Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
Kenneth instantly started off again and doubled suddenly down a by-street which led to the colonel’s residence. Here he was smitten with a feeling of shame at the idea of appearing before his friends in such a plight, so, changing his mind, he doubled again into another by-street.
This chanced to be an unfortunate turn, for the policeman saw him take it, and, knowing every intricacy of the town, he was enabled to take a cross cut by a lane, accompanied by several of his brother constables, who had joined him by this time, and by such of the crowd as were good runners.
The worst runners now came in for an unexpected share of the sport in consequence of this new turn of affairs, for the by-road conducted Kenneth back to the main street, and when he debouched into it he ran into and overturned a number of those who had just made up their minds that it was useless for them to run any farther.
The tide was now turned. The head of the crowd came rushing back, led by the policeman and the gentlemanly burglar. Kenneth thus found himself between two fires, so, like a wise general, he made a flank movement, crossed the street, and darted down a dark lane. Here the crowd gave in, but the policeman and the burglar continued the pursuit.
The lane led to the suburbs of the town, and the fugitive soon gained the open country, which in that part was a sort of uncultivated moorland.
The excitement of the chase and the suddenness of it had told upon the youth at first so much that he had been somewhat distressed while running; but this feeling now began to wear off. Like a true thoroughbred, he improved in condition the longer he ran, and when at last the perspiration began to pour over his cheeks he felt as if he could have run on for ever!
To some extent this feeling was also experienced by a few of his pursuers, who kept him well in view.
On passing over a rising ground which for some minutes concealed him, Kenneth suddenly resolved to strike aside from the high road and cross the moor. It was sufficiently light, he thought, to enable him to do this with safety. He was wrong, however, for he had not run a hundred yards when he went splashing into a boggy place, and his pursuers, who had again caught sight of him, instantly followed.
The running now became very severe, and tested Kenneth’s powers to the utmost. Of course it also proved as hard on the others, and he had at least the satisfaction of hearing them shout and gasp as they tumbled over stones and into hollows. Still they held on with unflagging vigour, until they were almost exhausted and quite covered with mud.
To Kenneth’s relief he unexpectedly stumbled on the high road again. Here he sat down for a few seconds to recover breath on one of the grey boulder stones with which the whole country was covered, and while wiping the perspiration from his brow his thoughts were busy. Having left his pursuers far behind, he felt sure that he could afford to rest for a few moments.
It occurred to him that even although he should succeed in escaping, there was no chance of his being able to get away by the train from Athenbury, for the burglars and police would certainly be at the station on the look-out for him. He remembered suddenly that there was a station twenty miles from Athenbury at which the ten o’clock train usually stopped. It was two hours yet to the starting of the train, so that he might count on nearly three to get to the station.
“I’ll do it!” he exclaimed, starting up with animation, and looking in the direction of the moor. The pursuers were now pretty close to him. They panted much and ran very heavily. A quiet smile lit up Kenneth’s countenance, for he felt his strength recruited even with the few minutes’ rest he had obtained.
“Now, then, let the memory of Eton days come over me,” he muttered, as he tied his pocket-handkerchief tightly round his waist.
Pulling his hat firmly down over his brows, he prepared to start, just as the policemen and the gentlemanly burglar stumbled on to the road, in a state of complete exhaustion, and covered from head to foot with mud!
Kenneth could not repress a cheer as he waved his hat to them and shouted farewell.
He then turned, and, stooping low, sped over the country like a greyhound.
He had not gone above four miles when he overtook a stout countryman in a smock-frock and slouch-hat plodding heavily along the road.
A new idea flashed into Kenneth’s mind. He resolved to change costumes with this man; but felt that he had no time to waste in talking over the subject or explaining why he wanted to do so. He therefore stopped abruptly when close to him, and said—
“My man, I’ve a fancy for your clothes.”
“You’ll ha’ to foight for ’em then.”
“Very well, begin at once,” said Kenneth, buttoning his coat, and suddenly seizing the countryman by the throat with a grip that made his eyes almost start out of their sockets. “How shall it be, wrestling or fisticuffs? But let me advise you to do it at once without fighting, for I don’t want to hurt you, and I do mean to have your clothes. Besides, I’ll give you mine in exchange. There now, strip!”
There was a fiery vehemence about Kenneth’s manner and look, and a tone of command in his voice that there was no resisting, especially when it was coupled with such physical strength, so the countryman heaved a sigh and took off his smock-frock and hob-nailed boots, while the supposed highwayman took off his coat and shoes.
“That’ll do, you needn’t mind the stockings,” said Kenneth, as he pulled on his new garments. “You’ll find that you gain considerably by the exchange. That’s it; now here’s a sovereign for you, my fine fellow, and many thanks.”
He finished by lifting the slouch-hat off the countryman’s head and placing his own thereon in its stead.
“Now, good-night.”
“Good-noight,” replied the man, from the sheer force of innate politeness, for he stood in such a condition of open-mouthed amazement that it was quite plain he did not very well know what he said or did.
In another minute Kenneth was again coursing along the road at full speed.
Meanwhile the gentlemanly house-breaker, returning to Athenbury, rejoined his rude colleagues, and these three choice spirits, after partaking of some refreshment, and treating the policeman who first came to their aid to a glass of gin, betook themselves to the railway station.
“He won’t come here, you may depend on’t,” observed the policeman to the gentlemanly burglar, when he had taken his ticket, “he’s too wide-awake for that.”
“Perhaps not; but it’s as well to watch.”
“Yes, it’s as well to watch,” assented the policeman.
“Besides, wide-awake fellows over-reach themselves sometimes,” continued the other. “I shouldn’t wonder, now, if he had the impudence to come straight here and denounce me as a thief, just by way o’ stoppin’ me from goin’ by the train, and so having some sort o’ revenge.”
“Ha!” exclaimed the policeman, in a tone and with a slight but peculiar look that made the gentlemanly man feel a little uneasy.
The fugitive did not appear, however. Every face that came on the platform was carefully scrutinised without any result, and at length the bell rang.
“Good-night, friend,” said the burglar, slipping a half-crown into the policeman’s hand as he was about to jump into the carriage. “It was no fault of yours that we didn’t catch him. You did your best.”
“Yes, I did my best.”
“Hallo! are you going by this train?” exclaimed the burglar.
“Yes, I’ve got business in Wreckumoft, so we’ll have the pleasure o’ travellin’ together.”
The gentlemanly man felt that the pleasure would be entirely confined to one side. However, he expressed much joy at the prospect of such good company, as the policeman sat down beside him.
The train gave a pant, then a snort, then an impatient whistle. Then the bell rang a second time, the whistle sounded a single note, and the carriages moved slowly away. A moment more, and they were sweeping out of the station; a moment more and they were rushing over the moor; another moment, and they were dashing through space, setting all terrestrial things at naught, until a station came in view; then the whistle uttered a prolonged shriek, and the train began to slow. Up to this point the policeman and his friends had sat together in comparative silence.
The former put his head out of the window, and remarked that, “there was a feller as would be too late for the train.”
The moonlight enabled him to perceive that the late man was a labourer of some sort.
The train ran into the station and stopped.
“Tickets ready!” shouted the guard.
“That’ll give him a chance,” observed the gentlemanly burglar.
“All right?” inquired the guard.
“All right,” replied the ticket-inspector. The bell rang, the guard whistled, so did the engine; it puffed too, and the train began to move.
“Look sharp now,” cried the station-master eagerly to some one outside the office. “Athenbury? Here you are—four shillings; run!”
The guard knew that it was a late passenger, and, being a good-hearted fellow, held the door of a carriage open, even although the train was on the move.
A man in a smock-frock and slouch-hat rushed across the platform at this moment, and made for the door which the guard held open.
“Jump!” said the guard.
The gentlemanly burglar and the policeman lent their aid to pull the man into the train; the door banged, and they were away.
“You’ve all but missed it,” said the burglar.
The man in the smock-frock pulled his slouch-hat well over his eyes, and admitted that it was a “close shave.” Then he laid his head on the side of the carriage and breathed hard.
“Take a drop o’ gin,” said the burglar in a patronising way, “it’ll bring you to in a minute.”
Kenneth knew by his manner that he did not guess who it was that sat beside him, so he resolved to accept the offer.
“Thank’ee, I loik gin. It waarms the cockles o’ yer ’art, it do,” said Kenneth.
“Goin’ far?” inquired the policeman.
“To Wreckumoft.”
“You seems to have got on yer Sunday trousers?” observed the policeman.
“Wall, there an’t no sin in that,” replied the supposed labourer, somewhat sharply.
“Certainly not,” said the policeman. “It’s a fine night, an’t it?”
“It is a foine night,” responded the labourer, putting his head out of the window.
“Yes, a very fine night,” repeated the policeman, also thrusting his head out at the same window, and holding a sotto voce conversation with Kenneth, the result of which was that he became very merry and confidential, and was particularly polite to the burglars, insomuch that they thought him one of the jolliest policemen they had ever had to do with—and this was not the first they had had to do with by any means!
In course of time the train ran into the station at Wreckumoft, and the occupants poured out on the platform, and took their several ways. The three friends kept together, and observed that the policeman, after bidding them good-bye, went away alone, as if he had urgent business on hand,
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