  I sank down on the rock beside him. “We’re in for it now,” I said. He raised his brows. “To my way of thinking, Henri,” he replied, “we’re just out of it.” He munched on his bread thoughtfully for a while. With a pleased expression on his face he turned to me. “Isn’t it a grand thing to be in trouble?” he asked. “It’s all right if you have friends,” I returned. “Master scrivener,” I went on, “do you realize that you have killed a man?” “—and that’s a great pity, isn’t it,” he remarked dryly. He looked at me carefully as though he was trying to read my thoughts. “Have you proof of that, Henri?” he said. “Who else would have done it?” I demanded. “Why, if you put two and two together, it was the landlord who took the dagger. You saw him with your own eyes. You know I fell fast asleep. I was bound hard and fast. You couldn’t take an oath on it, now, could you, Henri?” “Well, no,” I replied. “But I’m sure of this, it was either you or the landlord.” He patted me on the arm. “Now,” he said, “you are talking sense. As far as you are concerned it was the landlord, for I wouldn’t like you to think you were traveling with a murderer.” “Was it you, really?” I asked. “As far as the landlord goes, it was,” he said. “It all depends which side of the fence you are on.” He left me more puzzled than ever. I tried again but with the same result. The same dry smile and the same cunning expression from those knowing eyes greeted me at every turn. “Well,” I said after we had finished our meal. “What are we to do now?” “Play the fox,” he answered. “We must do the contrary to what they think we’ll do.” “They will think that we’ll keep on ahead to get out of the way,” I replied. “Isn’t that natural?” “It is,” he agreed. “You’re a gentleman of fine understanding.” He lowered his head thoughtfully and gathered a few loose stones in his hand. These he threw into the air and caught again as they came down. He broke out into a soft whistle and stamped his foot to the tune. I got up from my seat and stood before him waiting for a move. “Are you going to loiter here till we’re caught, master scrivener?” I asked. “If we’re caught, there’s always a way out,” he remarked. “You have seen already it’s a little knack I have.” With that he arose slowly and brushed the crumbs from his clothes. He took a last draught of water from the stream and gazed about. “We’ll not go far,” he said at length. “We’ll keep in the neighborhood. The worst of it is that we’ve no arms but your dagger.” He went on ahead and I followed. Whatever his thoughts were I cannot tell. But I know that mine were none of the lightest. I was beset with dread. In my imagination I heard the confusion when the body of the guard was found. I saw the consternation of the rest of them. I pictured to myself the fury they were in. That they would not let us off unpunished was all too clear. It was about two hours since I left the inn. By this, no doubt, they were on foot and even in pursuit of us. I soon felt a jar run through me. We had wandered straight along the side of the hill in a line with the valley. Of a sudden we came to a point of rock that stood jutting higher than the ground roundabouts. There were no trees upon it, only the bare stone. When we reached the summit the whole country spread on either hand like a rolling field. A white line curled and circled in and around the wanderings of a little stream that flowed slowly towards the south. It was the great highway that leads down the valley of the Loire to the west of France. It was the road that I would have been traveling in peace and comfort, if it had not been for the interference of my enemies. Of a sudden the sound of clattering hoofs came to my ears. Then there shot into view two horsemen with bows and arrows slung over their shoulders. From where I was I could even see the grim expression on their faces and the foam dripping from their horses’s mouths. I glanced anxiously at the scrivener. “There they go,” he remarked. “—after us?” I inquired. He nodded his head. “Don’t you feel the thrill of it?” he asked beaming in my face. “And doesn’t it warm your blood to see them go flying past when we are standing here at our ease?” I had to laugh in spite of myself, but for all that the seriousness of our situation tormented me. To live like a hunted animal was little to my liking. The long and short of it was that the scrivener was used to danger. I had my trials yet to come. We had to keep on the move so we started back to wander under the protection of the trees. We crossed the forest path at a right angle and directed our steps towards the north. Here the woods grew thicker. The ground was more and more covered with brush and knotted weeds and there ran tiny streams down the hillside in and out among the rocks. I came to a sudden stop and touched the scrivener on the arm. “I hear a noise of some one walking,” I said. “A stone just clattered against a rock.” The scrivener raised his finger to silence me. “I saw them when we were watching the horsemen ride past,” he said. “It’s two fellows armed with bows and arrows. They are behind us.” I asked no further questions. I knew that they were on our tracks. It was a sign that our enemies were combing the country round in their search and would leave no stone unturned till they found us. The scrivener halted and pointed to a large tree. “Hide there,” he explained. “That’s where they will pass. When they come abreast of you, keep your eye open. Wait for an opportunity.” With not another word he was off through the woods. I stood for a moment in doubt. Then I walked quickly to the place he had pointed out and took my position in the shelter of the tree. My heart was thumping like a hammer. I laid my hand involuntarily on my dagger. I gave a pull at my jerkin. I was now on one foot, now on the other. A nervousness came over me that made me as uneasy as a young colt. Presently the sound of voices came through the trees—deep rumbling voices of men. Then the brush swished and here and there the noise of a stone that one of them kicked with the toe of his heavy boot. I peered out as cautiously as I could. They came into view a flash at a time from among the thick trunks. Then I summoned my will and took in a deep breath. The men were not ten feet away muttering and talking and growling that they had been aroused so untimely from their sleep. I saw their faces clearly and even the color of their eyes. They Came Into View From Among the Thick Trunks Suddenly they looked up and stopped as though they had been confronted by a ghost. I sprang to the other side of my tree and peered out again. To my amazement, the scrivener was standing directly before them. He was swinging his cap low so that it swept the ground and he laid his hand over his heart like a courtier. With a bow that might have shamed a prince he said in a soft voice: “Gentlemen, I am the highwayman of Tours. Are you looking for me?” I knew it was my time to act. While the two fellows stood thus uncertain trying to collect their wits, I leaped out. Before either of them could stir, I had gathered my fist into a ball. I swung as hard as ever I delivered a blow in my life. My bare knuckles struck the man nearest me so violently that I felt the jar of it clear to my elbow. I caught him behind the ear. He hung for a second as though he were suspended in the air. Then, like a bag that is suddenly dropped, he sank unconscious to the earth. Before I could glance about the scrivener had straightened himself. With one of his springs he came hurtling through the air. The fellow had half turned when he saw his companion fall and was not entirely on his guard. The scrivener’s heels struck him like a weight in the chest. As though his legs were cut away from under him, he flew back and rolled over to the foot of the tree. “Quick!” cried my companion. I needed no urging. As fast as my anxious fingers could manage, I undid the fastenings that bound the quiver of arrows to my fellow’s shoulder. Then I snatched up the bow and turned to see what the next move would be. The scrivener had done as I had done, only with more dispatch. He stepped back and laid an arrow in the bow. “Up with you!” he cried. “Back to your master, De Marsac, and say that the highwayman of Tours sends him his compliments. Tell him that we shall meet him further down the road on the way to Angers. Tell him to keep a keen edge on his sword for when we meet again the one or the other of us shall die!” I never saw a man fly before an enemy so quickly. Before I could wink he had turned and was soon hidden among the trees. “That’s one of them,” muttered my companion. He pointed to the man whom I had felled. He was rolling over and trying to raise himself on his elbow. “He’s safe enough where he lies,” he continued. “By the time he has his wits again, we shall be out of reach.” “Where are we going now, master scrivener?” I asked. “I’m not sure, my lad,” he said. He pointed to the sun which stood over our heads. “First we’ll eat what is left of our breakfast. We’ll go ahead slowly for a while. When it gets dark I shall make a quiet visit to the inn.” |
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