“He went t’other side the tree, takin’ the young lady along.”
At that moment comes a cry from behind the oak—a woman’s voice calling “Help! help!”
Clancy stays not to hear more, but rushes off with the air of a man struck with sudden phrenzy!
On turning the trunk, he sees other forms, a horse with man mounted, a woman before him he endeavours to restrain, who, struggling, thirsts for succour.
It is nigh, though near being too late. But for a fortunate circumstance, it would be. The horse, headed towards the forest, is urged in that direction. But, frayed by the conflict on his back, he refuses to advance; instead, jibbing and rearing, he returns under the tree.
Clancy, with rifle raised, is about to shoot the animal down. But at thought of danger to her calling “help!” he lowers his piece; and rushing in, lays hold of the bridle-rein. This instantly let go, to receive in his arms the woman, released from the ruffian’s grasp, who would otherwise fall heavily to the earth.
The horse, disembarrassed, now obeying the rein, shoots out from under the oak, and headed across the moonlit belt makes straight for the timber beyond.
In the struggle Clancy has let go his gun, and now vainly gropes for it in the darkness. But two others are behind, with barrels that bear upon the retreating horseman. In an instant all would be over with him, but for Clancy himself; who, rushing between, strikes up the muzzles, crying:—
“Don’t shoot, Sime! Hold your fire, Heywood! His life belongs to me!”
Strange forbearance; to the backwoodsmen, incomprehensible! But they obey; and again Richard Darke escapes chastisement for two great crimes he intended, but by good fortune failed to accomplish.