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The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 12. Baring The White Blade |
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_ CHAPTER TWELVE. BARING THE WHITE BLADE Ralph Darley's disposition led him to determine to say nothing about what had passed, but his lame legs forced him to confess how it was his ankles were so bad, and Sir Morton was furious. He was ready to declare war on a small scale against his neighbour, and carry fire and sword into his camp. But Ralph's legs were better the next day; and when the whole history of the two encounters had been gone over, he thought better of the affair, to the extent of determining to wait till his son was quite well again; and when he was quite well, there were other things to dwell upon. For one, Nick Garth, who had been across to one of the villages beyond the moor, came back with his head bleeding, and stripped to breeches and shirt. His account of his trouble was that he was coming home in the dark, keeping one eye upon a flickering light some distance away up the mountain-side. Sometimes it was visible, at others all was black; and he was wondering whether it had anything to do with the witches' fire of which he had heard tell, when all at once he found himself surrounded by seven or eight wild-looking figures, either in long gowns or cloaks, who seized him; and upon his resisting wildly, they knocked him down, took the best of his clothes away, emptied his pockets, and departed, carrying off a large basket he was taking home, a basket containing two chickens, two ducklings, and a big pat of butter, the present of a married sister beyond the moors. The next day news reached the Black Tor that the witches had been seen again by two different miners, and in each case the tale was the same. The witches were crowding together in a huddled way, in their long cloaks, over a fire. A caldron was hung from three sticks, joined together at the top, and one of the men declared that they must have been busy over some unhallowed work. "Why do you say that, man?" asked Mark. "Because they were chanting some horrible thing together." "You heard that?" "Ay, Master Mark, I heered it." "A song?" "Song, Master Mark? Save us, no! A song makes your eyes water if it's about solemn things, or it makes you laugh if it's comic; but this made the marrow in my bones turn hard as taller, for it went through me; and as I watched them, they all got up and joined hands, and began to walk slowly round the great pot over the fire, and the light shone on their horrible faces and long ragged gowns. I wanted to run away, but my legs was all of a tremble. I'd ha' give anything to run, but they legs wouldn't go, and there I stood, watching 'em as they danced round the fire a little faster, and a little faster, till they were racing about, singing and screeching. And then all at once they stopped and shouted 'Wow?' all together, and burst into the most horrid shrecking laughter you ever heered, and the light went out. That seemed to set my legs going, master, and I turned to get away as fast as ever I could go, when I heered some kind o' wild bird whistle over the mountain-side, and another answered it close to me: and before I knew where I was, the great bird fluttered its wings over me, and I caught my foot in a tuft of heather, and fell." "Well, and what then?" asked Mark. "Nothing, sir, only that I ran all the way home to my cottage yonder, and you ask my wife, and she'll tell you I hadn't a dry thread on me when I got in. Now, sir, what do you say?" "All nonsense!" replied Mark bluntly, and he walked away. Another few days passed. Mark had been very quiet and thoughtful at home, reading, or making believe to read, and spending a good deal of time in the mine with Dummy Rugg, who twice over proposed that they should go on exploring the grotto-like place he had discovered; but to his surprise, his young master put it off, and the quiet, silent fellow waited. He, though, had more tales to tell of the way in which things disappeared from cottages. Pigs, sheep, poultry went in the most unaccountable way, and the witches who met sometimes on the mountain slope had the credit of spiriting them away. "Then why don't the people who lose things follow the witches up, and see if they have taken them?" "Follow 'em up, sir?" said Dummy, opening his eyes very widely. "They wouldn't dare." Then came a day when, feeling dull and bitter and as if he were not enjoying himself at home, as he did the last time he was there, Mark mounted one of the stout cob ponies kept for his and his sister's use, and went for a good long round, one which was prolonged so that it was getting toward evening, and the sun was peering over the shoulder of one of the western hills, when, throwing the rein on his cob's neck, and leaving it to pick its own way among the stones of the moorland, he entered a narrow, waste-looking dale, about four miles from the Tor. He felt more dull and low-spirited than when he started in the morning, probably from want of a good meal, for he had had nothing since breakfast, save a hunch of very cake-like bread and a bowl of milk at a cottage farm right up in the Peak, where he had rested his pony while it had a good feed of oats. The dale looked desolation itself, in spite of the gilding of the setting sun. Stone lay everywhere: not the limestone of his own hills and cliffs, but grim, black-looking millstone-grit, which here and there formed craggy, forbidding outlines; and this did not increase his satisfaction with his ride, when he took up the rein and began to urge the cob on, to get through the gloomy place. But the cob knew better than his master what was best, and refused to risk breaking its legs among the stones with which the moor was strewn. "Ugh! you lazy fat brute," cried Mark; "one might just as well walk, and--Who's that?" He shaded his eyes from the sun, and looked long and carefully at a figure a few hundred yards ahead till his heart began to beat fast, for he felt sure that it was Ralph Darley. Ten minutes after, he began to be convinced, and coming to a clearer place where there was a pretence of a bit of green sward, the cob broke into a canter of its own will, which brought its rider a good deal nearer to the figure trudging in the same direction. Then the cob dropped into a walk again, picking its way among great blocks of stone; and Mark was certain now that it was Ralph Darley, with creel on back, and rod over his shoulder, evidently returning from one of the higher streams after a day's fishing. Mark's heart beat a little faster, and he nipped his cob's sides; but the patient animal would not alter its steady walk, which was at about the same rate as the fisher's, and consequently Mark had to sit and watch his enemy's back, as, unconscious of his presence, Ralph trudged on homeward, with one arm across his back to ease up the creel, which was fairly heavy with the delicate burden of grayling it contained, the result of a very successful day. "He has his sword on this time," said Mark to himself, "and I've got mine." The lad touched the hilt, to make sure it had not been jerked out of the scabbard during his ride. "Just a bit farther on yonder," he muttered, gazing at the steep slope of a limestone hill to his right, and a mile distant, "there are some nice level bits of turf. I can overtake him then, and we can have a bit of a talk together." The cob walked steadily on, avoiding awkward places better than his master could have guided him, and suddenly stopped short at a rocky pool, where a little spring of water gushed from the foot of a steep slope, and lowered its head to drink. "You don't want water now," said Mark angrily; and he tightened the rein, but his cob had a mouth like leather; and caring nothing for the bit, bore upon it heavily, stretched out his neck, and had a long deep drink. "I wish I had spurs on," muttered Mark; "I'd give you a couple of such digs, my fine fellow." Then he sat thinking. "Good job I haven't got any on. I should trip, for certain, when we were at it." Then the cob raised its dripping mouth, which it had kept with lips very close together, to act as a strainer to keep out tadpoles, water-beetles, leeches, or any other unpleasant creatures that might be in the water, took two or three steps back and aside, and then, noticing that there was a goodly patch of rich juicy herbage close by the spring, it lowered its head once more, uttered a snort as it blew the grass heavily, to drive off any flies that might be nestling among the strands, and began to crop, crop at the rich feed. "Oh come, I'm not going to stand that," cried Mark, dragging at the pony's head. "You're so full of oats now that you can hardly move, and he'll be looking back directly, and thinking I'm afraid to come on." The cob's head was up: so was its obstinate nature. It evidently considered it would be a sin to leave such a delicious salad, so tempting and juicy, and suitable after a peck or two of dry, husky oats; and, thoroughly determined not to pass the herbage by, it set its fore feet straight out a good distance apart, and strained at the reins till, as Mark pulled and pressed his feet against the stirrups, it seemed probable that there would be a break. "Oh, you brute!" cried the lad angrily; "you ugly, coarse, obstinate brute! Pony! You're not a pony, I feel sure; you're only a miserable mule, and your father was some long-eared, thick-skinned, thin-tailed, muddle-headed, old jackass. Look here! I'll take out my sword, and prick you with the point." The cob evidently did not believe it, and kept on the strain of the bit, till the lad took a rein in each hand, and began to saw the steel from side to side, making it rattle against the animal's teeth. This seemed to have a pleasant effect on the hard mouth, and produced the result of the cob nodding its head a little; and just then, to Mark's great disgust, Ralph turned his head and looked back. "There! I expected as much. Now go on, you beast, or I'll kill you." The pony snorted with satisfaction, for in his excitement, the rider had slackened the reins a little. Down went the animal's muzzle; there was another puff to blow away the insects, and it began to crop again, with that pleasant sound heard when grazing animals are amongst rich herbage. Then followed a fresh struggle, and the pony won, taking not the slightest notice of the insulting remarks made by its rider about its descent, appearance, and habits. But at last, perhaps because it had had its own way, more probably because it was not hungry, and just when the rider was thinking of getting down to walk, and sending Dummy Rugg to find the animal next day, it raised its head, ground up a little grass between its teeth and then began to follow Ralph once more, as he trudged on without turning his head again. Still, try as he would, Mark could not get the animal to break into a canter; in fact, the way was impossible; and when the sun had sunk down below the western hill, which cast a great purple shadow, to begin rising slowly higher and higher against the mountain on his left, he and Ralph were still at about the same distance apart. "I can't halloa to him to stop," muttered Mark angrily; "I don't want to seem to know him, but to overtake him, and appear surprised, and then break into a quarrel hotly and at once. Oh! it's enough to drive anyone mad. You brute! I'll never try to ride you again." Rather hard, this, upon the patient beast which had carried him for many miles that day, and was carefully abstaining now from cantering recklessly amongst dangerous stones, and giving its master a heavy fall. But boys will be unreasonable sometimes, almost as unreasonable as some men. Finding at last that drumming the cob's sides was of no use, jerking the bit of not the slightest avail, and that whacks with the sheathed sword only produced whisks of the tail, Mark subsided into a sulky silence, and rode at a walk, watching the enemy's back as he trudged steadily on. The vale grew more gloomy on the right side, the steep limestone hill being all in shadow, and the rough blocks looked like grotesque creatures peering out from among the blackening bushes; and as he rode on, the lad could not help thinking that by night the place might easily scare ignorant, untutored, superstitious people, who saw, or fancied they saw, strange lights here and there. "And in the sunshine it is as bright as the other hill," thought Mark, as he glanced at the left side of the dale; "not very bright, though. It's a desolate place at the best of times;" and once more he glanced up the steep slope on his right. "Wonder why they call it Ergles," he mused. "Let's see; it's up there where the cave with the hot spring is. Not a bit farther on." He was still a long distance from home, and knowing that before long Ralph Darley would turn off to the left, he again made an effort to urge on the cob, but in vain. "And he'll go home thinking I'm afraid," muttered the lad; "but first time I meet him, and he isn't a miserable, wretched, contemptible cripple, I'll show him I'm not." "Then you shall show him now," the cob seemed to say, for it broke into a smart canter, but only because the bottom of the dale was here free from stones, and in a very short time Ralph was overtaken. "Here, hi! fellow! clear the road," shouted Mark; and he essayed to stop. But now, the way being good, the cob was anxious to get on and reach its stable, passing Ralph quickly enough, and enraging its rider more and more. "Oh, you brute, you brute!" he muttered. "Now he can't help thinking I'm afraid of him. If I only had a whip." For the moment Mark felt disposed to turn in the saddle, and make some insulting gesture at the lad behind--one that would make him, if he had any courage within, come running rapidly in pursuit. But the act would have seemed too weak and boyish, when he wanted to be manly; and he refrained, contenting himself with dragging hard at the rein, till a hundred yards farther the ground grew stony again, and the pony dropped into a walk, and picked its way in and out more slowly than ever. This had the result that Mark desired, for a glance back showed him that Ralph was coming on fast, and in a few minutes he had overtaken him, just as he sprang off his pony and faced round. "Oh, it is you," said Mark haughtily. "Yes," said Ralph, meeting his eyes boldly. "I thought it was. Well, you are not lame now?" "No." "And I see you have a sword." "Yes, I have my sword." "Then as we are equal now, and if you are not afraid, we may as well have a little conversation with them." "Fight?" said Ralph quietly. "Why?" "Ha-ha!" laughed Mark, with his face flushing. "Why? Because we are gentlemen, I suppose; because we have been taught to use our swords; at least I have; and it's the worse for you if you have not." "But I have," said Ralph firmly, his own cheeks beginning to look hot; "but I don't see that this is a reason why we two should fight." "Then I'll give you another," cried Mark; "because you are a Darley, and I am an Eden, and we cannot meet without drawing swords. Your people were always a set of cut-throats, murderers, robbers, and thieves." "It's a lie," cried Ralph hotly. "My people were always gentlemen. It was your people who always insulted ours, as you are insulting me now, and did a few minutes ago, when you passed me going quietly on my way." "That's enough," said Mark sharply. "Out of the way, beast," and he drew his sword and struck the cob sharply on the flank, sending it trotting onward at the risk of breaking its knees. "This is your doing," said Ralph quietly, as he threw down his rod, and passed the strap of his creel over his head, to swing it after. "Bah! don't talk," cried Mark hotly. "This place will do. It is as fair for you as for me." He made a gesture with his sword toward a tolerably level spot, and Ralph bowed his head. "Then draw," cried Mark, throwing down his cap. Ralph followed his example, and the next moment his own bright blade leaped from its sheath, and without further preliminary, they crossed their trusty blades, which emitted a harsh grating noise as they played up and down, flashing in the paling evening light, each awaiting the other's attack. Mark, in the fear that his enemy would doubt his prowess, began the attack; and in defending himself from his adversary's thrusts Ralph soon showed him that he had learned the use of his thin rapier from a master the equal of his own teacher, thus making the hot-headed youth more cautious, and ready to turn aside the thrusts which followed when he ceased his own. They fenced equally well, and for a few minutes no harm was done. Then all at once, in response to a quick thrust, a spot appeared high up above the russet leather boot which came half-way up Mark's thigh, and Ralph leaped back with a strange feeling of compunction attacking him that he could not understand. "Nothing," cried Mark angrily; "a scratch," as he pressed his teeth upon his nether lip; and they crossed swords once more, with the wounded lad commencing the attack with as much vigour as before. And now, forgetful of everything but the desire to lay one another _hors de combat_, they thrust and parried for the next minute, till Ralph uttered a faint cry, as his adversary's sword passed through his doublet, between his right arm and ribs, a sharp pang warning him that the blade had pierced something more than the velvet he wore. Mark dropped the point of his blade, for at that moment a whistle rang out, and he looked inquiringly in the direction from which it had come, leaving himself quite open to any treacherous attack had it been intended. But none was meant, Ralph standing with his left hand pressing his side, just below the armpit, as another whistle was heard from a fresh direction. Others followed, and the adversaries looked sharply at each other. "Not birds," said Ralph quickly. "Don't look like it," said Mark bitterly, as he drew his breath with a hissing noise, as if in pain. "We're surrounded," cried Ralph excitedly, as they saw six or seven men appearing from different directions, and evidently all making the spot where the lads now stood the centre for which they aimed. "You coward!" cried Mark bitterly--"a trap--your father's men. _En garde_!" he shouted. "You shall pay for this!" "My father's men?" cried Ralph angrily, as he ignored the other's preparations for a fresh attack. "You're mad; can't you see they're those scoundrels who came to us--Captain Purlrose and his men. Look, there he is--up yonder by that hole." "What do they mean, then?" cried Mark, dropping the point of his weapon. "Mischief to us," cried Ralph. "Or me," said Mark suspiciously. "To us, I tell you," cried Ralph.--"You won't give in?" "No; will you?" "Not if you'll stand by me." "And I will," cried Mark excitedly. "But you are wounded." "So are you." "I don't feel it now." "No more do I. Hurrah, then; let them come on!" _ |
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