THE SCARECROW RIDES (22 page)

“My dear Charlotte, it would be worth being a fugitive from the law
if one could take shelter with you. And yet were I in such a pass, I
should not take that haven for fear of disappointing you.”

“Oh, you,” she laughed, and then, growing serious, added: “But if
you were a fugitive and turned away from me, I should then have real
cause for disappointment. Oh yes, I should, and I can repeat your
sentence that was so complimentary. It would be worth it to me, did I
know you were not the saint you are; yes, it would be worth that
anxiety to know that I could perhaps stand before you and shield you.”

“Thank you, Charlotte. I sometimes believe that whatever I had done
or were to do, that you would still treat me with the same sweet
kindness.”

“Will you remember that you have said that, please?” she asked.

“Why do you say that?” asked the doctor.

“Because I want you to remember it, of course, just as I shall. Do
you know that when I think of that Mr. Bone, the highwayman, who is
sometimes as hard-pressed as this Grinsley, I rather envy the many
women and girls who take a hand in watching over his safety. Can't you
take the highroad to please me, Doctor?”

“If I did,” chuckled the doctor, “I very believe I should lead the
authorities a dance.”

“I am quite sure you would,” she laughed. “Well, you may lead me a
dance now. I will ride with you to the hills. I think your presence
there will make all different. There is a justice, a fairness written
on your face that will shame the awful bloodlust that I saw in all
those searching eyes. If they take him while you are there, they will
take him at least mercifully.”

And so they rode together up to the hills.

It was easy enough to discover the whereabouts of the manhunt by the
angry shouts of the mob. As Dr. Syn and Charlotte rode over a hillock
that gave them a clear view of the commonland known as Aldington
Fright, it was obvious that the hundreds of hunters were afraid of
their quarry, for they hunted in strong parties that were scattered all
over the Fright. Where the scrub grew thinly, they trampled, beating
and prodding, but when they reached one of the innumerable clumps of
thick bush they seemed afraid of putting themselves at a disadvantage,
and so surrounded it at a safe distance, while two or three set light
to the hiding-place. As the flames leapt angrily they watched for the
leaping figure. But they watched in vain. When the fire had burnt low
they would dash in with their clubs, scattering the smouldering sticks
and prodding the ground in search of a charred body.

And watching from various places of vantage on the higher ground,
but seeming to take no hand in the game, sat parties of Dragoons, the
sun shining on their brass helmets and breastplates, and their scarlet
coats showing a vivid red upon the hillocks.

All this Dr. Syn and Charlotte watched from far off.

“The soldiers seem to be leaving it all to others,” said Charlotte.

“They are ready for action though,” replied the doctor. “There's not
one of them dismounted. Should Grinsley appear, you would see that the
whole regiment would charge to his rescue. They know well enough that
the Marsh men would sooner Grinsley was taken dead.”

“Would their vengeance go so far as to kill him without trial?”
asked Charlotte.

“They are thinking more of their own safety than any vengeance,”
answered the doctor. “I think none of them wish to confront Grinsley in
the dock. They are telling themselves that since Grinsley deserves
legal death, it is as well to give it him before he talks to the
authorities.”

“You mean—they're afraid this Grinsley man will implicate them as
smugglers?”

Dr. Syn nodded.

“Do you believe that any of our own Dymchurch people are in that
business?”

Dr. Syn looked at Charlotte. “I would not say so for worlds to any
but you or the squire, but I have every reason to fear that the
majority of Dymchurch is in it up to the neck.”

“If that is so, and since you say it, I believe it, then one can
only hope that this Grinsley will not be taken alive. One should not
wish the worst man the further crime of suicide, but if he has taken
his own life already, it will save a lot of unhappiness and disgrace
amongst our poor folk.”

Now although Charlotte had already accompanied her father to the
hills and had then turned her horse's head back to the Marsh in horror
at what she saw, for no tender-hearted woman can endure to watch a
man-hunt, yet in company with Dr. Syn she rode on round the edge of the
Fright towards the first party of Dragoons. She was not only conscious
of this strange perversity, but imagined, quite rightly, that her
companion was too.

Charlotte had the reputation of being honestly outspoken. She was so
now.

“You'll be wondering why, when I had turned from this horrible
scene, I should ride back to it with you, Doctor,” she said. “I've been
wondering the same thing myself, and I've just given myself the answer.
It's because I have such confidence in your fairness. My father is
always held to be a fair magistrate, but he is never, I think, entirely
unprejudiced.”

“My dear Charlotte, what human being could claim otherwise?”
objected Dr. Syn.

“I think you are the only one I ever met who could,” she answered.
“I am sure that no consideration for yourself would ever lead you to
deal unfairly with others. That is why I turned my horse's head. If
that wretched man is caught, you will see that he is treated at least
with justice.”

As they talked they had allowed their horses to walk gently on, but
this conversation was interrupted by the captain of the Dragoons, who
trotted away from his troop to meet them.

“So you have not yet unearthed the fox,” said Dr. Syn, as the
captain drew rein and saluted.

“Not yet, sir,” replied the officer.

“But are you sure he has run to earth?” asked the doctor.

“We are sure of nothing at all, sir,” answered the captain. “The
rascal may be heading for London Town this minute, and being a man of
means and vast connection with rogues and thieves, he will no doubt get
very effectually into some hole into which the authorities will have
small chance of penetrating.”

“The last time I witnessed such a man-hunt was many years ago in
Kentucky,” said Dr. Syn. “The fugitive was a renegade Indian, and the
whole tribe was out after him. They were beating up just such a piece
of country as the Aldington Fright.”

“I warrant these men are tame in comparison,” remarked the captain.

Dr. Syn shook his head. “On the contrary, these men are a great deal
noisier. Those Indians went silently to work. They were not boisterous.
They did not trample down the bushes like those fellows. They crept on
silently, reading the tell-tale ground. Everything, every square foot
of grass, became an informer against the miscreant. One of the braves
was my good friend, and he showed me how to read the course their
quarry had taken. But with these fellows crashing here and there and
breaking the undergrowth with their cudgels, his skill would have been
of no avail.”

“I wish we had him here nevertheless,” replied the captain.

“Perhaps his task would not have been so hopeless,” went on the
doctor. “They seem to have concentrated on the thick undergrowth. Now,
I should say my Indian would first take pains to read the signs along
that hedge. You see, it runs from Grinsey's farm right down to the high
road. If there is anything to read—yes—I should say it would be
there.”

Mechanically, he touched up his pony and trotted off towards the
hedge in question. Mechanically, Charlotte and the captain followed.

“Sir Antony, who has ridden into the woods there with a party of my
men, told me that you had turned home in horror, Miss Cobtree,” said
the captain.

“I did not want to see a man torn to pieces,” answered Charlotte.

“Yet you came back?”

Charlotte felt herself blushing. Did this Dragoon guess that she had
enjoyed riding with the vicar.

“I changed my mind for a good reason, sir,” she explained, laughing.
“I realised that the wild fury of these men would be restrained in the
presence of Dr. Syn. He has a way of enforcing his wishes. Also, I had
not realised that you would be here to keep order with such a strong
force.”

“From what some of my men have overheard,” went on the Dragoon,
looking sideways at his fair companion, “it seems that your Dymchurch
men have given oath that Grinsley shall not be taken alive.”

“He committed a cold-blooded murder, didn't he?” returned Charlotte.
“The sort of useless crime that enrages honest men.”

“Do you think that is the motive driving all these men to give up
their day's work, Miss Cobtree?” asked the Dragoon. “I wish I could
think so, but it occurs to me that they are not so disinterested. Look
at the way they are beating through that clump of thicket. If Grinsley
is there, he would be bound to kill one of them before being taken, and
yet they court that risk. Why? Isn't it because they fear more to see
Grinsley in the dock? Isn't it that they are mightily afraid of
Grinsley putting them into the dock beside him?”

“You think they are implicated in the smuggling business, Captain
Faunce?” she asked.

“Miss Cobtree, please believe me when I tell you that assisting the
Custom Officers to catch smugglers is not only a distasteful duty to
me, but to my men. It is one thing to charge an enemy in the field, for
that is why we join the Colours, but quite another to assist in putting
halters round the necks of our fellow-country-men. Perhaps I fail in my
duty by trying not to notice things, but really the people about here
are so misguided that it is difficult even to pretend that one is blind
to what is so obviously going on.”

“I should hate to think that any of the Dymchurch men were
implicated,” said Charlotte. “The villagers are like a family to us
Cobtrees. If the men-folk are guilty, I shudder to think of the misery
it will bring on their women and children.”

“But, my dear Miss Cobtree,” went on Captain Faunce, “by what I have
tried not to notice and even endeavoured to forget, I assure you it is
not the men who are alone to blame. Not only by encouragement, but by
actual help and in some cases initiative, the women and children are in
it too.”

This conversation was becoming painful to Charlotte. She genuinely
loved the people of her village. From the well-to-do farmers to the
humblest fisher-folk she was known, loved and respected, and there were
few houses indeed upon the Marsh into which she was not welcomed. What
she would have said to this statement of the captain she did not know,
for as she was trying to find the right answer for the good of the
community, Dr. Syn, who was riding some little way ahead, suddenly put
up his hand and drew the pony's rein.

“Our good parson has found something,” said the Dragoon, checking
his charger. Charlotte drew rein beside him. “He's dismounting.”

Dr. Syn with the rein over his arm peered down at the roots of the
thick-grown hedge. He then dropped the rein and walked on slowly,
looking up and down the hedge. The pony left to his own resources
nibbled at the grass and stepped into the circle of the hanging reins,
which after a little became a dangerous entanglement. Charlotte slipped
from her horse, handed the reins to the captain and ran towards the
pony. She soothed the fat little white beast and lifted his forelegs in
turn. Dr. Syn turned and looked at her as she freed the pony.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said. “It was careless of me to leave the
reins dangling. But I have found what I was looking for.”

“And what is that?” asked the Dragoon who had ridden slowly towards
them, leading Charlotte's horse.

“Just a bundle of clothes—that's all,” replied the doctor. He
plunged both his hands into the thickness of the hedge and after a deal
of tugging brought out a green riding coat tied around with a white
cravat. This he laid down on the grass and untied. The coat, a good one
with brass buttons, was wrapped around a red waistcoat and a hunting
cap.

“The clothes that Grinsley was wearing when he committed the crime,”
ejaculated the Dragoon.

“Exactly,” replied the doctor.

“But why did you expect to find them hidden in the hedge?” asked the
captain.

“I thought it most probable that Grinsley would get rid of such
tell-tale garments, when I read your posted description,” said Dr. Syn.
“But I did not expect to find them here till I rode along this hedge
and looked into Grinsley's turnip patch. You can see over the hedge
yourself, Captain, from your exalted position. Take a look, and you'll
own that I should have been dense indeed had I not picked up the clue.”

The Dragoon rose in his stirrups and looked across the turnip field
in question, but instead of showing any enlightenment from what he saw,
he merely shook his head.

“Well then, sir, unless your clue has moved away, I confess to my
denseness,” he said.

“It certainly could not have moved away,” replied the vicar, “and it
is certainly conspicuous enough. But what would be denseness in me, is
not so with you, for you are not of these parts and therefore the
landmarks are not so familiar.”

“Let me see if I can guess it,” said Charlotte, going to her horse
to mount. Dr. Syn helped her to the saddle and she looked across the
turnip field.

“Why someone has taken the scarecrow's clothes,” she said. “Look,
Captain, those sticks in the centre of the field with the black gloves
hanging.”

“Exactly,” laughed Dr. Syn. “There was an old long black coat and
waistcoat and a black three-cornered hat. That was all Grinsley
required. He hides his conspicuous clothes in the nearest spot, which
is obviously the hedge and puts on the scarecrow's over his own riding
breeches and boots. Isn't that convincing, Captain?”