His man appeared with the steed caparisoned[95] for its master. Lawton, coolly throwing the bridle on the neck of the animal, took his pistols from the holsters, and continued, “Here are weapons that have seen good service before to-day—aye, and in honorable hands, sir. In what better way can I serve my country than in exterminating a wretch who would blast one of her fairest daughters?”
“This injurious treatment shall meet its reward,” cried the other, seizing the offered weapon; “the blood lie on the head of him who sought it!”
“Amen! but hold a moment, sir. You are now free, and the passports of Washington are in your pocket; I give you the fire; if I fall, there is a steed that will outstrip pursuit, and I advise you to retreat without delay.”
“Are you ready?” asked Wellmere, gnashing his teeth with rage.
“Stand forward, Tom, with the lights; fire!” Wellmere fired, and the bullion flew from the epaulette of the trooper.
“Now the turn is mine,” said Lawton, deliberately leveling his pistol.
“And mine!” shouted a voice as the weapon was struck from his hand. “’Tis the mad Virginian!—fall on, my boys, and take him; this is a prize not hoped for!”
Unarmed, and surprised as he was, Lawton’s presence of mind did not desert him; he felt that he was in the hands of those from whom he was to expect no mercy; and, as four of the Skinners fell upon him at once, he used his gigantic strength to the utmost.
The struggle was short but terrific; curses and the most dreadful imprecations were uttered by the Skinners, who in vain called on more of the band, who were gazing on the combat in nerveless horror, to assist. A difficulty of breathing, from one of the combatants, was heard, accompanied by the stifled moanings of a strangled man; and directly one of the group arose from his feet, shaking himself free from the wild grasp of the others. Both Wellmere and the servant of Lawton had fled—the former to the stables, and the latter to give the alarm, leaving all in darkness.