THE SCARECROW RIDES (32 page)

What followed was too quick for Charlotte to understand. But the
highwayman missed his blow and Syn was clear of that crushing left arm.
His knuckles had managed to inflict a murderous jab into Bone's ribs,
and as the highwayman's fist whistled past his side-jerked head, up
came the parson's left and reached the same spot on the jaw. Mr. Bone
cried out in surprise and pain, and recovering his balance, followed up
Dr. Syn, who had leapt clear. But unwilling to submit to another of
those grim clinches, the parson played for defence, parrying the mighty
blows with apparent coolness, but retreating steadily round and round
before the infuriated rushes.

At every attack it seemed that the slim figure of the parson must be
overwhelmed, and yet his face remained untouched, and even his wig,
which he had not removed, was still sitting tidy and tight upon his
head, and as blow after blow was rained at him, the parson's face was
ever guarded and the blows turned aside.

From a distance it would have seemed that the highwayman was getting
it all his own way, because of the other's persistent retreats. After
each attack, he leaped back to avoid another clinch.

Mr. Bone felt the blood trickling down his neck and this infuriated
him. He now attacked with lower blows, and at last landed a murderous
stroke into the parson's ribs. Dr. Syn leapt back, pressing his hand
against the spot and drawing in his breath with an audible hiss. It may
have been a sporting instinct on the part of Mr. Bone to let the parson
recover himself, or it may have been that he took a few seconds to
recover himself for a further effort to drive home that advantage, but
it is certain that the big man held back for a few definite seconds,
breathing hard. Dr. Syn used the pause first by calmly lifting his wig
from his head and throwing it clear away upon the grass. He then
appeared to Charlotte and Merry to be using his brain and taking the
measure of Bone's fighting qualities. The highwayman was just a strong,
straight-forward hitter, depending on his blows to reach their
objective, and the doctor realised that should this happen, the fight
might well be over, for the blows were bone-smashers. He knew,
therefore, that his best policy was to fight as he had been doing, on
the defensive and at all costs to keep clear till he had worn down his
antagonist's patience and strength.

It so happened, however, that the pause had placed Dr. Syn facing
the distant clump of Dymchurch trees, and since the highwayman had his
back to them, he did not see what the parson did—for between the trees
the setting sun was flashing upon the brass helmets and breast-plates
of the Dragoons.

Now Dr. Syn had only to mention this fact to Mr. Bone to terminate
the fight. What was more to the point, he could finish the fight as
victor and by picking up the pistol which he had laid beneath his coat,
he could order Mr. Bone to mount without the pearls and to ride for his
life.

Against this was his desire to finish the fight under Charlotte's
eyes, and it was this that made him risk Mr. Bone's safety.

Once more he threw himself into an attitude of self-defence. Once
more Mr. Bone advanced, preparing to launch himself in a tornado
attack. But, instead, he was met in full career by a second tornado.
Dr. Syn had sprung into the attack like a mad hurricane, and Mr. Bone
got a taste of his own smashing method before he was aware that such a
thing existed. Back he was driven with well-landed blows steadily back
towards the dyke.

“Mind the water, man,” cried Dr. Syn, after sending him reeling to
the very bank.

But the highwayman was game. He rushed again, only to be met by the
parson's counter rush. Down went Mr. Bone, blinded with blood that
soaked down through his silk mask.

Charlotte forgot to count. Dr. Syn had to do it, slowly, with one
eye on the giant upon the turf and the other towards the Dragoons.

On the ninth count, however, Mr. Bone once more showed fight.
Leaping to his feet, he rushed the parson. A quick sidestep and a
lightning left hook to the jaw followed almost instantaneously by a
punishing to the ribs with his right, left Dr. Syn standing the victor,
for Mr. Bone uttered a sigh of pain, sank on his knees and then
collapsed.

“Our highwayman is a game fighter, my dear,” said the doctor to
Charlotte, who had left the horses to Merry and had come closer, “but
he has learned in too easy a school. Strength he has, but no knowledge.
Get some water from the dyke in my hat while I raise his head.” He sank
his voice to a whisper so that Merry should not hear, and added: “We
must get him away before that party of Dragoons catch sight of him.”

Charlotte took the doctor's hat and kneeling beside the dyke, filled
it with water, while the doctor gently removed the blood-stained mask
from the unconscious man.

It was then that Merry saw the distant Dragoons and determined to
gain the hundred guineas for the taking of Mr. Bone. He leapt on to
Charlotte's horse and galloped to the dyke, plunged down into the water
and climbed the opposite bank, and before the others had realised his
purpose he was away at full speed.

“Quick, Charlotte,” ordered the doctor, “the man is none so badly
hurt, but that rogue is for putting his neck in a halter. Ah, he's
coming round.”

Indeed, as soon as the water was splashed on to his face, the
highwayman opened his eyes.

“Well, it's hands up, Mr. Parson, and I own when I'm beat.” He
twisted his lips into a smile. “You saved the lady her pearls, and it
serves me right for having threatened to take 'em. But had you got to
take off my mask?”

“Your face is safe as far as we are concerned,” replied the doctor.
“We shall only remember you as a masked man who refused to uncover. And
the sooner you get on to your horse the better, for the gentleman you
deprived of the guinea has ridden off to put the Dragoons on your
trail. He was off before we could stop him.”

The highwayman struggled to a sitting position and looked at the
distant rider.

“Aye, and the curse of it is, that the old witch who lives yonder
will no longer give me stable room,” he muttered. “I'll confess that
for more than a year I have found her place handy. Well, it will have
to be riding then, I reckon, and before those soldiers come out from
the trees.”

“Wait till that scoundrel disappears, and I will see to it that the
old woman gives you safe hiding.” Dr. Syn recovered his wig and
adjusted it.

“She's mad, sir,” answered the highwayman. “Said she could no longer
see to me or my horse. Nor could she take my money, because she'd seen
the devil himself who had forbidden her any other service.”

“If the parson cannot override the devil, he is no use at his job,”
laughed the doctor. “Look, Merry is already behind the trees. Let me
mount your horse, and do you get up behind me, and I will undertake
your safety. Charlotte, do you mount the pony and troy over by the
bridge, and when the Dragoons ride up, let me do the talking.”

He sprang into the saddle, but the highwayman's horse, trained only
to obey his master, plunged and reared in indignation, till Mr. Bone
quietened him.

“You ride as well, Master Parson, as you fight, and you deserve a
better mount than yonder fat pony,” he said. “As to your fighting
power, my faith, but my head is still spinning. I have never been so
punished in my life.”

He mounted with difficulty.

“Hold on to me,” urged Dr. Syn. “And there's need of haste. Can you
stand a gallop?”

“I have ridden so full of Bow Street runners' lead that my horse was
lamed with the weight of it,” laughed Mr. Bone.

“Then hang on,” replied Dr. Syn, and he urged the horse down into
the dyke, not caring to risk his legs with such a jump. “We can leap
the others, but not this,” he said, as they plunged through the water
up to their thighs, and climbed the further bank. Then he set the horse
to the gallop.

Charlotte watched them as she led the pony along the dyke to the
nearest brick bridge, and she realised that Syn was the best rider on
the Marsh, and the discovery made her understand many things that had
long puzzled her. However, she was to be puzzled a good deal more
before she reached home, but once more her love gave her the solving of
the riddle, which she found only seemed to make her love him the more.

When she reached Mother Handaway's cottage she was met by the old
witch, and was most astonished at her words.

“Oh, Miss Cobtree,” whispered the old lady, “never come and visit me
more. I say this to repay you for all the kindness you have shown to an
old witch whom everybody shuns. But never come here again, and oh,
above all, never have dealings with the vicar of Dymchurch. You do not
understand, but I tell you he is the devil. What has happened to the
real vicar I cannot tell, but the devil is going up and down the Marsh
in the likeness of him. He'll know I've told you, dearie, but I'll
endure his wrath out of love of you.”

“You are talking nonsense, Mother,” replied Charlotte, who was
amused at the old woman's wild fancy. “Why, I love Dr. Syn. He is my
godfather, but for all that, I am going to marry him, when he asks me.”

“Aye, he'll ask you. The devil will use any wile to get a soul in
his clutch. But shun him, my dear. Keep clear of the church when he is
there, for the foul fiend can be honey-tongued to a pretty girl. I
know, who am his servant. I practiced the black devilry from a child
and I have seen manifestations, and he even promised to visit me in a
flesh form, and now I am his stable-woman. I feed his great black beast
of a horse and I must call him the Scarecrow, he tells me. But he has
provided for me. I may have guineas by the bag that are minted in hell
for all that they bear the royal spade and head.”

“And where is this fierce black horse of his?” asked Charlotte,
resolved to humour her.

“In the hidden stable. It is a pit built of stone behind the cow
barn. It was made by the smugglers years ago, and my grandmother showed
me the secret. Its roof is covered with growing grass. I once saved Jim
Bone, the highwayman, by giving him shelter there, and ever since he
has used it when the chase was hot. I told him that now he could not
use it again, when suddenly the devil appears as he said he would, in
the likeness of Dr. Syn. He has stowed him away there. Oh, there's room
enough for ten horses. And there's no one could find the door. Ah,
those smugglers, they knew things in those days.”

“They still do, so they say,” laughed Charlotte.

Dr. Syn agreed that they had been cunning fellows who built the door
which he had just fastened behind him. It stood in the steep side of a
dry dyke and when closed looked nothing else but a great heap of dried
bulrush reeds.

Satisfied that all was well, and that in Jimmie Bone he had now a
faithful and useful colleague, he walked along the dyke and climbed up
it at the side of the cottage.

“You see, my dear Charlotte,” he said, with a smile, “a parson must
do what he can for all his flock. Now, these gallant Dragoons that are
cantering towards us are not my parishioners, and as to the rascal
Merry—why, our masked friend is worth a score of such, and he happens
to be in the greater need at the moment. Therefore he has my help. It
is the lost sheep that the shepherd seeks.”

The Dragoons drew up on the highroad, while Captain Faunce, led by
Merry still mounted on Charlotte's horse, and followed by two troopers,
came galloping across the fields, jumping the dykes, till they reached
the three figures grouped around the white pony.

“You've never let him go, sir?” cried Merry, as he looked in vain
for the sight of his capture. “You'll have lost me a hundred guineas.”

Dr. Syn smiled. “And what are a hundred guineas compared to the safe
keeping of Miss Cobtree's pearls? I confess I was mightily glad to see
the last of him. And let me add that if you have lamed Miss Cobtree's
horse, there will be trouble for you. Good evening, Captain Faunce. If
you wish to reach the Sussex border before this masked gentleman of the
road, who may or may not be the famous James Bone, I should recommend a
cross-country gallop as quick as possible.”

“This man tells me that you gave him a lathering,” he replied.

“I learned in a scientific school, that is all, sir,” laughed Dr.
Syn. “Besides, he had the double disadvantage of not wishing to remove
his mask, and of not fighting for what was honest. Miss Cobtree's
pearls were in danger, so what else could I do, God forgive me, but
fight?”

“I take it then that you can only identify his clothes and figure.
You did not see his face?”

“I told you he would not remove his mask, but I should imagine that
he will be marked where I drew the blood through it. True, my knuckles
are torn, but not seriously.”

“Might as well chase highwaymen as smugglers,” laughed the captain.
“It's all in the day's work, and a gallop will do the horses no harm.
Hand over Miss Cobtree's horse—you, and get up behind Trooper Harker.
We'll need you to identify his clothes and horse.”

The wretched Merry was only too glad to obey. The chances of his
hundred guinea reward were not quite spoiled, and he was none too eager
to be left with Dr. Syn.

“I'll lay you a guinea you will not catch him this side of the
border,” said Dr. Syn, shaking his head.

“Perhaps not, since he's well mounted and knows the country,”
answered the Dragoon. “But I'll lay
you
a guinea that we do
catch him over the border—aye, and bring him back, too, in spite of
the Sussex magistrates. At all events, his horse will be commandeered
for our regiment, and from what I hear, he rides a noble animal.”

“Is that him over there?” said Dr. Syn, shading his eyes. “Surely
there is a black speck riding straight into the setting sun.”