on the sodden heath to eat his mouthful of sour brose with the same good humour he would have displayed at a gathering of his clan gentlemen where the table groaned with usquebaugh, mountain trout, and Highland venison. Creagh’s philosophy too was all for taking what the gods sent and leaving uncrossed bridges till the morrow. Was the weather foul? Sure, the sun would soon shine, and what was a cloak for but to keep out the rain? I never knew him lose his light gay spirits, and I have seen him at many an evil pass.
The clatter of a horse’s hoofs in the courtyard put a period to our festivities. Presently rug-headed Hamish Gorm entered, a splash of mud from brogues to bonnet.
“What news, Hamish? Has Volney started?” I cried.
“She would be leaving directly. Ta Sassenach iss in ta carriage with ta daughter of Macleod, and he will be a fery goot man to stick a dirk in whatefer,” fumed the gillie.
I caught him roughly by the shoulder. “There will be no dirk play this night, Hamish Gorm. Do you hear that? It will be left for your betters to settle with this man, and if you cannot remember that you will just stay here.”
He muttered sullenly that he would remember, but it was a great pity if Hamish Gorm could not avenge the wrongs of the daughter of his chief.
We rode for some miles along a cross country path where the mud was so deep that the horses sank to their fetlocks. The wind had driven away the rain and the night had cleared overhead. There were still scudding clouds scouring across the face of the moon, but the promise was for a clear night. We reached the Surrey road and followed it along the heath till we came to the shadow of three great oaks. Many a Dick Turpin of the road had lurked under the drooping boughs of these same trees and sallied out to the hilltop with his ominous cry of “Stand and deliver!” Many a jolly grazier and fat squire had yielded up his purse at this turn of the road. For a change we meant to rum-pad a baronet, and I flatter myself we made as dashing a trio of cullies as any gentlemen of the heath among them all.
It might have been a half hour after we had taken our stand that the rumbling of a coach came to our ears. The horses were splashing through the mud, plainly making no great speed. Long before we saw the chaise, the cries of the postilions urging on the horses were to be heard. After an interminable period the carriage swung round the turn of the road and began to take the rise. We caught the postilion at disadvantage as he was flogging the weary animals up the brow of the hill. He looked up and caught sight of us.
“Out of the way, fellows,” he cried testily. Next instant he slipped to the ground and disappeared in the darkness, crying “’Ware highwaymen!” In the shine of the coach lamps he had seen Creagh’s mask and pistol. The valet Watkins, sitting on the box, tried to lash up the leaders, but Macdonald blocked the way with his horse, what time the Irishman and I gave our attention to the occupants of the chaise.
At the first cry of the postilion a bewigged powdered head had been thrust from the window and immediately withdrawn. Now I dismounted and went forward to open the door. From the corner of the coach into which Aileen Macleod had withdrawn a pair of bright eager eyes looked into my face, but no Volney was to be seen. The open door opposite explained his disappearance. I raised the mask a moment from my face, and the girl gave a cry of joy.
“Did you think I had deserted you?” I asked.
“Oh, I did not know. I wass thinking that perhaps he had killed you. I will be thanking God that you are alive,” she cried, with a sweet little lift and tremble to her voice that told me tears were near.
A shot rang out, and then another.
“Excuse me for a moment. I had forgot the gentleman,” I said, hastily withdrawing my head.
As I ran round the back of the coach I came plump into Volney. Though dressed to make love and not war, I’ll do him the justice to say that one was as welcome to him as the other. He was shining in silver satin and blue silk and gold lace, but in each hand he carried a great horse pistol, one of which was still smoking at the barrel. The other he pointed at me, but with my sword I thrust up the point and it went off harmlessly in the air. Then I flung him from me and covered him with my barker. Creagh also was there to emphasize the wisdom of discretion. Sir Robert Volney was as daring a man as ever lived, but he was no fool neither. He looked at my weapon shining on him in the moonlight and quietly conceded to himself that the game was against him for the moment. From his fingers he slipped the rings, and the watch from his pocket-coat. To carry out our pretension I took them and filled my pockets with his jewelry.
“A black night, my cullies,” said Volney as easy as you please.
“The colour of your business,” I retorted thoughtlessly.
He started, looking at me very sharp.
“Else you would not be travelling on such a night,” I explained lamely.
“Ah! I think we will not discuss my business. As it happens, the lady has no jewelry with her. If you are quite through with us, my good fellows, we’ll wish you a pleasant evening. Watkins, where’s that d—d postilion?”
“Softly, Sir Robert! The night’s young yet. Will you not spare us fifteen minutes while the horses rest?” proposed Creagh.
“Oh, if you put it that way,” he answered negligently, his agile mind busy with the problem before him. I think he began to put two and two together. My words might have been a chance shot, but when on the heel of them Creagh let slip his name Volney did not need to be told that we were not regular fly-by-nights. His eyes and his ears were intent to pierce our disguises.
“Faith, my bullies, you deserve success if you operate on such nights as this. An honest living were easier come by, but Lard! not so enticing by a deal. Your enterprise is worthy of commendation, and I would wager a pony against a pinch of snuff that some day you’ll be raised to a high position by reason of it. How is it the old catch runs?
“‘And three merry men, and three merry men,
And three merry men are we,
As ever did sing three parts in a string,
All under the gallows tree.’
“If I have to get up in the milkman hours, begad, when that day comes I’ll make it a point to be at Tyburn to see your promotion over the heads of humdrum honest folks,” he drawled, and at the tail of his speech yawned in our faces.
“We’ll send you cards to the entertainment when that happy day arrives,” laughed Creagh, delighted of course at the aplomb of the Macaroni.
Donald Roy came up to ask what should be done with Watkins. It appeared that Volney had mistaken him for one of us and let fly at him. The fellow lay groaning on the ground as if he were on the edge of expiration. I stooped and examined him. ’Twas a mere flesh scratch.
“Nothing the matter but a punctured wing. All he needs is a kerchief round his arm,” I said.
Captain Macdonald looked disgusted and a little relieved.
“’Fore God, he deaved (deafened) me with his yammering till I thought him about to ship for the other world. These Englishers make a geyan work about nothing.”
For the moment remembrance of Volney had slipped from our minds. As I rose to my feet he stepped forward. Out flashed his sword and ripped the mask from my face.
“Egad, I thought so,” he chuckled. “My young friend
