“Probably one of the smugglers, who managed to make his escape,” answered Voules.
“Whoever he is, we will stop him and ascertain why he is out at this time of night. Stop, you fellow!” cried Lord Reginald; “we want to speak to you.”
The person, who apparently had not before heard them coming, only increased his pace; on seeing which the young lord spurred on his horse.
The stranger, who might possibly have escaped by darting in among the trees, instead of making the attempt, finding that his pursuers were gaining on him, stopped and faced them, holding a thick stick, which might properly have been called a club, in his hand.
“Throw down that bludgeon and come here,” said Lord Reginald.
“Not while I am spoken to in that tone,” answered the stranger. “I have as much right to be out in this forest as you have.”
“You must tell us who you are, and where you are going!” cried Lord Reginald, riding up to him.
The stranger lifted up his club, exclaiming, “Hands off! If you attempt to touch me, you must take the consequences.”
Just then a gleam of light from the rising moon shone on the stranger’s face.
“I know the rascal!” cried Lord Reginald; “it’s that young Hargrave. Not the first time we have met tonight. You are one of the fellows who made their escape from the excisemen; but you are not going to do so from us; so yield at once! Come, help me, Voules!” and the young lord, spurring forward his horse, attempted to seize Dick by the shoulder.