Fast as the Wind Part 3

"A fellow escaped from Dartmoor the other day. It's worth hearing; I'll tell you all about it later on," said d.i.c.k.

Picton Woodridge staggered backwards. At first d.i.c.k thought he was about to fall. He looked at him in astonishment.

"What's the matter, Pic?" he asked.

"Curious fit of faintness came over me; I'm all right now," said Picton, but d.i.c.k thought he didn't look it.

CHAPTER III

THE MAN ON THE ROAD

d.i.c.k Langford told Brack's story to Picton Woodridge and Captain Ben.

Both listened attentively: it was immensely interesting to them. From time to time Ben looked at his friend to see how he took it. d.i.c.k, absorbed in his tale, did not notice the look of strained attention on their faces. They were silent when he finished.

"Not bad for Brack, eh?" said d.i.c.k.

The simple question made them start.

"You fellows seem all nerves this morning," said d.i.c.k. "When I told Pic on deck, he staggered; I thought he was going to faint. You're not afraid the fellow will board the yacht, are you?"

Ben laughed as he said: "No, I don't think we're afraid, not of one man, even if he be an escaped convict."

"You'll want all your nerve to-morrow," said d.i.c.k to Picton. "There's three of my horses to ride, and two of 'em are brutes."

"Thanks," said Picton, smiling; "a pleasant prospect. Worth coming all these miles for, isn't it, Ben?"

"Depends upon what Langford calls a brute," replied Ben.

"Pitcher's not so bad; he's what I call a humorous horse, full of pranks and no vice about him. He's number one. Now we come to the first brute, Planet, a gelding with a temper; as likely as not he'll try and pitch you into the crowd."

"Then he ought to have been named Pitcher," said Picton.

"We don't all get our right names, I mean names that fit; we're saddled with 'em by unthinking parents. Sis has a maid, Evangeline Mamie; now that's what I call a big handicap for the girl," said d.i.c.k.

They laughed, and Picton asked him to pa.s.s on to number two brute.

"The Rascal," said d.i.c.k; "he's a terror. He's lamed a couple of my chaps, and Pete's right when you're in the saddle, but it's a deuce of a job to get there. He rises on his hind legs, and conducts an imaginary band with his fore legs, but he's got a rare turn of speed, and he ought to win the West of England Handicap Steeplechase to-morrow, and the Torbay and South Devon Steeplechase the next day."

"Then you expect to bring off the double with him?" said Picton.

"Yes, and if you do not, Sis says she'll never speak to you again."

"Then I'll do it if I die in the attempt," said Picton.

"Don't be heroic, no one wants you to die. You can kill The Rascal if you like, but promise me to come off unscathed," said d.i.c.k, laughing.

"I'll try," said Picton.

"Pitcher ought to win the Maiden Hurdle Race, and Planet the St.

Marychurch Hurdle Race. Now you have a nice little program mapped out for you, and I fancy you'll win the four events. If you do, it will be a day for rejoicing at Torwood, and the wearer of the pink jacket will be an honored guest if he cares to desert the _Sea-mew_ for my humble abode."

"d.i.c.k, you're incorrigible," said Picton, laughing. "You really expect to win four races?"

"I do; Gordon won the lot at a meeting not far away on one occasion."

"That's quite possible--he's a good rider."

"So are you."

"He is," said Ben; "few better."

"What are you doing to-day?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Nothing in particular; basking in the suns.h.i.+ne in your glorious bay."

"Then you like Torquay?" said d.i.c.k.

"Who could help liking it? And what a county lies behind it! I envy you the Devons.h.i.+re lanes, d.i.c.k."

"Then come and live among them. I can pick you an ideal spot, and it shall be well within your means, Mr. Millionaire."

Picton laughed.

"No millions here--a few thousands," he said; "just sufficient to keep my head above water."

"And the _Sea-mew_ afloat," said d.i.c.k.

"I'll manage that," said Ben.

"Will you come ash.o.r.e and have a look at Pitcher and the two brutes?"

said d.i.c.k.

"What do you say, Ben? Shall we?" asked Picton.

Ben knew he wished to go--Rita was at Torwood--it was not the horses so much, although they were an attraction.

"Yes," said Ben promptly, and the matter was settled.

They went ash.o.r.e. d.i.c.k Langford's dog-cart was at the Queen's and thither they adjourned. In a quarter of an hour they were going at an easy pace to Torwood, which lay about midway between Torquay and Newton Abbot.

How fresh everything looked! The trees were just budding, tingeing the almost bare branches with tips of green. The air was cool and soft; there were no motors about--only an odd one or two, the tourist season had not commenced--but there would be plenty of people at the races on the following days.

"Wonder what that fellow's up to!" exclaimed d.i.c.k, as he saw a man push through the hedge and disappear down the hill and across the meadow.

"Probably belongs to the place," said Picton.