Chetwynd Calverley. Ainsworth William HarrisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he hoped to intercept the gipsies in their flight, but he could discover nothing of them.
Posting himself with Booth, the coachman, on a little mound near the marsh, he sent off the two grooms to the huts previously mentioned, to ascertain whether the fugitives had taken refuge there; but his emissaries brought him no satisfactory intelligence, and it was the opinion of the turf-cutters who inhabited the huts that the gipsies had gone off altogether.
Sir Leycester, however, felt convinced that the rascals were somewhere about, and ordered his men to make a careful search, directing the turf-cutters to assist them.
Again they were all at fault.
Sir Leycester next tried the wood that skirted the heath, and sent the men on by different routes, fixing a place of meeting in the heart of the thicket..
He himself pursued the main road, attended by Booth.
“It’s a pity we didn’t bring those two Scotch deerhounds with us, Sir Leycester,” observed the coachman. “If the gipsies have taken shelter in this wood, – we shall never be able to find ‘em without a dog of some sort.”
“I believe you’re right, Booth,” replied Sir Leycester. “I don’t like hunting men in that way. But what’s to be done, if we can’t catch them otherwise?”
“It’s the only sure plan,” rejoined Booth. “We’re wasting time now.”
“Well, go and fetch the hounds,” said Sir Leycester. “Ride to the keeper’s lodge as fast as you can. If Rushton shouldn’t be at home, go on to the Hall; but use despatch.”
“Shall I bring Rushton with me, as well as the hounds, Sir Leycester?” inquired Booth.
“Ay, do,” replied the baronet.
“And a bloodhound?” asked the coachman, with a grin.
Sir Leycester signified his assent, and Booth galloped off.
He had scarcely started, when the baronet regretted the last order given, and called out to him not to bring the bloodhound.
Booth, however, was out of hearing.
Sir Leycester then proceeded to the centre of the wood, keeping a sharp look-out on either side as he rode along.
The others had already arrived at the appointed spot, but had nothing to tell.
The baronet felt very much inclined to swear; but, just at the moment, a burly farmer, named Marple, who used to hunt with him, came up, mounted on a well-bred horse.
On hearing what was going on, Marple told the baronet he had just seen a couple of gipsies, who appeared to be hiding on the banks of the Weever, and offered to take him to the exact spot.
“No doubt they are the rogues you are looking for, Sir Leycester,” he added.
“No doubt of it!” cried the baronet, joyfully. “Come along!”
He then rode off with Marple, taking the two grooms with him, and leaving the turf-cutters behind, to wait for Booth and the hounds.
The river Weever described a wide half-circle round the east side of the wood, the spot referred to by Marple being about half a mile off.
As they rode at a rattling pace, they were there in a few minutes; but when they approached the river, they proceeded cautiously.
If the gipsies had not decamped, they felt sure of catching them, the Weever being here very deep, while there was no bridge within a mile.
But, cautiously as they came on, they had been descried, and perfectly understanding their design, the gipsies were endeavouring to escape by creeping along the bank of the river, which was here bordered by willows.
Having got nearly to the end of this screen, the fugitives stopped, determined, if hard pressed, to make for the adjoining wood, and being both extremely fleet, they had no doubt of accomplishing their purpose.
XIV. THE BLOODHOUND
It soon became manifest to the gipsies that their pursuers were following them, and searching carefully about among the willows; and they were still more alarmed by the report of a pistol, discharged by Sir Leycester, with the view of rousing them from the covert.
Accordingly, they dashed off; and so busily were their pursuers occupied, that a minute or two elapsed before their flight was discovered.
A piece of ground, level as a village green, and a couple of meadows, lay between them and the desired place of shelter, and they had gained the first hedge, and were scrambling through it, when they were perceived by Sir Leycester, who instantly shouted a view-halloo, and the whole party started in pursuit.
But not without reason had the gipsies reckoned upon their own speed.
Before Sir Leycester and his attendants cleared the first obstacle, they had leaped a five-barred gate, and were flying across the second field.
In half a minute more they had plunged into the thicket, and fancied themselves secure.
Sir Leycester, on the other hand, who was close at their heels, knew very well they had run into the trap and chuckled at the thought of their speedy capture.
Causing his companions to disperse, he went towards the centre of the wood, expecting to find Booth with the keeper and the hounds.
Meanwhile, the gipsies, being well acquainted with the thicket, made their way to its inmost recesses, where the brambles and underwood would render it difficult, if not impossible, for the horsemen to follow them.
They heard Marple and the others on their left and right, pushing their way through the trees, and vainly endeavouring to get near them. They, therefore, felt quite safe; the only unpleasantness being that they might be detained there till night.
But this feeling of security was quickly dispelled by some sounds they did not at all like. They first heard voices at a distance, accompanied by the crackling of small branches, announcing that some persons on foot were searching for them, and Ekiel remarked, in a low tone, to his comrade:
“Why, that’s Ned Rushton, the keeper’s voice. We’re not safe here, if he’s after us.”
“Keep quiet,” muttered Clynch. “He mayn’t come this way.”
Shortly afterwards, a low, ominous growl, not to be mistaken by the experienced, reached their ears, and filled them with alarm.
“Ned has got a bloodhound with him, Ekiel,” said Clynch. “We must kill the brute! Have you got your Spanish knife with you?”
“Ay! but I daren’t attack that hound.”
“Give me the knife, then! I’ll do it!” cried Clynch. “We must get out of this place as quickly as we can, and run for life.”
“Run where?” demanded Ekiel.
“To the marsh,” replied Clynch. “That’s our only chance.”
“That devil of a dog has taken all my strength out of me.”
“Don’t be afeared of him!” cried Clynch, unclasping the cuchillo, the point of which was as sharp as a needle.
Just then, a long bay proclaimed that the hound had got the scent, while the voice, stated by Ekiel to be that of Ned Rushton, was heard encouraging him.
The gipsies set off; but had not gone far when the formidable hound burst upon them through the underwood.
Quick as lightening, Clynch turned, and dropping on one knee, faced the enemy with the cuchillo in his hand.
For a moment, the hound fixed upon him a red, deep-seated eye, and then sprang at his throat.
But Clynch, whose gaze had never quitted the terrible animal, received him on the point of the knife, and drove the deadly weapon to his heart. With a fierce yell, the hound fell back.
Having thus liberated himself from his formidable foe, Clynch was making off, when Ned Rushton appeared.
Exasperated by the slaughter of his favourite, he discharged both barrels of his gun