Cutlass and Cudgel Part 15

"Yes, of course," said Archy shortly.

"Yes, of course," said the farmer, in a.s.sent. "But I'd be a bit easy with him, sir. Don't hurt his feelings. Gentleman, you see."

"Don't be alarmed," said the mids.h.i.+pman quietly. "I hope we shall not be rude to any one."

He moved towards the door, after saluting Mrs Shackle, the farmer leading the way, and pointing out the nearest path up the steep slope.

"'Bout my cow," he said.

"I have no doubt that as soon as the lieutenant in command is satisfied that you had nothing to do with the smuggling, your people will be set at liberty."

"And the cow?"

"And the cow of course."

"Thank ye, sir; that's good news. I'll go and tell the missus.

Straight on, sir; you can't miss it."

"Ah, my fine fellow," he continued, as he walked back, "if it hadn't been for your gang with you, how easily I could have turned the key and kept you down in that cellar, where I wish I had your skipper too."

"Oh, Blenheim!" said his wife, in an excited whisper, "how could you help them to go up to the Hoze? They'll find out everything now."

"P'r'aps not, missus. I sent 'em, because if I hadn't they'd have found the way. We may get off yet, and if we do--well, it won't be the first time; so, here's to luck."

As he spoke he opened a corner cupboard, took out a bottle of spirits which had never paid duty, poured out and drank a gla.s.s.

"Thank you," said a gruff voice. "I think, if you don't mind, farmer, I'll have a little taste of that. I came back to tell you that your cider is rather harsh and hard, not to say sour, and I'm a man accustomed to rum."

As he spoke, Gurr the master stepped into the room, took the bottle from the farmer's hand, helped himself to a gla.s.s, and poured out and smelt the spirit.

"I say, farmer," he said, as he tasted, "this is the right sort or the wrong sort, according to which side you are."

"Only a little drop given me by a friend."

"French friend, for any money," said the master, drinking the gla.s.s.

"Yes, that's right Nantes. I thought so from the first, farmer, and I know now I was right."

He went off again, and Shackle stood shaking his fist after him.

"And we'd got off so well," he muttered. "I knew that rascal suspected us."

"Say me, Blenheim," retorted Mrs Shackle. "I've begged you hundreds of times not to meddle with the business, but you would, and I'm your wife and obliged to obey. Isn't Ram a long time bringing home that cow?"

"Yes," said Shackle drily. "Very."

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Archy was some little distance ahead of his men, and he had just stepped into the patch of woodland which surrounded the Hoze, when he heard a pleasant little voice singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of a Jacobite song.

He stopped short to listen, it sounded so bird-like and sweet, and half-laughingly he sang the last line over aloud, thinking the while how disloyal he was.

Hardly had he finished, when there was a burst of barking, a rush, and a dog came hurrying toward him, followed by a voice crying--

"Grip, Grip, come here!"

The dog seemed to pay no heed to the call, and at a turn of the track, Archy saw him coming open-mouthed.

It was not a pleasant sight, and the youth felt disposed to take to his heels, and run for protection to his men.

But there were drawbacks to such a proceeding.

If he ran it would look cowardly, and he knew for certain that the dog would come after him, and take him at a disadvantage; so, making a virtue of necessity, he whipped out his dirk and ran hard at the dog, who checked his pace, hesitated, stopped, barked more furiously than ever, and then turned round, and was chased by the mids.h.i.+pman, who drew up on finding himself face to face with Sir Risdon's daughter, out for her daily walk.

The girl turned white, and was in the act of turning to run away, when Archy's words arrested her.

"No, no," he cried, "don't run away."

She stopped, and looked from his face to his dirk, and back.

"Oh, I see," he said, "that alarmed you. There," he continued, sheathing the little weapon, "I only drew it because your dog looked so fierce. Does he bite?"

"Sometimes, I'm afraid. But were you coming to see my father? Who are you?" she added uneasily, as she glanced at the lad's uniform.

"I am Archibald Raystoke, of His Majesty's cutter _White Hawk_."

"And you want to see my father?" cried the girl, beginning to tremble.

"Well, yes, I ought to see him. The fact is, we have landed to search for a quant.i.ty of smuggled things, and to make a capture of the smugglers if we can."

Celia looked at him wildly, and her face grew more and more white.

"Will you show me the way to the house? The Hoze you call it, do you not?"

Celia gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, as she recalled how she had lain in her clothes, and listened to the busy coming and going of footsteps, for the greater part of the night.

As all this came to her mind, she felt at first as if she must run to warn her father. Then a giddy feeling of dread came over her, and she stood staring blankly at the frank-looking boy before her.

"I know the great vault is full of smuggled things," she said to herself, "and that they will think my father put them there. What shall I do?"

"Poor little la.s.sie!" said Archy to himself, as he smiled complacently; "she has never seen an officer in uniform before, and I frightened her with my drawn sword."

At that moment, Gurr came up with the men, and Celia seemed as if turned to stone.

"This young lady lives at the house, Mr Gurr," said Archy aloud, "and she will show us the way."

Poor Celia felt as if she could neither move nor speak. It seemed horrible to her that she should have the task of guiding the king's men, perhaps to arrest her father. But just then she was brought to herself by the behaviour of the dog, who, on seeing his mistress talking in a friendly way to the stranger who had chased him, had condescended to be quiet, but now that a fresh party of the enemy was approaching, set up his bristles, and began to bark and growl furiously.