“I don’t know,” replied Tom Dorbell, as meek as a mouse, “how far I was guilty then, but, upon my word, I am not guilty now; therefore, if any person can accuse me of committing such a robbery, I desire them to prove the same.” No witnesses appearing, the Gallant Glover was of course acquitted.
What Twm had heard about the Gallant Glover and his achievements, warned him that fresh trials on the road awaited him; but he was no “Bob Acre,” and, “screwing his courage to the sticking-point,” he manfully resumed his journey.
He had got within ten miles of Reading, in Berkshire, anxiously hoping to reach it without disaster, when the sudden discharge of a pistol, close to his ear, convinced him that he was in the centre of danger. Instantly a horseman, well mounted, rode fiercely down a lane that entered the road, and ordered him to stop and deliver in a minute, or have his brains scattered on the hedge beside him.
“Catch a weasel asleep!” You might do that, but to surprise Twm Shon Catty when he had reason to be on the alert, was almost impossible. Assuming an air of clownish simplicity, he replied, “Lord bless ye master, I ha gotten nothing to deliver but an old testament, a crooked sixpence, and a broken fish-hook, and—and—” “And what, you prevaricating young scoundrel!” roared the highwayman. “Why, this purse,” continued Twm, “which uncle Timothy gave I to market for him, and pay his bills at Reading to-morrow;” producing at the same time an old stocking, which he had stuffed with old nails and cockle shells, in order to make a jingle. [210] The robber made a grasp at the supposed well-stocked purse, which Twm dexterously evaded, and flung it over the hedge into the adjoining field, riding on; while the former instantly alighted, blustering out a string of oaths and threats as he made his way to the field to search for the coveted treasure.
Twm was, of course aware that as soon as the robber had discovered how he had been tricked, that he would doubtless ride after him, and in his rage, shoot him on the spot. As Twm’s poor pony would have no chance in a race with the highwayman’s high-spirited charger, he determined that a daring act, if carried out successfully, would both ensure his safety and prove profitable to him likewise. The knight of the road, when he alighted, had thrown his bridle over a hedge-stake; so Twm, abandoning his pony for the second time, watched the robber into the field, crawled along the ditch till he reached his horse, which he instantly seized by the bridle, mounted and rode off in a hot gallop, till he got safe into the ancient town of Reading, as the clear-toned bells of St. Lawrence were chiming their last evening peal.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A gracious Lawyer. Twm determines to “pedestrianize” a bit. Watt’s horrible tale. A fair bevy of lasses from Cardigan. Guilt and the punishment.
Next morning, Twm had the horse which he had taken from the robber, cried through the town of Reading, in the honest hope that he should find the rightful owner. He was right in his conjecture that it would prove to be the property of some one in that town, for a wealthy attorney claimed it, with a considerable degree of hauteur and insolence. So far was this limb of the law from either allowing our hero anything for the loss of his own humble beast, or even thanking him for his instrumentality in recovering a valuable horse, that he told him he might think himself very lucky he was not prosecuted for its being found in his possession. Our worthy did think himself so, and took a precipitate departure accordingly.
Being now within eight-and-thirty miles of London, he resolved to throw off his disguise, and walk the rest of the journey. Accordingly, he bought a suit of clothes at Reading, in which he concealed his money and valuables, with a pair of pocket pistols; and thus provided he resumed his journey to the metropolis. Having walked twelve miles, he attained the town of Maidenhead.
On a seat outside the Bear Inn, he beheld a jovial company of topers, and in the midst of them, Watt the mole-catcher. It turned out that he had sold his pigs without going to London, and was now sauntering from tavern to tavern, squandering the money that was not his own. The moment he recognized our hero, he started on his legs, and offered him his hand.