The Panchronicon Part 59

Phoebe felt instinctively that the approaching riders were unfriendly in their purpose and, without pausing to weigh reasons, she quickly scrambled through this accidental pa.s.sage, not without tearing her dress.

She found herself within the garden and not far from the very seat where she had hidden from Will Shakespeare. How different her situation now, she thought. Not diffidence, but fear, was now her motive--fear for the man she loved and whom she alone could save.

While she listened there, half choked by the beating of her own heart, she heard the three cavaliers beyond the wall. Their horses were walking now, and the three conversed together in easily audible tones.

"My life on it, Will," said one, "'twas here the wench took cover!"

"Thine eyes are dusty, Jack," replied a deep voice. "'Twas farther on, was it not, Harry?"

The horses stopped.

"Ay--you are i' the right, Will," was the answer. "By the same token, how could the la.s.s be here and we not see her? There's naught to hide a cat withal."

"Nay--nay!" said Will. "Count upon it, Jack, the maid fled beyond the turn yonder. Come on, lads!"

"I'll not stir hence!" said Jack, obstinately. "Who finds the girl, catches the traitor, too. Go you two farther, an ye will. Jack Bartley seeks here."

"Let it be e'en so, Will," said Harry, the third speaker. "Dismount we here, you and me. Jack shall tie the nags to yon tree and seek where he will. Do you and I creep onward afoot. So shall the maid, hearing no footfall, be caught unaware."

"Have it so!" said Will.

Phoebe heard the three dismount and, trembling with apprehension, listened anxiously for knowledge of what she dared not seek to see.

She heard the slow walk of the three horses, shortly interrupted, and she knew that they were being tethered. Then there was a murmur of voices and silence.

This was the most agonizing moment of that eventful night for Phoebe.

Strain her ears as she might, naught could she hear but the shake of a bridle, the stamp of an occasional hoof, and the cropping of gra.s.s. The next few seconds seemed an hour of miserable uncertainty and suspense.

She knew now that she was watched, that perhaps her plans were fully known, and all hope for her lover seemed past. She had called him hither and he would walk alone and unaided into the arms of these three mercenaries.

She clasped her hands and looked desperately about her as though for inspiration. To the right an open sward led the eye to the out-buildings surrounding the inn. To the left a dense thicket of trees and bushes shut in the view.

Suddenly she started violently. Her ear had caught the snapping of a twig close at hand, beyond the concealing wall. At the next moment she saw a stealthy hand slip past the opening by which she had entered, and the top of a man's hat appeared.

Like a rabbit that runs to cover, she turned noiselessly and dashed into the friendly thicket. Here she stopped with her hand on her heart and glanced wildly about her. Well she knew that her concealment here could be but momentary. Where next could she find shelter?

A heap of refuse, stones and dirt, leaves and sticks, was heaped against that portion of the wall, and at sight of this a desperate plan crossed her mind.

"'Tis that or nothing!" she whispered, and, still under cover of the shrubbery, she hurried toward the rubbish heap.

In the meantime, Jack, whose quick eye had descried that ancient opening in the wall, perceived by neither of his companions, was standing just within the wall gazing about for some clue to his prey's location.

Phoebe leaped upon the refuse heap and scrambled to the top. To her dismay, there was a great cras.h.i.+ng of dead wood as she sank nearly to her knees in the acc.u.mulated rubbish.

Jack uttered a loud exclamation of triumph and leaped toward the thicket. Poor Phoebe heard his cry, and for an instant all seemed hopeless. But hers was a brave young soul, and, far from fainting in her despair, a new vigor possessed her.

Grasping the limb of a tree beside her, she drew herself up until, with one foot she found a firm rest on the top of the wall. Then, forgetting her tender hands and limbs, straining, gripping, and scrambling, she knew not how, she flung herself over the wall and fell in a bruised and ragged heap on the gra.s.s beyond.

When her pursuer reached the thicket, he was confounded to find no one in sight.

Phoebe lay for one moment faint and relaxed upon the ground. The landscape turned to swimming silhouettes before her eyes, and all sounds were momentarily stilled. Then life came surging back in a welcome tide and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She walked as quickly as she could to where the three horses stood loosely tied by their bridles to a tree. At any moment the man she feared might appear again at the opening in the wall.

She untied all three horses and, choosing a powerful gray for her own, she slipped his bridle over her arm so as to leave both hands free.

Then, bringing together the bridles of the other two, she tied them together in a double knot, then doubled that, and struck the two animals sharply with the bridle of the gray. Naturally they started off in different directions, and, pulling at their bridles, dragged them into harder knots than her weak fingers could have tied.

She laughed in the triumph of her ingenuity and scrambled with foot and knee and hand into place astride of the remaining steed. Thus in the seclusion of the pasture had she often ridden her mare Nancy home to the barn.

There was a shout of anger and amazement from the road, and she saw the two men who had elected to walk farther on running toward her.

Turning her steed, she slapped his neck with the bridle and chopped at his flanks with the stirrups as best she could. The horse broke into an easy canter, and for the moment she was free.

Unfortunately, Phoebe found herself virtually without means for urging her steed to his best pace. Accustomed as he was to the efficient severity of a man's spurred heel, he paid little attention to her gentle, though urgent, voice, and even the stirrups were hardly available subst.i.tutes for spurs, since her feet could not reach them and she could only kick them flapping back against the horse's sides.

Her one chance was that she might meet Sir Guy in time, and she could only pray that the knots in the bridles of the remaining horses would long defy every effort to release them. As she turned the curve among the apple-trees, she looked back and saw that the horses had been caught and that all three men were frantically tugging and picking with fingers and teeth at those obstinate knots.

Phoebe drew up for a moment a few yards beyond the curve and broke off a long, slender switch from an overhanging bough. Then, urging the horse forward again, she picked off the small branches until at length she had produced a smooth, pliant switch, far more effective than bridle or stirrup. By the help of this new whip, she made a little better speed, but well she knew that her capture was only a matter of time unless she could find her lover.

Great was her joy, therefore, when she turned the next curve in the road; for, straight ahead, not twenty rods away, she saw Sir Guy approaching at a canter, leading a second horse.

By this time the twilight was deepening, and the young cavalier gazed in astonishment upon the ragged girl riding toward him astride, making silent gestures of welcome and warning. Not until he was within twenty yards of her did Sir Guy recognize his sweetheart.

"Mary!" he cried.

Together they reined in their horses, and instantly Phoebe slipped to the ground.

"Quick, Guy--quick!" she exclaimed. "Help me to mount yon saddle.

Come--come!"

Leaping at once from his horse, Sir Guy lifted Phoebe to the back of the beast he had been leading, which was provided with a side-saddle, the stirrup of which carried a spur. Stopping only to kiss her hand, he mounted his own steed, turned about, and followed Phoebe, who had already set off at her best speed. Even as they started, they heard a shout behind them, and Phoebe knew that the pursuit had begun in earnest.

"What is it--who are they whom you flee?" asked the young knight, as he came to Phoebe's side.

"Men seeking thee, Guy--for reward! There is a price on thy head, dear.

For high treason! Oh, may G.o.d aid us this night!"

"High treason!" he exclaimed. Then, after a pause, he continued, in a stern voice:

"How many be they?"

"Two."

Sir Guy laughed in evident relief.

"But two! By my troth, why should we fear them, sweetheart?" he said.

"An I be not a match for four of these scurvy rascals, call me not knight!"

"Alas--alas!" cried Phoebe, in alarm, as she saw Sir Guy slacken his pace. "Stay not to fight, Guy. Urge on--urge on! The whole countryside is awake. How, then, canst thou better thee by fighting two? Nay, on--on!" and she spurred again, beckoning him after with an imperious hand.

He yielded to her reasoning, and soon reached her side again.