to leave his floating palace, and visit our humble
abode, by asking him to inspect the horses he is to ride," said Dick
with a wink at Ben.
"That is so, but there was a far greater inducement," said Picton,
looking at Rita.
"Must I take that to mean me?" she said, laughing.
"Please," said Picton, thinking how charming she was.
They had a quiet luncheon, then went to the stables. Dick engaged
no regular trainer, but he had a man named Arnold Brent, who was a
first-rate hand with horses, and at the same time an expert gardener;
the combination was fortunate for the owner of Torwood. The horses
were trained in the neighborhood, where Dick had the privilege of
using some good galloping land, with natural fences--an up and down
country, but excellent for the purpose. He had two lads who rode
most of the work; sometimes he had a mount, and occasionally Brent.
Altogether they did very well, and the Torwood horses generally
secured a win or two at the local meetings. Dick Langford's favorite
battle-grounds were Torquay and Newton Abbot. At the show at the
latter place he often took prizes for dogs, poultry and garden
produce; the money generally went into Brent's pocket. Brent knew both
Picton and the Captain, and admired the former because he knew he was
a first-class gentleman rider, although he had not seen him in the
saddle. It was Brent who suggested to his master that Mr. Woodridge
should ride at the local meeting for them.
"Not a big enough thing for him," said Dick doubtfully. "He rides at
some of the swell meetings."
"You try him, sir," said Brent, adding, as he caught sight of Rita,
"I'll bet he accepts."
"I hear a terrible account of these horses I am to ride," said Picton,
smiling.
Brent smiled.
"I expect Mr. Langford's been pulling your leg, sir," he said.
"Isn't The Rascal a brute, isn't Planet another; and Pitcher was
described as harmless, I think?" said Picton.
"The Rascal's all right if you humor him," said Brent. "He's bitten
a lad, and crushed another against the wall, but he's not half a bad
sort, and he'll win the double easily enough in your hands, sir."
"If I can mount him," laughed Picton.
"I'll see to that; he'll stand steady enough with me at his head.
That's him--the chestnut with the white face."
Picton looked the horse over.
"Bring him out," he said, and The Rascal was led out of his box. As
Picton went up to him he laid back his ears, and showed the whites of
his eyes; it was a false alarm, he let him pat his neck and pass his
hand over him.
"I like him," said Picton; "he looks a good sort."
"He is, sir," said Brent.
"Your favorite?" laughed Picton.
"Yes, sir."
Planet and Pitcher were both browns, handy sorts, and Picton thought
it highly probable the three would win the races selected for them. He
expressed this opinion, at which Dick and his sister were delighted.
"It is very good of you to come and ride for my brother," she said to
him.
"It is always a pleasure to me to do anything to please you and Dick,"
he replied.
They chatted for some time; then she said: "I had an adventure not
long before you arrived."
"Your country has always been full of adventures," he said, smiling.
"And adventurers, but the man who came here to-day was not an
adventurer, poor fellow," she said.
He looked at her quickly and she went on.
"I was at the bottom of the garden, near that thick-set hedge, when I
heard some one groan. It startled me; some tramp, I thought, and went
to the gate. I saw a man sitting by the roadside. He looked up when he
saw me, and I shall never forget the suffering in his face, the
hunted look in it. I shivered, but I was quite sure he was harmless.
I beckoned him; he came, turning his head from time to time in a
frightened manner. He said he had tramped many miles, that he was
hungry, footsore, weary to death. I took him to the back of the house,
gave him something to eat, and offered him money. He refused the money
at first, but I insisted and he took it. I gave him one of Dick's old
top coats; when he put it on he seemed a different man. I hunted out
a pair of old boots--he was very grateful for them. I am sure he was
a gentleman; he spoke like one, he expressed himself as such when he
left, there was a natural pride about him. He walked in the direction
of Torquay; I wonder if you met him on the road."
Picton Woodridge greatly astonished her by asking her the following
questions:
"Have you told your brother about this?"
"No."
"Did any one see him?"
"I don't think so. I am almost sure they did not."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Willingly."
"Then do not mention this to a soul," said Picton earnestly.