And, in truth, over a wood to the right the birds were wheeling as the boys fell back and fitted an arrow to the string. From the wood three men on horseback drove rapidly into the road and galloped toward them.
“They are robbers,” said John, “take thou the one on the left” and their bows twanged and the arrows whistled.
The horseman on the right was transfixed by John’s shaft which pierced his right shoulder, and he fell from his horse which turned and fled. Jabez was not so fortunate; his shaft flew not so truly, but it caught the skin of the left leg of the rider and imbedded itself in the horse beneath which screamed and lashed out in agony, throwing the rider. The third horseman turned and galloped away. The rider of the stricken horse crawled into the bushes from which he was quickly hauled and despatched, after which the men gathered around the man desperately wounded.
“Mercy! mercy! Sir John,” shrieked the stricken man looking at John, “Spare me! spare me! I am not fit to die!”
“Thou wilt die, sure enough,” said Steve, “thy right lung is shot through, but why call him Sir John? ’Tis but John Fenchurch.”
“’Tis the ghost of Sir John Jernyngan whom I stabbed at Bordeaux. Mercy! mercy!”
“He raves,” said Steve, “get along, John, out of his sight.”
“Leave him with me,” said Jed. “I would speak with him further.”
“’Tis as he told thee,” said Jed to the dying man when they were alone. “It was John Fenchurch.”
“I tell thee no!” he replied. “’Twas Sir John Jernyngan or his ghost. Thinkest thou I know not mine old enemy who stole my honors and my bride? Did I not see the old Duke of Warwick knight him at Savignies?” This was followed by a gush of blood as his spirit fled. Jed dragged the body to the roadside, rifled the pockets and followed the others, deep in thought.