CHAPTER XXVI
THE MAN HUNT
By the time Squire West and the whole of the parish of Brassington hadrealised what a terrible practical joke had been perpetrated on them bythe stranger, the latter was far out of sight, with not even a cloud ofdust to mark the way he went.
But the hue-and-cry after him had never ceased the whole of that day.Squire West, profuse and abject in his apologies, had told off all thesoldiers who were quartered in the village to scour the Heath day andnight, until that rogue was found and brought before him. The Sergeant,who was in command of the squad, and the Corporal too, had a score oftheir own to settle with the mysterious stranger, whom the generalconsensus of opinion declared to have been none other than thatscoundrel unhung, the notorious highwayman, Beau Brocade.
Master Inch, as soon as he had recovered his breath, distinctlyrecollected now seeing a beautiful chestnut horse pawing the groundoutside the Court House during the course of the morning: he blamedhimself severely for not having guessed the identity of the creature, soclosely associated in every one's mind with the exploits of thehighwayman.
The yokels, however, at this juncture, entrenched themselves behind abarrier of impenetrable density. In those days, just as even now, it isbeyond human capacity to obtain information from a Derbyshire countrymanif he do not choose to give it. Whether some of those who had peltedSir Humphrey Challoner with vegetables had or had not known who hisHonour was, whether some of them had or had not guessed Beau Brocade'spresence in the village, remained, in spite of rigorouscross-examination a complete mystery to the perplexed Squire and to hisvaliant henchman, the beadle.
Promises, threats, bribes were alike ineffectual.
"I dunno!" was the stolid, perpetual reply to every question put oneither subject.
Her ladyship, on the other hand, overcome with fatigue, was too ill tosee anyone.
The posse of soldiers, a score or so by now, had however been reinforcedas the day wore on by a contingent of Squire West's own indoor andoutdoor servants, also by a few loafers from Brassington itself, of thesort that are to be found in every corner of the world where there is anale-house, the idlers, the toadies, those who had nothing to lose andsomething to gain by running counter to popular feeling and taking upcudgels against Beau Brocade, for the sake of the reward lavishlypromised by Squire West and Sir Humphrey Challoner.
The latter's temper had not even begun to simmer down at this late hourof the day when, all arrangements for the battue after the highwaymanbeing completed, he at last found himself on horseback, ambling alongthe bridle-path towards the shepherd's hut, with Master Mittachip besidehim.
It had been a glorious day, and the evening now gave promise of a balmynight to come, but the Heath's majestic repose was disturbed by thedoings of man. Beneath the gorse and bracken lizards and toads had goneto rest in the marshy land beyond, waterhen and lapwing were asleep, butall the while on the great Moor, through the scrub and blackthorn, alongpath and ravine, man was hunting man and finding enjoyment in the sport.
As Sir Humphrey Challoner and the attorney rode slowly along, they couldhear from time to time the rallying cry of the various parties stalkingthe Heath for their big game. The hunt was close on the heels of BeauBrocade. Earlier in the afternoon his horse had been seen to make itsway, riderless, towards the forge of John Stich.
The quarry was on foot, he was known to be wounded, he must fall an easyprey to his trackers soon enough: sometimes in the distance there wouldcome a shout of triumph, when the human blood-hounds had at last found ascent, then Sir Humphrey would rouse himself from his moody silence, alook of keen malice would light up his deep-set eyes, and reining in hishorse, he would strain his ears to hear that shout of triumph again.
"He'll not escape this time, Sir Humphrey," whispered Mittachip, fallingobsequiously into his employer's mood.
"No! curse him!" muttered his Honour with a string of violent oaths, "Ishall see him hang before two days are over, unless these dolts let himescape again."
"Nay, nay, Sir Humphrey! that's not likely!" chuckled Master Mittachip."Squire West has pressed all his own able-bodied men into the service,and the posse of soldiers were most keen for the chase. Nay, nay, he'llnot escape this time."
"'Sdeath!" swore his Honour under his breath, "but I do feel stiff!"
"A dreadful indignity," moaned the attorney.
"Nay! but Squire West was most distressed, and his apologies wereprofuse! Indeed he seemed to feel it as much as if it had happened tohimself."
"Aye! but not in the same place, I'll warrant! Odd's life, I had nonotion how much a turnip could hurt when flung into one's eye," addedhis Honour, with one of those laughs that never boded any good.
"A most painful incident, Sir Humphrey!" sighed Mittachip, brimming overwith sympathy.
"'Twas not the incident that was painful! Zounds! I am bruised allover. But I'll have the law of every one of those dolts, aye! and makethat fool West administer it on all of them! As for that ape, thebeadle, he shall be publicly whipped. Death and hell! they'll have topay for this!"
"Aye! aye! Sir Humphrey! your anger is quite natural, and Squire Westassured me that that rascal Beau Brocade, who played you this impudenttrick, cannot fail to be caught. The hunt is well organised, he cannotescape."
As if to confirm the attorney's words, there rose at this moment fromafar a weird and eerie sound, which caused Master Mittachip's shrivelledflesh to creep along his bones.
"What was that?" he whispered, horror-struck.
"A blood-hound, the better to track that rascal," muttered Sir Humphrey,savagely.
The attorney shivered; there had been so much devilish malice in hisHonour's voice, that suddenly his puny heart misgave him. He took towishing himself well out of this unmanly business. The horror of itseemed to grip him by the throat: he was superstitious too, and firmlybelieved in a material hell; the sound of that distant snarl, followedby the significant yelping of a hound upon the scent, made him think ofthe cries the devils would utter at sight of the damned.
"The dog belongs to one of Squire West's grooms," remarked his Honour,carelessly, "a savage beast enough, by the look of him. Luck was in ourfavour, for our gallant highwayman had carried Lady Patience's plaintinside his coat for quite a long time, and then left it on his Honour'stable ... quite enough for any self-respecting blood-hound, and this oneis said to be very keen on the scent.... Squire West tried to protest,but set a dog to catch a dog, say I."
Master Mittachip tried to shut his ears to the terrible sound.Fortunately it was getting fainter now, and Sir Humphrey did not givehim time for much reflection.
His Honour had stopped for awhile listening, with a chuckle of intensesatisfaction, to the yelping of the dog straining on the leash, thenwhen the sound died away, he said abruptly,--
"Are we still far from the hut?"
"No, Sir Humphrey," stammered Mittachip, whose very soul was quakingwith horror.
"We'll find the shepherd there, think you?"
"Y ... y ... yes, your Honour!"
"Harkee, Master Mittachip. I'll run no risk. That d----d highwaymanmust be desperate to-night. We'll adhere to our original plan, and letthe shepherd take the letters to Wirksworth."
"You ... you ... you'll not let them bide to-night where they are, SirHumphrey?"
"No, you fool, I won't. They are but just below the surface, undercover of some bramble, and once those fellows come scouring round thehut, any one of them may unearth the letters with a kick of his boot.There's been a lot of talk of a reward for the recovery of a packet ofletters! ... No, no, no! I'll not risk it."
Sir Humphrey Challoner had thought the matter well out, and knew that heran two distinct risks in the matter of the letters. To one he hadalluded just now when he spoke of the probability--remote perhaps--ofthe packet being accidentally unearthed by one of the scouring parties.Any man who found it would naturally at once take it to Squi
re West, inthe hope of getting the reward promised by her ladyship for itsrecovery. The idea, therefore, of leaving the letters in theirhiding-place for awhile did not commend itself to him. On the otherhand, there was the more obvious risk of keeping them about his ownperson. Sir Humphrey thanked his stars that he had not done so the daybefore, and even now kept in his mind a certain superstitious beliefthat Beau Brocade--wounded, hunted and desperate--would make a finaleffort, which might prove successful, to wrench the letters from him onthe Heath.
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