“Send them in here,” commanded the cavalier. “One at a time. First, Dancey; the other, after Dancey has gone out.”
Oriole instantly vanished; and soon after the tread of a heavily-shod foot was heard in the hall, outside.
There was a single knock, followed by the spoken permission to “Come in.”
The door opened; and the noted deer-stealer stepped into the apartment.
He was a man of immense body and large limbs, somewhat loosely put together; but from sheer size seemingly endowed with herculean strength.
About his face there was nothing to indicate any evil disposition. On the contrary, it had a cheerful honest look; which rather contradicted the character implied by the appellation of deer-stealer. As with his representative of modern days—the poacher—perhaps the stealing of a deer as the snaring of a pheasant, could scarce have been looked upon in the light of a positive theft. At all events, Dick Dancey, who was notorious in this line, was otherwise well regarded by those who had dealings with him.
He was no ordinary man—either in physical or mental conformation; and his huge muscular form, crowned by a capacious head—in which glanced a pair of dark brown eyes keen as an eagle’s—gave him an imposing, if not a fearful, aspect. He was dressed in a doublet of faded cotton velveteen, with trunks of coarser material reaching down to mid thigh. From the bottoms of these to the tops of his heavy cow-skin boots, his limbs were protected by thick woollen hose; while on his head appeared a full-crowned cap made out of the skin of a spotted dog, the long hair ruffing out around the rim.
The accoutrements of this formidable forester were of the simplest. A skin wallet, suspended by a belt passing over his shoulders, hung by his right side; while as if to balance it, a heavy hanger—half-sword, half-knife—dangled against his left hip. A large knotted stick, carried in hand, completed his equipment for the journey—of the nature of which he seemed to have had some previous acquaintance.
“Dancey!” said the cavalier, as soon as the deer-stealer was fairly inside the room, “I want you upon a matter of business. You are an accomplished traveller, I know. Have you any objection to play errand-boy for a couple of days?”
“To carry any message for you, sir,” rejoined the woodman, with a grotesque effort at a bow, “I’d esteem an honour, ’specially after what happened this day, sir; or I moat say yesterday—seein’ it be now near the morrow mornin’. My daughter, sir—I can answer for Bet—she’s a good-hearted gurl, sir, though may be a little too forrard, or that sort; but she be wonderful obleeged, sir, to you, sir.”