“I am not going to shoot you,” Hugh replied, “but you can give me over that sword to pay for what you owe me. And remember, this pistol I hold now is in good order,” he added, for he half suspected the fellow was plucking up courage as he discovered it was only two lads, not a whole troop, had come upon him. So he stood back warily out of the plunderer’s reach, while Frank, who was viewing the whole proceeding happily like a holiday sport, took up the booty and passed it over to him. Hugh gathered the baldric about the sword in his left hand, a little hurriedly, for it was beginning to dawn on him that he and Frank had strayed pretty far, and where one live rebel was there might be others. Just then, over in the plain, he got sight of a straggling horseman or two, so he turned upon Frank with a quick order: “Clamber up the slope there and make for the road briskly.”
He heard behind him the boy’s quick retreating step, but his eyes were still fixed on the scowling rebel, whom he thought well to cover with his pistol. “Sit where you are,” he commanded the man, “and offer to play me no slippery tricks if you value your skin.” Thus speaking, he backed toward the bank, which he ascended slantingly, so as to keep an eye on the fellow. But, chancing to look beyond him, he saw one of the horsemen was already heading in his direction, so he turned and fair ran for the roadway, where Frank was halting for him. “Run,” he called to the boy; “’tis a hornets’ nest here.”
Without staying for farther questions, Frank took to his heels down the road toward Kineton, and Hugh, after one glance to the right where he saw no stragglers of his own party, ran after him. At each stride he gained on him, for Frank’s boots and cuirass encumbered the youngster; capture was possible, it flashed through Hugh’s head, and with it came the reflection that it would be discreditable to be taken in the act of plundering a private of foot, for others might not see the justice of the case as clearly as he had seen it. Then he found wit to think only of the hoof-beats that were now sounding on the roadway behind him, louder and louder, and, looking at Frank stumbling on before him, he thought what an ill return it would be for all Sir William’s kindness to let harm come to the boy. So he halted short and faced back; close behind him was one trooper with a yellow sash and somewhat in his rear came three others. How long the horse’s head looked, Hugh reflected dazedly, and would the man slash down at him with his sword and make such a gash as he had seen upon Ned Griffith? Then there was no space for reflection or remembrance, only the horse’s head grazed by him, he saw the man lean forward in his saddle, and, thrusting up his pistol with the muzzle aimed under the man’s upraised arm, he fired. The sword grazed down weakly across his shoulder, the edge slipping harmlessly over the stout buff; then the sword fell to the roadway, the horse clattered forward a pace or two, and the rider reeled headlong from the saddle. The horse went galloping away down the road with the stirrups beating against his flanks.
A shout from behind brought Hugh to his senses. He ran forward, got a fleeting sight of the rebel trooper, who lay outstretched on his back in the roadway with a grayish shade gathering on his face, then came up with Frank and caught him by the arm. “Off the road, quick!” he panted. “They’ll ride us down.”
They went headlong over the low embankment and struggled blindly forward into the field. Hugh had jammed his pistol into his belt, wondering how many seconds it would take him to draw his sword clear for a final stand, when Frank reeled up against him, crying: “My ankle! I’ve wrenched it again.” With that he pitched down at Hugh’s feet, and Hugh, clapping his hand to the hilt of the sword, stood over him and faced about. Then he saw the rebel horsemen had drawn rein in the roadway and were watching them but not following, behind him he heard horses coming, and Frank, suddenly scrambling to his feet, began shouting. “King’s men! Hurrah!”
Hugh turned about in time to see a little squad of eight or ten horsemen with scarlet scarfs come riding out of the twilight and pull up alongside them. There was something familiar in the broad shoulders of the leader and the gruff voice in which he began: “’Tis happy for you, gentlemen, that we—”
“Corporal Ridydale, have you forgot me?” Hugh interrupted breathlessly, going up to the man’s stirrup.
“Forgot you, sir?” Ridydale made answer, “Lord, no, sir. Jump up behind me. ’Tis not a healthy place hereabouts for men of our color.—Here, Rodes, take t’other young gentleman up behind you.”
After delaying long enough to slip his new baldric over his shoulder, Hugh scrambled up behind Ridydale, and the little squad headed across the field toward Edgehill. How had the battle gone, Hugh asked, as soon as he had recovered breath; and Ridydale told him the Prince and Colonel Gwyeth had hunted the rebels clear beyond Kineton. “The knaves banged our troop some deal, but we had brave plundering in the town,” the corporal ended. “‘How has the day gone in the rest of the field?’ I know not; we have done our part.”
“Colonel Gwyeth had no hurt?” Hugh broke in.