’TWAS two o’clock of a bright wild March day that I cleared St. Leonard’s Forest, and came out upon the roads at the back of Horsham. I was for Reading, but chose that way by reason of the better security it promised, which, as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony. Horsham, a mighty quiet, pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun, enduring the sallies of a dusty wind, and, feeling hot and athirst after my long ride, I pulled up at an inn and dismounted.
“Host,” says I, when I was come it; “a pint of your best Burgundy or Canary to wash this dust adown; and rip me if I will not have it laced with brandy.”
“Why, sir,” says he, “a cold bright day for horseback,” and shakes his head.
“Damme, you’re right,” says I. “Cold i’ the belly and hot in the groin. Here’s luck to the house, man,” and I tossed off the gallipot. “Why, goodman, ye’ll make your fortune on this,” I said with a derisive laugh, and flung open the door, to go out; when all of a sudden I came to silence and a pause.
“’Tis the officers,” says the landlord, who was at my ear. “Gadslife, ’tis the sheriff’s men from Lewes.”
“Lewes!” says I slowly; “what be they here for?”
“Why,” says he in a flutter, “there was him that was taken for a tobyman by Guilford. He was tried at Lewes, and will hang.”
“If he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned,” says I carelessly.
When I was got upon my horse I began to go at a walk down the High street, for though, as was according to nature, I was inquisitive about the matter, I was too wary to adventure ere I was sure of my ground. And this denial of unnecessary hazards, as is my custom, saved me from a mishap; for as the procession wound along, the traps and the carriage between ’em, there was one of them that turned his head aside to give an order, and, rip me if ’twas not that muckworm, traitor and canter, the thief-taker, Timothy Grubbe. I had an old score with Timothy, the which I had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the opportunity, and so I pulled in and lowered my head, lest by chance his evil eye might go my way. As I did so, something struck on the mare’s rump, and, looking back, I saw a young man on horseback that had emerged from a side street.
“Whoa, there,” says I cheerfully. “Are you so blinded by March dust as not to see a gentleman when he goes by?”