He looked eagerly for his patron. There was no sign of him, so Hobbs rode slowly forward, intent upon asking the woodmen—for such they appeared to be—to accompany him to the glen, now but a short distance ahead.
As he drew nearer, it struck him forcibly that the men were not what he had thought them to be. They were an evil-looking lot, more like the strikers he had seen in the town earlier in the day. Even as he was turning the new thought over in his mind, one of them stepped out of the little knot, and, without a word of warning, lifted his arm and fired point blank at the little Englishman. A pistol ball whizzed close by his head. His horse leaped to the side of the road in terror, almost unseating him.
But Hobbs had fighting blood in his veins. What is more to the point, he had a Mauser revolver in his pocket. He jerked it out, and, despite a second shot from the picket, prepared to ride down upon the party. An instant later half a dozen revolvers were blazing away at him. Hobbs turned at once and rode in the opposite direction, whirling to fire twice at the unfriendly group. Soon he was out of range and at leisure. He saw the futility of any attempt to pass them. The only thing left for him to do was to ride as quickly as possible to the city and give the alarm: at the same time, to acquaint the police with the deliberate assault of the desperadoes.
His mind was so full of the disaster to Truxton King—he did not doubt for an instant that he had been destroyed by the sorceress—that he gave little thought to his own encounter with the rascals in the roadway. He had come to like the impetuous young man with the open purse and the open heart. Despite his waywardness in matters conventional to the last degree he could not but admire him for the smile he had and the courage that never failed him, even when the smile met the frown of rebuke.
Riding swiftly through the narrow, sunless defile he was nearing the point where the road connected with the open Highway; from there on the way was easy and devoid of peril. Suddenly his horse swerved and leaped furiously out of stride, stumbling, but recovering himself almost instantaneously. In the same second he heard the sharp crack of a firearm, far down the unbroken ravine to his left. A second shot came, this time from the right and quite close at hand. His horse was staggering, swaying—then down he crashed, Hobbs swinging clear barely in time to escape being pinioned to the ground. A stream of blood was pouring from the side of the poor beast. Aghast at this unheard of wantonness, the little interpreter knew not which way to turn, but stood there dazed until a third shot brought him to his senses. The bullet kicked up the dust near his feet. He scrambled for the heavy underbrush at the roadside and darted off into the forest, his revolver in his hand, his heart palpitating like mad. Time and again as he fled through the dark thickets, he heard the hoarse shouts of men in the distance. It dawned upon him at last that there had been an uprising of some kind in the city—that there was rioting and murder going on—that these men were not ordinary bandits, but desperate strikers in quest of satisfaction for grievances ignored.
Night came and he dropped to the soft, dank earth, utterly exhausted and absolutely lost for the time being in the pathless hills.
At ten o'clock the next morning Colonel Quinnox and a company of soldiers, riding from the city gates toward the north in response to a call for help from honest herders who reported attacks and robberies of an alarming nature, came upon the stiff, foot-sore, thorn-scratched Mr. Hobbs, not far from the walls of the town. The Colonel was not long in grasping the substance of Hobbs's revelations. He rode off at once for the Witch's hovel, sending Hobbs with a small, instructed escort to the Castle, where Baron Dangloss was in consultation with Mr. Tullis and certain ministers.
The city was peaceful enough, much to the surprise of Hobbs. No disturbance had been reported, said the guardsmen who rode beside him. Up in the hills there had been some depredations, but that was all.
"All?" groaned Mr. Hobbs. "All? Hang it all, man, wot do you call all? You haven't heard 'alf all of it yet. I tell you, there's been the devil to pay. Wait till the Colonel comes back from Ganlook Gap. He'll have news for you; take it from me, he will. That poor chap 'as gone up in smoke, as sure as my name's Hobbs."
They met Baron Dangloss near the barracks, across the park from the Castle. He was in close, earnest conversation with John Tullis and Count Halfont, both of whom seemed to be labouring under intense excitement. Over by the arsenal the little Prince, attended by his Aunt Loraine and Count Vos Engo—with two mechanical guardsmen in the background—was deep in conversation with Julius Spantz, the master-of-arms. If he had been near enough to hear, he might have learned that Prince Robin's air-gun was very much out of order and needed attention at once.