Wild Margaret. Garvice Charles
a perfect stranger."
The young man smoked his cigar and watched the graceful figure going down the road in the twilight with a touch of interest on his handsome face. He seemed in no hurry to pursue his journey by any means; and when he rose, at length, he yawned and stretched himself.
"Could you give me a bed here to-night, landlord?" he asked.
The man eyed the ground doubtfully.
"We're plain people, sir – " he commenced.
"I like plain people," broke in the young man with a laugh, the music of which never failed to call up an answering smile on the faces of those who heard it. "I don't mind roughing it; I'm used to it. I'm not sure that I shall want one; but if I should – "
"We'll do our best to make you comfortable, sir," said the landlord, touching his forehead again.
"Right!" exclaimed the young man, carelessly. "Well, don't be surprised if you see me back in – say a couple of hours. Straight on to the Court, I suppose?"
"Straight on, sir," said the landlord, and swinging his stick with a careless, happy-go-lucky air, the young man started off.
Slowly as he walked, his long legs soon overtook the young girl, and he passed her again, as she was standing on tiptoe to get a flower from the hedge. He half stopped with the evident intention of reaching the blossom, which reared itself tantalizingly just beyond her reach, but he thought – "she won't like it perhaps; think I want to intrude myself upon her," and walked on. She had not turned her head.
Probably the loveliness of the evening had the same effect upon him as it had upon her, for when he had got out of her hearing he began to sing, for, you see, he was young and handsome, in good health, and – I was going to say innocent, but pulled up in time.
In a quarter of an hour the road grew wider, and opened out on to a village green. Two or three houses were dotted about it, and an inn with the sign of the Ferrers Arms swinging on a post. A little further stood a pair of huge iron gates, with a lodge at the side of them.
"That's the Court, I suppose?" he said to himself. "Now for the tug of war! Lord, how I wish myself back in London!" and he flicked his cap onto the back of his head, and laughed ruefully.
Some children were playing on the green, and two or three men lounged on the settle outside the inn. Suddenly one of them rose, just as the young man came abreast of the door, and as he made way for the man to pass, a dog ran out from the inn and caused the man to stumble. The fellow uttered an oath and raised his heavily-booted foot. The kick struck the dog in the side, and with a howl of pain he fled behind the young man.
Now a moment before his handsome face had been a picture of indolent good temper, but at the kick and the howl his face changed. The lips grew set, the eyes stern and fierce. He was not a good young man – alas, alas! it will be seen that he was a thousand miles removed from that – but his heart was as tender as a woman's, and he loved dumb animals – dogs and horses in especial – with that love of which only a strong, healthy, young Englishman is capable.
"You brute!" he said, not loudly, but with an intense emphasis, which caused the man to pull up and stare at him with an astonished scowl.
"Did you speak to me, guv'nor?" he growled.
He was a tall, wiry-looking ruffian, and his voice seemed to proceed from the bottom of his chest, and the glance he shot at the speaker came from a pair of evil-looking eyes, deeply sunk beneath thick and black brows.
"I did!" said the young man curtly; "I called you a brute!" and he stooped and comforted the dog.
The man eyed him up and down with a vindictive glare.
"Can't I kick my own dawg?" he demanded, with a most atrocious attempt at a sneer.
"Not when I am near," said the young man, quite calmly, but meeting the glare of the evil eyes with a steady firmness.
"Oh, I can't, can't I?" retorted the man. "You get out of the way and I'll show you, curse you!"
The young man stepped aside, apparently to leave the dog exposed to the threatened assault, but as the man lifted his foot the young fellow thrust his own forward, and launching out with his left hand, dealt the man a blow which sent him a mass of arms and legs against the doorway.
The dog fled, the group of idlers who had remained seated, listening to the colloquy, sprung up and drew near, exchanging glances and staring at the pair.
The young fellow stood in the easiest of attitudes, with something like a smile on his lips, for the man's attitude of complete astonishment as he leant against the doorway was rather comical.
"That was a good 'un," cautiously whispered one of the men, looking at the young fellow admiringly. "'Tain't often Jem Pyke gets it like that, are it?"
The man called Pyke pulled himself together, and stretching himself glared round him; then his eyes rested on the young fellow, and he seemed to remember.
With an oath he made ready for a spring, but the young fellow raised his hand.
"Wait a minute, my friend," he said, almost pleasantly. "If you are anxious for a fight, say so, and let us have it comfortably. I haven't the slightest objection myself."
"Curse you, I'll – I'll kill you!" gasped the man.
The young fellow laughed.
"I don't think you will, my friend. I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, I really am; but if you'd like to try – "
He threw his cigar away, and, taking off his light shooting jacket, tossed it on to the settle.
As he did so his back was turned to the road along which he had come, and he didn't see the young girl, who had been near enough to witness the scene from its commencement, and was now kneeling down by the dog and murmuring womanly words of pity and sympathy.
"Let the gentleman alone, Jem," said one of the men. "'Twas all your fault. What did you want to go and kick the dawg for? Beg the gentleman's pardon, and go and get your beer."
For all response Jem commenced to turn up his sleeves. Two or three of the men got between them, but the young fellow waved them aside.
"Don't interfere, my men," he said pleasantly. "Your friend is dying for a fight, I can see, and a little exercise will give me an appetite. Just stand back, will you?"
The next instant Pyke rushed at him, and the first blows were delivered.
The girl heard the sound of them, and, with a cry of fear and horror, started as if to run across to them, but her heart failed her, and she shrank back against the hedge, looking on with hands clasped, and her face white and terrified.
The man Pyke was a giant in length and strength, but he was in a rage, and no man who is in a rage can fight well. The young fellow on the other hand was, now, in the best of humor, and thoroughly enjoying himself, and he parried the furious onslaught of his opponent as easily as if he were having a set-to at a gymnasium. The blows grew quicker and smarter, one from the young man had reached Mr. Pyke's face, and had cooled him a little. He saw that if he meant to win he must play more cautiously, and drawing back a little, he began again, with something like calculation. Like the blows of a sledge hammer his fists fell upon the chest of the young fellow, one struck him upon the lip and the blood started.
With a smile the young man seemed to think that it was time to end the little drama, and planting his left foot firmly forward, he delivered one blow straight from the shoulder. It fell upon the bully's forehead with a fearful crash, and the same instant, as it seemed, he staggered and fell full length to the ground. A murmur of consternation and admiration – for the blow had really been a skillful one – arose from the group of onlookers, and they crowded round the prostrate man.
"Dang me if I don't think he's killed 'im!" exclaimed the ostler, lifting Jem Pyke's head on his knee.
"What do you say?" said the young fellow, and, pushing them aside, he bent down and examined his late foe. "No, he's not dead. See, he's coming to already. Get some water, some of you – better still, some brandy. That's it. There you are!" he added, cheerfully, as Pyke opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. "How are you?