The Red Chancellor

by Sir William Magnay

She was busy contriving a bandage for his wound. “We are all quite safe,” she said cheerily. “You must keep quiet. Mr. Tyrrell is going to drive now and you will finish the journey in the carriage with me.”

He smiled. “What are the brutes doing? Hope you hammered them?”

I told him how they had been beaten off, and the news seemed to do him even more good than the brandy I was giving him.

We washed and dressed his wound to the best of our skill; then, as haste was everything, I went out to prepare for our departure. I had taken but a few steps outside the house when I stumbled over the body of a man. He was evidently dead, and from the shortness of his stature I judged him to be the one who had dug the grave in the wood.

I went on to the shed where we had left our carriage and horses. As I expected, our pursuers had done their best to deprive us of the means of flight by shooting our poor animals. The intention had, however, been very imperfectly carried out. Both horses lay on the ground, dead, as I thought, but it turned out that only one had been killed. The other on my approach began to kick and struggle. When released from the harness which kept it down beside its dead companion it struggled to its feet whinnying with terror. I did my best to soothe it while looking for its wound. None was to be seen and I soon convinced myself that by some lucky accident the animal was practically unhurt. So far good; still, one horse would not be of much use on those rough heavy roads. I wondered whether our pursuers had left any of their own steeds behind them; there would assuredly be more than one with no rider to carry back to the Geierthal. I ran into the house, explained the situation, and told them I was going to hunt about for a second horse.

I argued that when the party dismounted to advance and attack us they would naturally have tied up their horses at the roadside near by, and it was just probable that thereabouts one might be found. The common horses of those parts, such as the Count’s men would ride, were hardly valuable enough for their loss to be any great consideration, and if Bleisst had really been wounded, his chief would have enough to do to get him home without the trouble of trying to lead three or four horses as well. No doubt they would have been turned loose, but I might get hold of one for all that. My conjecture proved correct. I had gone but a short distance in my search when suddenly there was the noise of a rush just in front of me, and a great dark object sprang up into the road. It was an exciting moment, with the full suspicion of a trap in my mind. With my revolver ready I stood still and watched. The horse had trotted off nervously; he now stopped and gave a low neigh. Feeling pretty sure that he was alone I went forward cautiously. It was risky, but as it turned out I was safe enough. Having been used to horses all my life I knew how to give this fellow confidence and get hold of him. Then I led him to the carriage, put on him the dead one’s harness, and all was ready for a start.

Fräulein Asta was greatly relieved when I returned with an account of my success, since every moment we delayed obviously increased our danger. Happily, poor Strode seemed much easier and was in quite high spirits. Between us we bore him out to the carriage, making him as comfortable as possible; then I led the horses to the road, mounted the box, and we resumed our journey.

I have often thought since that it would have been some satisfaction to have found out how many of the Count’s ruffians we really did send to their account, and no doubt had not my love been with us I would have risked a ten minutes’ search to satisfy myself. As it was we had to be content with the inference that the leader would not have abandoned the attack had not the party been well-nigh annihilated.

The fear of immediate pursuit was now removed, still no time was to be lost, and I kept my oddly-matched pair swinging along at the best pace I could get out of them, resolved that nothing but dire necessity should cause another halt before we cleared the frontier. That—the nearest road out of the country—was all we could think of then; it would be time enough to determine on our after destination when we were once safe beyond the limit of the Jaguar’s spring.

So we pushed on through the night, on and on till blackness turned by imperceptible degrees to grey, dark at first, then lighter and lighter till the red streaks of dawn at length made the landscape clear. On and on we rattled, through still sleeping villages, becoming more wakeful as we and time went on, past yawning peasants driving forth their primitive ox-wains and ploughs; on and on, every mile making our hearts lighter and raising our hopes as it brought us nearer to the frontier. Strode was bearing the rough journey better than we could have hoped; a simple wound to a man in good health and spirits is not, after all, a very serious matter.