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Stephen Of Steens; A Tale Of Wild Justice, a fiction by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 13 |
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_ CHAPTER XIII Trevarthen had planned the stroke, and brought it off dashingly. From the Helleston road that morning he and his troop had turned aside and galloped across the moors to the outskirts of the village where Mrs. Stephen lodged. No man dared to oppose them, if any man wished to. They had dragged her from the house, hoisted her on horseback and headed for home unpursued. It was all admirably simple as Trevarthen related it, swelling with honest pride, by the kitchen fire. The woman herself heard the tale, cowering in a chair beside the hearth, wondering what her death would be. Roger Stephen looked at her. "Ah!"--he drew a long breath. Then Trevarthen went on to tell--for the wonders of the day were not over--how on their homeward road they had caught up with a messenger from Truro hurrying towards Steens, with word that the new Sheriff was already on the march with a regiment drawn off from the barracks at Plymouth, and had reached Bodmin. In two days' time they might find themselves besieged again. Roger listened, but scarcely seemed to hear. His eyes were on the woman in the chair, and he drew another long breath. With that a man came crawling through the doorway--or stooping so low that he seemed to crawl. It was young Rodda, and he ran to his brother Nathaniel with a sob, and clasped him about the legs. "Hullo!" cried Nathaniel. "Why, Hick, lad, what's taken 'ee?" Said Roger carelessly, "I was going to hang him. But I can afford to stretch a point now. Carry the cur to the gate and fling him outside." "Dang it all, Mr. Stephen," spoke up Nat; "you may be master in your own house, but I reckon Hick and I didn' come here for our own pleasure, and I see no sport in jokin' a lad till you've scared 'en pretty well out of his five senses. Why, see here, friends--he's tremblin' like a leaf!" "He--he meant it!" sobbed Hickory. "Meant it? Of course I meant it--the dirty, thievin', letter-writer!" Roger's eyes blazed with madness, and the men by the hearth growled and shrank away from him. He pulled out his pistol and, walking up, presented it at Nat Rodda's head. "Am I captain here, or amn't I? Very well, then: I caught that cur to-day writin' a letter--never you mind of what sort. 'Twas a sort of which I'd promised that the man I caught writing one should never write a second." "You're mighty tender to women, all of a sudden!" Nat--to do him credit-- answered up pluckily enough for a man addressing the muzzle of a pistol not two feet from his nose. "We'll see about that by-and-by," said Roger grimly. "You've helped do me a favour, and I'll cry quits with you and your brother for't. But I want no more of you or your haveage: yon's the door--walk!" "Oh, if that's how you take it,"--Nat Rodda shrugged his shoulders and obeyed, his brother at his heels. One or two of the men would have interfered, but Trevarthen checked them. Malachi alone went with the pair to let them forth and bar the gates behind them. "I thank ye, Master Stephen," said Nat, turning in the doorway with a short laugh. "You've let two necks of your company out o' the halter." He swung round and stepped out into the darkness. His words smote like the stroke of a bell upon one or two hearts in the kitchen. Trevarthen stepped forward briskly to undo the mischief. "We'll have forty of the boys back before daylight: Dick Eva's taken a fresh horse to carry round the warning. Get to your posts, lads, and leave Jane here to cook supper. 'Tis 'one and all' now, and fight square; and if Hick Rodda has been sending his dirty threats to Nansclowan and frightening women, he's a good riddance, say I." The woman in the chair heard all this, and saw Trevarthen draw Roger aside as the men filed out. They were muttering. By-and-by Roger commanded Jane to go and set candles in the parlour. Again they fell to muttering, and so continued until she returned. Roger Stephen came slowly forward to the hearth. "Stand up!" he said, and Mrs. Stephen stood up. She could not raise her eyes to his face, but felt that he was motioning her to walk before him. Her limbs seemed weighted with lead, but she obeyed. They passed out together and into the parlour, where Roger shut the door behind him and locked it. _ |
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