"Us never knows what'll happen," declared Putt. "An' whether or no, 'tis bad fortune to be hanged, for it stops a man's usefulness."
The conversation ended with this just reflection, and very early next morning Thomas went his way. Mrs. Beer provided him with plentiful supplies of food and, upon his own account, he visited the tool-shed and work-loft before setting out. With him he carried a stout stick, and his salmon as a gift for Sergeant Bradridge.
He struck into Dean Woods while it was yet early, then called at a farm hard by, where he was known, partook of a pint of beer and had some conversation with the farmer's son. Presently, seated with this lad in front of a load of manure, Putt jogged onwards and proceeded to a cross-road not far distant from Robin Herrick's old home at Dean Prior. Here ran Dean Burn from its fountains on Dartmoor; and to Mr. Putt this stream, now in full torrent after rain, offered interesting problems. He examined the waters with a professional eye, and his friend upon the cart laughed at him.
"Ever thinking of fish; even at such a time as this!"
"No, by Gor!" answered Tom. "I'm just wondering how shallow it runs to the bridge yonder. Lend me your whip an' I'll find out."
He proved to his satisfaction that there was deep water at hand, and then, while still in earnest conversation with the young farmer, Thomas heard a tramp of feet and saw the troops advancing. Thereupon his friend drew his cart and its burden into a side path by the stream, and Putt, with the salmon well displayed, advanced to meet Sergeant Bradridge. The halt sounded as he approached. The troops grounded their arms and, weary and hungry after a march of fifteen miles, pulled food from their knapsacks and scattered in comfort by the grassy way. For drink, the river rolled at their feet.
Sergeant Bradridge himself had selected a comfortable spot upon a milestone, with a bank behind it for his back, just as Tom appeared. All the soldiers were now at ease, save two sentries, who kept guard over the prisoner. Lee was handcuffed, but his legs were free, and he had walked with his guards. He sat now, nodded and smiled at Putt, and welcomed him gratefully. But Thomas held his nose high, walked past the prisoner, and treated Lee as one no longer to be recognised by self-respecting people.
"Morning, Uncle Sep. I knowed you was passing this way, so I took a half-holiday, an' made bold to walk across the Moor."
The sergeant was an elderly man with a ruddy face, a pompous bearing, and a feeble, kindly mouth quite concealed under heavy moustaches.
"Tom, to be sure! Sit down an' have a bite. 'Tis dooty, an' a painful dooty. But us safeguards of the land have to do dirty work so well as clean work. That poor soul—well, but come to think of it, you knowed him better'n ever I shall. 'Tis a strange world. Back along I had to march your master out of War Prison, 'cause Mr. Malherb got in a rage the day we found out about that hole under the walls; then I had to take this here poor soul down along to Plymouth; an' now I be marching him to be hanged. Talk o' wars! Us as stays at home have just as terrible dooties thrust upon us."