The Splendid Spur<br />Being Memoirs of the Adventures of Mr. John Marvel, a Servant of His Late Maj by Arthur Quiller-Couch (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📖

As we pull'd our swords out and the man dropp'd, I had a brief view into the room, where now the blazing liquid ran off the table in a stream. Settle, stamping with agony, had his palms press'd against his scorch'd eyelids. The fat landlord, in trying to beat out the flames, had increased them by upsetting two bottles of aqua vitae, and was dancing about with three fingers in his mouth. The rest stood for the most part dumbfounder'd: but Black Dick had his pistol lifted.

Jacques and I sprang out for the landing and round the doorway. Between the flash and the report I felt a sudden scrape, as of a red-hot wire, across my left thigh and just above the knee.

“Tenez, camarade,” said Jacques' voice in my ear; “a moi la porte—a vous le maitre, la-bas:” and he pointed down the staircase, where, by the glare of the conflagration that beat past us, I saw the figures of Sir Deakin and his daughter standing.

“But how can you keep the door against a dozen?”

The Frenchman shrugg'd his shoulders with a smile—-

“Mais-comme ca!”

For at this moment came a rush of footsteps within the room. I saw a fat paunch thrusting past us, a quiet pass of steel, and the landlord was wallowing on his face across the threshold. Jacques' teeth snapp'd together as he stood ready for another victim: and as the fellows within the room tumbled back, he motion'd me to leave him.

I sprang from his side, and catching the rail of the staircase, reach'd the foot in a couple of bounds.

“Hurry!” I cried, and caught the old baronet by the hand. His daughter took the other, and between us we hurried him across the passage for the kitchen door.

Within, the chambermaid was on her knees by the settle, her face and apron of the same hue. I saw she was incapable of helping, and hasten'd across the stone floor, and out toward the back entrance.

A stream of icy wind blew in our faces as we stepp'd over the threshold. The girl and I bent our heads to it, and stumbling, tripping, and panting, pull'd Sir Deakin with us out into the cold air.

The yard was no longer dark. In the room above someone had push'd the casement open, letting in the wind: and by this 'twas very evident the room was on fire. Indeed, the curtains had caught, and as we ran, a pennon of flame shot out over our heads, licking the thatch. In the glare of it the outbuildings and the yard gate stood clearly out from the night. I heard the trampling of feet, the sound of Settle's voice shouting an order, and then a dismal yell and clash of steel as we flung open the gate.

“Jacques!” scream'd the old gentleman: “my poor Jacques! Those dogs will mangle him with their cut and thrust—”

'Twas very singular and sad, but as if in answer to Sir Deakin's cry, we heard the brave fellow's voice; and a famous shout it must have been to reach us over the roaring of the flames—

“Mon maitre-mon maitre!” he call'd twice, and then “Sauve toi!” in a fainter voice, yet clear. And after that only a racket of shouts and outcries reach'd us. Without doubt the villains had overpower'd and slain this brave servant. In spite of our peril (for they would be after us at once), 'twas all we could do to drag the old man from the gate and up the road: and as he went he wept like a child.

After about fifty yards, we turn'd in at a gate, and began to cut across a field: for I hop'd thus not only to baffle pursuit for a while, but also to gain the wood that we saw dimly ahead. It reach'd to the top of the hill, and I knew not how far beyond: and as I was reflecting that there lay our chance of safety, I heard the inn door below burst open with loud cries, and the sound of footsteps running up the road after us.

Moreover, to complete our fix, the clouds that had been scurrying across the moon's face, now for a minute left a clear interval of sky about her: so that right in our course there lay a great patch brilliantly lit, whereon our figures could be spied at once by anyone glancing into the field. Also, it grew evident that Sir Deakin's late agility was but a short and sudden triumph of will over body: for his poor crooked legs began to trail and lag sadly. So turning sharp about, we struck for the hedge's shadow, and there pull'd him down in a dry ditch, and lay with a hand on his mouth to stifle his ejaculations, while we ourselves held our breathing.

The runners came up the road, pausing for a moment by the gate. I heard it creak, and saw two or three dark forms enter the field—the remainder tearing on up the road with a great clatter of boots.

“Alas, my poor Jacques!” moan'd Sir Deakin: “and to be butcher'd so, that never in his days kill'd a man but as if he lov'd him!”

“Sir,” I whisper'd harshly, “if you keep this noise I must gag you.” And with that he was silent for awhile.

There was a thick tangle of brambles in the ditch where we lay: and to this we owe our lives. For one of the men, coming our way, pass'd within two yards of us, with the flat of his sword beating the growth over our heads.

“Reu-ben! Reuben Gedges!” call'd a voice by the gate.

The fellow turn'd; and peeping between the bramble twigs, I saw the moonlight glittering on his blade. A narrow, light-hair'd man he was, with a weak chin: and since then I have paid him out for the fright he gave us.

“What's the coil?” he shouted back.

“The stable roofs ablaze—for the Lord's sake come and save the hosses!”

He strode back, and in a minute the field was clear. Creeping out with caution, I grew aware of two mournful facts: first, that the stable was indeed afire, as I perceiv'd by standing on tiptoe and looking over the hedge; and second, that my knee was hurt by Black Dick's bullet. The muscles had stiffened while we were crouching, and now pain'd me badly. Yet I kept it to myself as we started off again to run.

But at the stile that, at the top of the field, led into the woods, I pull'd up—

“Sorry I am to say it, but you must go on without me.”

“O—oh!” cried the girl.

“'Tis for your safety. See, I leave a trail of blood behind me, so that when day rises they will track us easily.”

And sure enough, even by the moon, 'twas easy to trace the dark spots on the grass and earth beside the stile. My left boot, too, was full of blood.

She was silent for awhile. Down in the valley we could hear the screams of the poor horses. The light of the flames lit up the pine trunks about us to a bright scarlet.