seized the opportunity he offered to apply their blows more satisfactorily. Back, arms, legs, all in turn, were belaboured as two men beat a carpet, till the victim’s cries grew hoarse, then faint, and finally ceased, and he lay in the trampled road, crushed almost to a mummy, and unable to stir hand or foot; and then, and then only, did his assailants cease.
“Ain’t killed him, have we, Abel, lad?” said the bigger of the two men.
“Killed? No. We never touched his head. It would take a deal to kill a thing like him. Captain!” he said, mockingly. “What a cowardly whelp to command men!”
“What shall we do now?” whispered the bigger man.
“Do! I’m going to make my mark upon him, and then go home.”
“Well, you have, lad.”
“Ay, with a stick, but I’m going to do it with my knife;” and, as he spoke, the lesser of the two men drew his knife from its dagger-like sheath.
“No, no, don’t do that. Give him a good ’un on the head. No knife.”
“Yes, knife,” said the lesser of the two. “He’s had no mercy, and I’ll have none. He’s stunned, and won’t feel it.”
“Don’t do that, lad,” whimpered the bigger man.
“Ay, but I will,” said the other, hoarsely; and, dropping on his knees, he seized the prostrate man by the ear, when the trembling wretch uttered a shriek of agony, making his assailants start away.
“Did you do it, lad?”
“Yes; I done it. I’m satisfied now. Let’s go.”
“And leave him there?”
“Why not? What mercy did he show? He was only shamming. Let him call for help now till someone comes.”
The bigger man uttered a grunt and followed his companion as he mounted the steep side of the lane, while, faint, exhausted, and bleeding now, Captain James Armstrong sank back and fainted away.
Chapter Six
Brought to Book
“You dare not deny it,” cried Mary Dell, furiously, as she stood in the doorway of the cottage, facing her brother and Bart Wrigley, who attempted to escape, but were prevented by her barring the way of exit.
Neither spoke, but they stood looking sullen and frowning like a couple of detected schoolboys.
“No,” she continued, “you dare not deny it. You cowards – lying in wait for an unarmed man!”
“Why, he’d got a sword and pistols,” cried Bart.
“There!” shrieked Mary, triumphantly; “you have betrayed yourself, Bart. Now perhaps my brave brother will confess that he lay in wait in the dark for an unarmed man, and helped to beat him nearly to death.”
“You’re a nice fellow to trust, Bart,” said Abel, looking at his companion. “Betrayed yourself directly.”
“Couldn’t help it,” grumbled Bart. “She’s so sharp upon a man.”
“You cowards!” cried Mary again.
“Well, I don’t know about being cowards,” said Abel, sullenly. “He was mounted and had his weapons, and we had only two sticks.”
“Then you confess it was you? Oh! what a villain to have for a brother!”
“Here, don’t go on like that,” cried Abel. “See how he has served you.”
“What’s that to you?” cried Mary, fiercely. “If he jilted me and I forgive him, how dare you interfere?”
“Phew!” whistled Bart to himself. “What a way she has!”
“Why, any one would think you cared for him, Polly,” said Abel, staring, while Bart whistled softly again, and wiped the heavy dew from his forehead.
“Care for him! – I hate him!” cried Mary, passionately: “but do you think I wanted my own brother to go and take counsel with his big vagabond companion – ”
“Phew!” whistled Bart again, softly, as he perspired now profusely, and wiped his forehead with his fur cap.
“And then go and beat one of the King’s officers? But you’ll both suffer for it. The constables will be here for you, and you’ll both be punished.”
“Not likely – eh, Bart?” said Abel, with a laugh.
“No, lad,” growled that worthy. “Too dark.”
“Don’t you be too sure,” cried Mary. “You cowards! and if he dies,” – there was a hysterical spasm here – “if he dies, you’ll both go to the gibbet and swing in chains!”
Bart gave his whole body a writhe, as if he already felt the chains about him as he was being made into a scare-scamp.
“Didn’t hit hard enough, and never touched his head,” he growled.
“And as for you,” cried Mary, turning upon him sharply, “never you look me in the face again. You are worse than Abel; and I believe it was your mad, insolent jealousy set you persuading my foolish brother to help in this cowardly attack.”
Bart tried to screw up his lips and whistle; but his jaw seemed to drop, and he only stared and shuffled behind his companion in misfortune.
“Never mind what she says, Bart, lad,” said the latter; “she’ll thank us some day for half-killing as big a scamp as ever stepped.”
“Thank you!” cried Mary, with her eyes flashing and her handsome face distorted, “I hope to see you both well punished, and – ”
“Who’s that coming?” said Abel, sharply, as steps were heard approaching quickly.
As Mary turned round to look, Abel caught sight of something over her shoulder in the evening light which made him catch his companion by the arm.
“Quick, Bart, lad!” he whispered; “through her room and squeeze out of the window. The constables!”
He opened the door of his sister’s little room, thrust his mate in, followed, and shut and bolted the door; but as he turned then to the window, a little strongly-made frame which had once done duty in a vessel, Mary’s voice was heard speaking loudly in conversation with the new arrivals in the outer room.
“Out with you, quickly and quietly,” whispered Abel.
“Right, lad,” replied Bart; and unfastening and opening the little window, he thrust his arms through and began to get out.
At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door.
“Open – in the king’s name!”
“Open it yourself,” muttered Abel, “when we’re gone. Quick, Bart, lad!”
This remark was addressed to the big fellow’s hind quarters, which were jerking and moving in a very peculiar way, and then Bart’s
