CHAPTER LI.
A STRUGGLE.
All the irresolution which for a time had characterized Despard hadvanished before the shock of that great discovery which his father'smanuscript had revealed to him. One purpose now lay clearly and vividlybefore him, one which to so loyal and devoted a nature as his was theholiest duty, and that was vengeance on his father's murderers.
In this purpose he took refuge from his own grief; he cast aside his ownlongings, his anguish, his despair. Langhetti wished to search after his"Bice;" Despard wished to find those whom his dead father had denouncedto him. In the intensity of his purpose he was careless as to the meansby which that vengeance should be accomplished. He thought not whetherit would be better to trust to the slow action of the law, or to takethe task into his own hands. His only wish was to be confronted witheither of these men, or both of them.
It was with this feeling in his heart that he set out with Langhetti,and the two went once more in company to the village of Brandon, wherethey arrived on the first day of the "run on the bank."
He did not know exactly what it would be best to do first. His one ideawas to go to the Hall, and confront the murderers in their own place.Langhetti, however, urged the need of help from the civil magistrate. Itwas while they were deliberating about this that a letter was brought inaddressed to the _Rev. Courtenay Despard_.
Despard did not recognize the handwriting. In some surprise how any oneshould know that was here he opened the letter, and his surprise wasstill greater as he read the following:
"SIR,--There are two men here whom you seek--one Potts, the other Clark.You can see them both at any time.
"The young lady whom you and Signor Langhetti formerly rescued hasescaped, and is now in safety at Denton, a village not more than twentymiles away. She lives in the last cottage on the left-hand side of theroad, close by the sea. There is an American elm in front."
There was no signature.
Despard handed it in silence to Langhetti, who read it eagerly. Joyspread over his face. He started to his feet.
"I must go at once," said he, excitedly. "Will you?"
"No," replied Despard. "You had better go. I must stay; my purpose is adifferent one."
"But do not you also wish to secure the safety of Bice?"
"Of course; but I shall not be needed. You will be enough."
Langhetti tried to persuade him, but Despard was immovable. For himselfhe was too impatient to wait. He determined to set out at once. He couldnot get a carriage, but he managed to obtain a horse, and with this heset out. It was about the time when the bank had closed.
Just before his departure Despard saw a man come from the bank and enterthe inn. He knew the face, for he had seen it when here before. It wasClark. At the sight of this face all his fiercest instinct awoke withinhim--a deep thirst for vengeance arose. He could not lose sight ofthis man. He determined to track him, and thus by active pursuit to dosomething toward the accomplishment of his purpose.
He watched him, therefore, as he entered the inn, and caught a hastyglance which Clark directed at himself and Langhetti. He did notunderstand the meaning of the scowl that passed over the ruffian's face,nor did Clark understand the full meaning of that gloomy frown whichlowered over Despard's brow as his eyes blazed wrathfully and menacinglyupon him.
"THE NEXT INSTANT DESPARD HAD SEIZED HIS THROAT AND HELDHIM SO THAT HE COULD NOT MOVE."]
Clark came out and went to the bank. On quitting the bank Despard sawhim looking back at Langhetti, who was just leaving. He then watched himtill he went up to the Hall.
In about half an hour Clark came back on horseback followed by a dog. Hetalked for a while with the landlord, and then went off at a slow trot.
On questioning the landlord Despard found that Clark had asked him aboutthe direction which Langhetti had taken. The idea at once flashed uponhim that possibly Clark wished to pursue Langhetti, in order to find outabout Beatrice. He determine on pursuit, both for Langhetti's sake andhis own.
He followed, therefore, not far behind Clark, riding at first rapidlytill he caught sight of him at the summit of a hill in front, and thenkeeping at about the same distance behind him. He had not determinedin his mind what it was best to do, but held himself prepared for anycourse of action.
After riding about an hour he put spurs to his horse, and went on ata more rapid pace. Yet he did not overtake Clark, and thereforeconjectured that Clark himself must have gone on more rapidly. He nowput his own horse at its fullest speed, with the intention of coming upwith his enemy as soon as possible.
He rode on at a tremendous pace for another half hour. At last the roadtook a sudden turn; and, whirling around here at the utmost speed, heburst upon a scene which was as startling as it was unexpected, andwhich roused to madness all the fervid passion of his nature.
The road here descended, and in its descent wound round a hill andled into a gentle hollow, on each side of which hills arose which werecovered with trees.
Within this glen was disclosed a frightful spectacle. A man lay on theground, torn from his horse by a huge blood-hound, which even thenwas rending him with its huge fangs! The dismounted rider's foot wasentangled in the stirrups, and the horse was plunging and dragging himalong, while the dog was pulling him back. The man himself uttered not acry, but tried to fight off the dog with his hands as best he could.
In the horror of the moment Despard saw that it was Langhetti. Foran instant his brain reeled. The next moment he had reached the spot.Another horseman was standing close by, without pretending even tointerfere. Despard did not see him; he saw nothing but Langhetti. Heflung himself from his horse, and drew a revolver from his pocket. Aloud report rang through the air, and in an instant the huge blood-houndgave a leap upward, with a piercing yell, and fell dead in the road.
Despard flung himself on his knees beside Langhetti. He saw his handstorn and bleeding, and blood covering his face and breast. A low groanwas all that escaped from the sufferer.
"Leave me," he gasped. "Save Bice."
In his grief for Langhetti, thus lying before him in such agony, Despardforgot all else. He seized his handkerchief and tried to stanch theblood.
"Leave me!" gasped Langhetti again. "Bice will be lost." His head, whichDespard had supported for a moment, sank back, and life seemed to leavehim.
Despard started up. Now for the first time he recollected the stranger;and in an instant understood who he was, and why this had been done.Suddenly, as he started up, he felt his pistol snatched from his hand bya strong grasp. He turned.
It was the horseman--it was Clark--who had stealthily dismounted, and,in his desperate purpose, had tried to make sure of Despard.
But Despard, quick as thought, leaped upon him, and caught his hand. Inthe struggle the pistol fell to the ground. Despard caught Clark in hisarms, and then the contest began.
Clark was of medium size, thick-set, muscular, robust, and desperate.Despard was tall, but his frame was well knit, his muscles and sinewswere like iron, and he was inspired by a higher Spirit and a deeperpassion.
In the first shock of that fierce embrace not a word was spoken. Forsome time the struggle was maintained without result. Clark had caughtDespard at a disadvantage, and this for a time prevented the latter fromputting forth his strength effectually.
At last he wound one arm around Clark's neck in a strangling grasp, andforced his other arm under that of Clark. Then with one tremendous, oneresistless impulse, he put forth all his strength. His antagonist gaveway before it. He reeled.
Despard disengaged one arm and dealt him a tremendous blow on thetemple. At the same instant he twined his legs about those of the other.At the stroke Clark, who had already staggered, gave way utterly andfell heavily backward, with Despard upon him.
The next instant Despard had seized his throat and held him down so thathe could not move.
The wretch gasped and groaned. He struggled to escape from that ironhold in vain. The hand which had seized him was no
t to be shaken off.Despard had fixed his grasp there, and there in the throat of thefainting, suffocating wretch he held it.
The struggles grew fainter, the arms relaxed, the face blackened, thelimbs stiffened. At last all efforts ceased.
Despard then arose, and, turning Clark over on his face, took the bridlefrom one of the horses, bound his hands behind him, and fastened hisfeet securely. In the fierce struggle Clark's coat and waistcoat hadbeen torn away, and slipped down to some extent. His shirt-collar hadburst and slipped with them. As Despard turned him over and proceeded totie him, something struck his eye. It was a bright, red scar.
He pulled down the shirt. A mark appeared, the full meaning of whichhe knew not, but could well conjecture. There were three brands--fieryred--and these were the marks:
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R [sans-serif R]
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Cord and Creese Page 51
