One point, indeed, he did not foresee. The Earl of Beverley and Colonel Ashburnham had passed out while he was at the inn, but the redoubtable Captain Barecolt was still behind; and, as the evil fate of Mr. Dry would have it, just after he had remained under shelter of the archway to one hour and a quarter by the great clock, holding his horse by the bridle all the time, the gate behind him suddenly began to clank and rattle in the painful operation of giving exit to that great hero.
Mr. Dry started up and looked behind him, lifting his foot towards the stirrup at the same moment; and as soon as he beheld Captain Barecolt, he scrambled into the saddle as well as he could; but, alas! that renowned officer was already mounted, and Mr. Dry had to perform an operation which was difficult to him. He had got his left foot in the stirrup; he had swung himself up into the saddle; but before his right foot could find its place of repose (and Mr. Dry did not venture to spur on till it had), the gates were closed behind Captain Barecolt, and he himself was by the Puritan's side.
"Ha, ha! old drybones!" said that officer, "have I caught thee at length?"
"What want you with me, man of Belial?" demanded the master of Longsoaken, with the cat-in-a-corner courage of despair. "Get you gone upon your way, and let better men than yourself follow theirs."
"Nay, good faith!" answered Barecolt, stretching out his left hand and grasping Mr. Dry's rein: "I always love that better men than myself should bear me company, and such is to be thy fate, O Dry! so do not think to escape it; for, as sure as my name is de Capitaine Jersval, if you attempt any one of all those running tricks which you know so well how to practice, I will slit your weasand incontinent. It matters not two straws to me whether I have you alive or dead, but have your corpus I will, as the prisoner of my bow and spear, as you would call it. Come, use your spurs, or I must spur your beast for you. You see that party of honest Cavaliers there on the hill--terrible malignants, every one of them, that would have a pleasure in roasting you by a slow fire, like a tough old goose, and basting you with those strong waters that you love so well. To them we are going, so spur on with the alacrity which your good luck deserves. What! you will not? Oh, then, I must make you!" and drawing his sword, he pricked Mr. Dry's horse so close to that worthy gentleman's thigh, that he started and rose in the stirrups.
The poor beast darted on in an instant, and in so doing shook Mr. Dry a good deal; but whether the concussion elicited a brilliant thought from his brain or not, he exclaimed immediately after--
"Harkye, Captain Barecolt! I have a word for ye. Do not let us ride so fast. I have an offer to make. Listen a moment."
Mr. Dry understood the peculiar genus of captain to which Barecolt belonged, but he did not understand the exact variety. He knew that, with most adventurous soldiers like himself, the food for which they hungered was gold. Drink might do much, dice might do much, fair ladies might do more; but gold, gold was paramount--an attraction not to be resisted. Mr. Dry loved gold, too, and overvalued its importance; but he felt a strong internal conviction that, if carried at once to the quarters of Lord Walton, life, which was the grand means of getting and enjoying gold, would be of a very short duration. He saw a noose dangling from a cross-tree before his eyes, and he wisely calculated that it would be better to sacrifice some portion of the less valuable commodity to save the more valuable; and therefore he prepared to tempt his companion's cupidity--not without a faint hope of cheating him after all, but with the resolution of giving anything that might save his life.
A sudden thought, too, had struck Captain Barecolt, which he proceeded to follow out, as will be seen presently; but its first effect was to make him draw in his rein, and also check the horse of Mr. Dry, over which he exercised supreme command; and as he did so, he said in a dry and bantering tone--
"Well, worshipful Mr. Dry, speak what you have to speak. As you will not have leisure to use your tongue much more on earth, it would be hard to deny you a few words. You are going to the gallows, Mr. Dry--you are going to the gallows; and though I cannot promise that you shall swing as high as Haman, yet you shall have as decent an execution as time and circumstances permit, and plenty of room for your feet.