Hugh raised his head, and he, too, caught, far off upon the highway, the thud, thud of swiftly approaching horses, that slackened in speed but grew louder and louder. He felt his heart thump shamefully, and, reaching out his hand, griped Strangwayes’ coat. Then the hoofs sounded right upon them, and there came shouts of men and the clatter of horses across the inn yard. Through the misty darkness shone a sudden light, against which Hugh could see outlined the top of the straw-pile. He saw, too, Strangwayes, with his bare head uplifted, peer out through an armful of the loose straw he held up before him, and he heard him whisper: “Six men, Hugh. Two are officers, I judge. One of them has passed into the inn. The rest are heading into the stable.”
Hugh pulled himself up on his knees and gazed out. There were torches in the inn yard that made a half circle of light about the stable door, but left the rest black as ever. Men were leading horses into the stable, and calling and swearing to each other, so they could be heard even after the great door swallowed them up. The house itself was silent as before, but a moment later, and, even as he gazed, from the farther window in the upper story a faint light streamed out. “Curse them! They need not have gone prowling so soon,” Strangwayes rapped out between his teeth. “We must make a dash for it. They are only five against two.”
Both were now on their feet among the straw, and Strangwayes had made a step to the opening of the shed, when Hugh caught his arm. “Wait, wait, Dick,” he panted, the words instinctively saying themselves, “that’s but a small chance. Nay, I am not afraid; ’tis only I have a better way. With my ragged clothes,—I’ll slip my cap under my jacket,—they’ll think me a stable-boy. Let me go first into the stable. Perhaps I can get a couple of horses out into the court. Yes, I am going.”
Strangwayes gave a glance at the lighted window. “If you’re beset, call. God speed!” he whispered, and Hugh ran out from the shed.
For a moment his eyes were dazzled with the sudden light about him, then he blinked it away and went forward. He seemed scarcely to feel the solid ground beneath him, nor to hear his own step, for the pounding of the blood in his temples. Yet there was no fear nor any feeling within him, only he saw the opened door to the lighted stable, and he stepped in boldly.
There he halted and of a sudden griped at the side of the door to hold himself erect. For just before him, saddled, bridled, and all, stood two horses, a black and a bay, which he had last caressed in the stable of Everscombe Manor. Beside the bay loitered a stalwart young officer, who at his step glanced up and showed the face of Peregrine Oldesworth. “Hugh!” he cried amazedly, and the troopers, unsaddling the horses at the farther end of the stable, looked up at the cry.
Hugh felt his nerves tingle, but with a calmness that seemed no part of him he walked into the stable. “Good even, Cousin Peregrine,” he said quietly, though his voice shook a trifle. “May I lead out the horses to water?” His hands closed on the reins of the bay and the black.
“What are you doing here?” Peregrine asked astonishedly.
“What I can,” Hugh replied, with growing confidence.
“You’ve come down in the world, Master Runaway,” said Peregrine, and by his look Hugh knew he was not sorry that his proud cousin should groom his horse. That triumphant look strengthening him mightily, he deliberately faced the horses about and led them the few steps to the door. “I’m down, Cousin Peregrine,” he said, with a quick laugh, “but maybe I’ll be up in the saddle again.”