“Now,” said the robber, after securing the last loop, apparently to his satisfaction, “you woant come loose till somebody lets ye; and that arnt goin’ to be me. I ha’nt no wish to be cruel to ye—tho’ ye are a king’s flunkey—an’ as ye’ll be easier lyin’ down than stannin’ up, I’ll put you in that position.”
As he said this, he let go his hold, and permitted the unfortunate man to fall heavily upon the floor.
“Lie thear, Master Messenger, till somebody lifts ye. I’ll see to the deliverin’ o’ yer message. Good-night!”
And with a mocking laugh Gregory Garth strode back over the threshold—leaving the astounded traveller to reflections that were neither very lucid nor very pleasant.
After passing out of the hut, the footpad hastened to take his departure from the spot.
He led the steed of the messenger out into the middle of the road, and tied the bridle he had made to the cantle of the saddle. He then glided up to the near side of the horse; and caught hold of the withers—as if about to mount.
Something, however, caused him to hesitate; and an interval elapsed, without his making any effort to get into the saddle.
“Daangit, old partners!” cried he, at length—addressing himself to his band of dummies, whom he had been for sometime neglecting—“’twon’t do for us to part this fashion. If Greg’ry Garth are promoted to be a highwayman, he arn’t goin’ to look down on his pals o’ the path. No! Ye shall go long wi’ me, one an’ all. Though the hul o’ ye put thegither arnt worth this shinin’ ticker I’ve got in my fob, for all that I can make better use o’ ye, than leavin’ ye here to scare the crows o’ Jarret’s Heath. Come along, my boys! I’se boun’, this stout charger from the royal mews be able to carry the hul on us, an’ not think it much o’ a looad neyther. I’ll find room for all o’ ye—some on the crupper, and the rest on the withers. Come along then!”
Without waiting for any reply to his proposal, he glided around the edge of the opening: and, rapidly dismantling the dummies one after the other, he returned towards the horse with their ravished vestments.
Hanging the “old clo’” across both croup and withers—and there attaching them by strings—he at length climbed into the saddle lately occupied by the king’s messenger, and rode gleefully away.