But pursuit could go no further, for the pursuers were all on foot and a moment saw the Ratcliffes mounted on the horses which they had tethered to the graveyard hedge. Shameless Wayne plucked out his pistol then, and laughed as a yell from one of the retreating redheads followed his quick pulling of the trigger. Then he turned back sharply, for the sound of running feet came up the path; re-entering by the wicket, he was met full by three Ratcliffes, left behind by their fellows in the wild rush for safety.
Wayne never halted, but drove down on them, his sword uplifted; and they, three to one, fell back in panic almost on to the points of the upcoming Waynes.
"Hold off! They're mine," cried Shameless Wayne, waving his folk aside.
Up and down he chased them, and up and down they ran, doubling behind gravestones or running hare-footed across open ground; for this lad, whom they had laughed at as a drunkard and a fool, seemed godlike in his fury. The Waynes held every outlet, and all watched the grim chase silently. And then Shameless Wayne's opportunity came; the three were running altogether now, and one tripped up the other, and Wayne was scarce a sword's length from them.
"I have them—" he began, and lifted his right arm.
But the open vault yawned under them before their brute terror showed where this second danger lay. They reeled at the edge and half recovered, then dropped to the paved floor beneath, where the coffin lay where Witherlee had dropped it at the first onset.
Shameless Wayne, mad with the swift onset and the crash of blows, stood laughing at the edge and beckoned to two of his folk. "Roof them over, and let them rot there," he cried, kicking the ringed vault-stone with his foot.
The crowd shrank back, and even his own people were affrighted by the wild command. None knew—none guessed, save Sexton Witherlee, watching from the porch—what fury of despair, and shame, and bitterness, had gone to the making of this brute mood of the lad's. Nor was he in case to wonder at himself; for the one moment he wished naught in heaven or earth save to see the flat stone ring down on those who would have done honest men to death by treachery.
"Why do ye draw back, ye fools?" he cried. "Is it a time for maidishness, or do ye want——"
"Stay, lad! Thou'lt think better of it in a while," said Rolf Wayne of Cranshaw, touching him on the shoulder.