The vicious tug brought one of the horses up on its hind legs; confusion reigned between the traces; John brought the nervous mare in close, rose in his stirrups, and struck hard and true. The coachman crumpled where he sat, and came sliding to the floor of the box; his companion caught desperately at the loose rein as the horses plunged forward. The animal that had reared up became entangled in one of the traces, and the confusion was complete.
Inside the coach Prudence’s two gaolers were taken entirely by surprise. Such an unheard-of thing as an attack on a vehicle of the Law, in daylight, and only a few miles out of town did not occur to them as a reason for this sudden stop and commotion.
The apologetic man opposite Prudence, who had abstained carefully from looking at her till now, brought his eyes round to her, and said with inspiration: “Ah! We’ve gone over a pig. That’ll be it.”
Prudence said nothing at all, but her hand slid to that innocent-looking cane beside her, and closed round its head. She still leaned back in her corner, and there was nothing either in her pose or in her expression to tell her captors that every nerve and muscle in her body was taut and ready.
“That’s no pig, Matthew!” said the leader of the two. “We’ve run into another coach belike.” He got up as he spoke, and let down the window. Even as he thrust his head out a great roan horse seemed to spring up from nowhere, and a huge man astride it bent in the saddle and wrenched open the coach door. The result was inevitable. The officer of the law lost his balance, caught at the door frame to save himself, and received a blow from Mr Merriot which sent him sprawling head foremost down on to the road.
No sooner had she caught a glimpse of the large figure astride the roan than all Prudence’s air of languor left her. The sword was out of the stick in a flash, and the carved handle caught the chief officer shrewdly between the shoulders. She did not pause to see what befell this unfortunate; she had given him all that was needed to send him tumbling out of the coach. She had one foot on the floor of the coach, and one knee on the seat, and swooped round upon poor Matthew almost before his companion’s misfortunes had reached his intelligence. He gasped out “Lordy, Lordy!” and clapped a hand to his pocket. And there it stayed, for as he turned his head to face his prisoner he found the point of a peculiarly murderous-looking sword about an inch from his nose. Mr Merriot’s arm was drawn back in readiness to thrust; Mr Merriot’s grey eyes were fixed on him with an expression in them which made Mr Matthew goggle with dismay.
“Put your hands up! Quick, or I thrust home through your gullet,” said Prudence tersely.
The apologetic gentleman had never had such an experience in all his life. His arrests had never been interfered with in this unpleasant fashion, and he did not know what to do. There was a pistol in his pocket, but his hand had not reached it, and with that sword-point so close he had no intention of groping further for it.
The point touched his throat. “Hands up!” Prudence said, and made as if to shorten her arm for the thrust.
Matthew’s hands were raised in shaking haste; Matthew’s eyes were riveted to Mr Merriot’s face, and Matthew’s lips formed the words: “Don’t now, sir! don’t. It’s — it’s a hanging matter, and there was no offence meant to your worship. It was all dooty, sir!”
Sir Anthony’s great bulk blocked the door as he sprang lightly up into the coach. He was a fearsome figure, with the muffler concealing the lower half of his face, his hat drawn over his eyes, and the heavy cloak making him to look even larger than he really was. Matthew began to tremble violently, and rolled a beseeching eye from him to Prudence.
“Right pocket. A pistol,” Prudence said, still holding the sword to Matthew’s throat.
There was a deep low laugh, which sounded like a death-knell to poor Matthew; the gigantic newcomer bent and slipped a hand into the pocket indicated. The pistol was soon stowed away in that voluminous greatcoat; to Matthew’s relief the sword point was slightly withdrawn.
Sir Anthony’s voice was full of amusement. “Now, fellow, I’m afraid we must truss you up a little,” he said. “Your muffler’s the very thing.” The shapely hand divested Matthew of his muffler and neck-cloth without ceremony. He offered no resistance. He was twisted round, and in a trice his wrists were bound tightly behind his back with his own neck-cloth, and Mr Merriot was winding the muffler round his ankles in a most efficient manner. He was dumped down upon the back seat, and the next moment both the giant and Mr Merriot had jumped down from the coach.
Prudence pushed the sword back into its stick and looked round wonderingly. The chief gaoler was lying bound at the side of the road; the coachman was groaning and swearing on the floor of the box, as he came to his senses; his mate was clinging desperately to the reins, with a noble attention to duty, and trying, unsuccessfully, to keep one eye on his horses and the other on John, who sat astride the mare, the roan’s rein in his bridle hand, and a pistol in the other. The coach-horses appeared to be hopelessly entangled in the traces, and the coachman, by the looks of it, would be unable to do anything but hold his head for some time to come.
Sir Anthony hoisted his second captive into the coach and shut the door on him. Under the brim of his hat his eyes were dancing. The one unhurt and unbound man would have his hands full with the frightened horses for quite a considerable time.
Sir Anthony moved to the roan’s side, and swung himself up, taking the bridle from John. He gathered it up short in his left hand, and reached down his right to Prudence. “Put your foot on mine,” he said, “and up with you!”
She flung her coat up first, sent her sword stick spinning into the ditch, and stretched up her hand to clasp Sir Anthony’s. She came neatly up into the saddle before him, and got her leg over without fuss. A strong arm girdled her about, and the roan, stamping and sidling, was given his head. In a few minutes they were in the spinney, trotting briskly through, then out in the open fields, with the road lost to sight.
“My dear, my dear, you’re surely mad!” she said, but her fingers clasped his. “You should not — you should not, Tony — for me!”
Came only a little laugh from behind her, and a tightening of the hold about her waist.
“Lord, your unfortunate horse!” said Prudence. “I believe I’m no featherweight.”
“He’ll bear us both for as long as I need,” Sir Anthony said. “We bear southwards, John, and leave you by Easterly Woods.”
“Ay, sir,” John answered, pulling the muffler down from his face.
Prudence turned her head, and smiled at his stolid countenance. “Tell Robin, John. Oh, but how he would have delighted in this.”
“I’m like to find him bent on some madness,” grunted John.
Easterly Woods came into sight; in a few minutes they were under the spreading beeches, and the horses were pulled up.
Sir Anthony sprang down and lifted Prudence from the saddle. She had an odd delight in this masterful treatment of her, though she could have come down easily enough by herself. For a moment as he held her she looked down into his eyes, and saw them alight with laughter, and something else, more deep than that. She was set lightly on her feet, and for an instant caught his hands in hers. Then she turned and pulled her coat from the roan’s saddle.
“You remember, John?”
“Yes, sir.” John was holding the mare in readiness for Prudence.
She came to him, and took the bridle. She had very little doubt of her destination now. “You’ll keep Robin safe, John?”
“Ay, trust me, mistress.”