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The New Forest Spy, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 2. A Surrender |
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_ CHAPTER TWO. A SURRENDER Waller had a glimpse of the pistol as it was suddenly presented at his head, and then he only saw what seemed to be a round, rusty ring, through which he peered at nothing, but in full expectation of seeing a puff of smoke and hearing a report, while in the quick flash of thought that darted through his brain, the question he asked himself was, "Will it kill me?" But he did not stop to think, in this startling, novel position, for he acted simultaneously. As quick as his thought he gave a turn to the lower joint of his rod, separated the two pieces, and delivered a cut with the butt end, which took effect upon the presented weapon, knocking it out of its holder's hands, and then, tossing the rod aside, he sprang forward and closed, while the stranger, breathing hard, finding himself unarmed, tried to get a grip at his adversary's throat, failed, and wound his arms well round him instead, following this up by trying to lift Waller from the ground and throw him backward. The next moment the beautiful little miniature tropic forest of ferns was faring badly, being kicked, broken, and trampled down as the two boys, breathing hard and panting with their exertions, swayed here and there, and wherever they planted foot there came up a curious crackling sound, for beneath the huge trees the earth was thickly covered with beechmast. "Brute--savage!" _Whop_! The dull sound was caused by the wild-looking young stranger coming down flat upon his back. For after a brief struggle, during the first part of which he was furious and strong, all his power seemed to depart at once like a blown-out flame, while Waller, who had grown stronger moment by moment, and hotter with temper as he wrestled here and there, put an end to the struggle as cleverly as any wrestler by heaving up the frantic youth, and falling with him to the earth. For quite a minute they lay motionless, arms interlocked and chest to chest, their breath coming and going with a hoarse, harsh sound, and their eyes glaring as they looked defiance one at the other. Then, as the conquered stranger's face grew more savage, Waller's, in his triumph, slowly softened down into a smile, and as he recovered his breath, he said triumphantly: "Done you, in spite of your old pistol! I say, was it loaded?" There was no reply, but the panting of the stranger's breast seemed to grow louder. "You coward!" he groaned out, at last, in a despairing tone. "Ha, ha!" laughed Waller. "Brute, savage, and now coward! Why, you were the coward to aim at me with a pistol when I had nothing but a stick. Suppose it had gone off!" "I wish it had," panted the prostrate boy, with a vicious look. "What! Why, it might have killed me!" cried Waller. "I wish it had," repeated the boy viciously. "Stuff! You are savage because you are beaten." "Get off!" cried the stranger; and he made a desperate effort to throw his adversary from his chest, but only for Waller to wrench out his hands plant them upon the other's breast, and thrust him down helpless and exhausted, while he raised himself up, got well astride, and sat up, laughing in the stranger's face, as he raised one hand and dragged the strap of the creel over his head and tossed it aside. "Got rid of you," he muttered. "There, it's no good," he cried. "I have you quite tight. If you try to get up again I will give you such a drubbing." "Oh-oh!" groaned the boy addressed, passionately; and his breast heaved with the despairing, hysterical sobs that struggled for utterance. "Ah, that's right!" cried Waller. "You had better lie still. I am too strong for a fellow like you." "Yes," panted the other; "I'm beaten. It's all over now." "Then you give in?" cried Waller, who grew more and more excited in his triumph, while he gazed down at the distorted countenance beneath him, wondering who the lad was and why there was a something un-English in his accent and the turn of his words, though they sounded native all the same. "Yes, I give up," panted the boy; "and you can be proud of having mastered a poor starving wretch who never did you any harm." "No, because I stopped you," cried Waller. "Who are you, and where did you steal that pistol?" "It was my own," said the other proudly. "But what were you doing with that pistol here?--poaching, I suppose? Lucky for you my fine fellow, that I stopped you. Do you know what would have happened to you if you had killed one of the deer? Ha, ha, ha! Killed one of the deer! Why, you could not have hit a haystack with that thing." "Deer!" cried the lad. "I did not want to kill the deer." "Don't believe you!" cried Waller. The lad's face flushed, and an indignant flash darted from his eyes. "How dare you doubt my word of honour," he cried. "Here, let me get up." "Shan't! Lie still!" shouted Waller, flinging out his doubled fist and holding it within a few inches of his prisoner's nose. "Your word of honour, eh? Why, who do you call yourself, my dirty, ragged Jack, with your honour! Who are you, and where do you come from?" "Yes, you are a coward," said the lad bitterly, "or you would not insult a gentleman lying weak and helpless at your mercy." Waller felt a little touched. "Oh, I don't want to insult you," he said: "and perhaps I am as much of a gentleman as you are. But look here; who are you?" "You know," said the lad bitterly. "I give up, I tell you. Be content that you have got the upper hand of me. I won't struggle against fate; only make me one promise," he continued, in a bitter, mocking tone. "Well, what is it?" said Waller. "Come and see your prisoner hung, for I suppose your brutal Dutchmen will not have me shot." "I say," said Waller, staring more wonderingly than ever at his prisoner, "you are using very fine language. Are you a bit off your head? Who wants to hang or shoot you? What Dutchmen?" "The enemy--the brutal soldiery, of course." "I say, look here, I don't know what you are talking about," said Waller, "and I don't know who you are, only that you jumped out at me like a highwayman with a pistol. I say, what are you?" "One of the spies, I suppose," said the boy mockingly. "One of the poor unfortunate wretches you people are hunting through the woods." "Nonsense!" cried Waller. "You must be fancying all this. There are no soldiers here hunting people. Do you know where you are?" "Yes; in the New Forest." "That's right, and in the part my father holds the shooting over. But," continued Waller, showing his white teeth, "he wouldn't want to shoot you if he were at home; you are not fat enough. Pooh! Nobody would want to shoot a boy like you." "Boy! Who do you call a boy?" cried the poor fellow, flushing up again. "Why, you, of course. You are no older than I am, and I am a boy." "Well, never mind that. You have made me a prisoner. What are you going to do next?" "Well, I think I am going to pick up that pistol, wherever it lies." "Bah!" cried the prisoner. "I only did it to scare you off. It isn't loaded." "Oh!" said Waller. "Well, that's one to you. I couldn't tell." "What are you going to do with me now?" said the lad haughtily. "Chain me?" "Chain you!" said Waller, laughing, "why, you are not a dog. I am not going to do anything with you. I don't want you." "No; but you want the blood-money, I suppose." "There you go again," cried Waller pettishly. "Chains and blood! I say, do you know what you are talking about? Blood-money?" "Yes; the reward for taking me." "Reward! For taking you?" "Yes, where are your bloodhounds?" "Well, you are a rum chap," said Waller, laughing. "You talk like a fellow in a romance. We have no bloodhounds. We have a pointer, a water-spaniel, and a retriever. Why, what sort of an idea have you got in your head about bloodhounds hunting you?" "I--I meant the soldiers," said the poor fellow faintly: and his eyes began to close. "Let me sit up, please. I think I'm dying." _ |
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