"Oh, no; not on no account; just you get up here beside me and
we'll drive to 'The White Hart.' I'm well known at 'The White
Hart;' we'll get a few honest fellows at our heels and have this
thieving, rascally villain in the twinkling of an--" He stopped
suddenly, made a frantic clutch at his blunderbuss, and sat
staring. Turning short round, I saw the man in the beaver hat
standing within a yard of us, fingering his long pistol and with
the same twisted smile upon his lips.
"I've a mind," said he, nodding his head at the Bagman, "I've a
great mind to blow your face off."
The blunderbuss fell to the roadway, with a clatter.
"Thievin', rascally villain--was it? Damme! I think I will blow
your face off."
"No--don't do--that," said the Bagman, in a strange, jerky voice,
"what 'ud be--the good?"
"Why, that there poor animal wouldn't have to drag that fat
carkiss of yours up and down hills, for one thing."
"I'll get out and walk."
"And it might learn ye to keep a civil tongue in your head."
"I--I didn't mean--any--offence."
"Then chuck us your purse," growled the other, "and be quick
about it." The Bagman obeyed with wonderful celerity, and I
heard the purse chink as the footpad dropped it into the pocket
of his greatcoat.
"As for you," said he, turning to me, "you get on your way and
never mind me; forget you ever had ten guineas and don't go
a-riskin' your vallyble young life; come--up with you!" and he
motioned me into the tilbury with his pistol.
"What about my blunderbuss?" expostulated the Bagman, faintly, as
I seated myself beside him, "you'll give me my blunderbuss--cost
me five pound it did."
"More fool you!" said the highwayman, and, picking up the unwieldy
weapon, he hove it into the ditch.
"As to our argyment--regardin' gibbetin', sir," said he, nodding
to me, "I'm rayther inclined to think you was in the right on it
arter all." Then, turning towards the Bagman: "Drive on, fat-face!"
said he, "and sharp's the word." Whereupon the Bagman whipped up
his horse and, as the tired animal struggled forward over the
crest of the hill, I saw the highwayman still watching us.
Very soon we came in view of "The White Hart," an inn I remembered
to have passed on the right hand side of the road, and scarce were
we driven up to the door than down jumped the Bagman, leaving me
to follow at my leisure, and running into the tap, forthwith began
recounting his loss to all and sundry, so that I soon found we
were become the center of a gaping crowd, much to my disgust.
Indeed, I would have slipped away, but each time I attempted to do
so the Bagman would appeal to me to corroborate some statement.