“Hallo, Bill!” said Black Morris, “what in the world are you after?”
He would gladly have passed them without further parley, for, thanks to Mr. Clayton, his thoughts and feelings had taken quite a new direction. His collision with Bill Buckley, however, had made that impossible.
“Stow thy clapper, old chum,” was the response of Buckley, and leading him to his three comrades, he said, “here, lads, we’ve gotten a bit o’ help.” He proceeded to tell him their nefarious plans, and assumed that he would willingly coincide.
“Not I,” said Black Morris; “Kasper Crabtree’s done me no harm, an’ I’ll bring no harm to him.”
Breaking from them he proceeded on his way, resolved to warn the purposed victim of the fate in store for him. Swearing a dreadful oath, his features black with rage, Buckley seized him.
“Stow that,” said he; “you shan’t stir ’til we’ve gotten what we want.” Holding him in his giant grip, he said, “Thoo shall see it oot, an’ then thoo can’t split on us.”
At that moment the little grey pony was seen ambling on the road, with old Crabtree on his back. The three ruffians sprang out, seized the pony, and dragged the old man down. He fell with a heavy thud on the ground; his pockets were rifled, and as the victim shouted for help, Spink struck him a cruel blow. Black Morris, roused to the utmost pitch of indignation, broke from his muscular jailer, and ran to the aid of the prostrate farmer. Leaning over him, his eyes met those of the wounded man.
“Black Morris, I know you!” said Crabtree, and instantly fainted away.
“Ha! ha! thoo’s in for it, noo, wi’ t’ rest on us,” said Buckley. “Here thou may hev t’ paper an’ we’ll hev t’ gold!” Thrusting a parcel into Morris’s jacket, Buckley and his companions in villainy ran off with speed. Poor Morris knelt by the still unconscious victim, appalled at his position and staggered by the net with which he was inclosed. He loosed Mr. Crabtree’s neckcloth and fetched water in his hat from the ditch hard by. The old man revived under his treatment and was able to sit up. He looked with dazed and wondering eyes at his companion. Morris heard the sound of many voices, the tramp of many feet, doubtless of those returning from the fair. In a sudden fit of fear, and conscious how black the case looked against himself, he foolishly sprang up, cleared the hedge, and sped like lightning through Thurston Wood, and home to Midden Harbour. He went to his room, but not to sleep. Every sound he heard he construed into the steps of those who were coming to seize him for the murder of the unfortunate farmer. When the light of early morning dawned, he was able to bear the dread suspense no longer; letting himself out in silence, he stole away to hide himself from what he deemed to be a felon’s doom.