"As you will," says Raikes, shrugging his shoulders; "but whatever the consequences, I call you all to witness that Sir Richard's own impulsiveness is entirely to blame."
So, having remounted, we rode forward, Raikes and the Captain leading the way.
Now as we drew nearer to the bridge I have mentioned, I noticed a solitary figure wrapped in a horseman's cloak who sat upon the coping, seemingly absorbed in watching the flow of the stream beneath. We were almost upon him when he slowly rose to his feet, and as he turned his head I saw that he was masked, and, furthermore, that in either hand he held a long-barrelled pistol.
"Abershaw, by God!" exclaimed the Captain, reining up all of a sudden.
"Stand!" cried a harsh voice, whereupon we all very promptly obeyed with the exception of Raikes, who, striking spurs to his horse, dashed in upon the fellow with raised whip. There was the sound of a blow, a bitter curse, and the heavy whip, whirling harmlessly through the air, splashed down into the stream.
"Ah! would you then?" says the fellow, with the muzzles of the pistols within a foot of Sir Harry's cowering body. "Ah, would you? Curse me, but I've a mind to blow the heart and liver out of you--d'ye take me?"
"I'll see you hanged for this," said Raikes, betwixt his teeth.
"Maybe aye, maybe no," says the fellow, in the same rough yet half-jovial voice, "but for the present come down--get down, d'ye hear?" Muttering oaths, Sir Harry perforce dismounted, and being by this still nearer the threatening muzzles, immediately proceeded to draw out a heavy purse, which he sullenly extended toward the highwayman, who, shifting one pistol to his pocket, took it, weighed it in his hand a moment, and then coolly tossed it over into the stream.
"What the devil!" gasped Raikes, "are you mad?"
"Maybe aye, maybe no," says the fellow, grinning beneath his mask, "but that's neither here nor there, master, the question betwixt us being a coat."
"What coat?" cries Raikes, with a bewildered stare.
"This coat," says the fellow, tapping him upon the arm with his pistol barrel, "and a very passable coat it is--fine velvet, I swear, and as I'm a living sinner, a flowered waistcoat!--come, take 'em off, d'ye hear?"
Very slowly, Sir Harry obeyed, swearing frightfully, while the fellow, sitting upon the parapet of the bridge, swung his legs and watched him.