The White Gauntlet. Reid Mayne

see, sir, it’s very valuable?”

      The footpad eagerly clutched at the timepiece; and, holding it between his great horny fingers, examined it under the light of the moon.

      “It must be valleyable,” said he, turning it over and over. “It appears to be kivered all over wi’ preecious stones. A present from the Queen, ye say?”

      “I had it from her majesty’s own hands.”

      “Dang her for a French – . This be the way she spends our English money. She be a bigger robber than Greg’ry Garth – that she be – and ye can tell her I sayed so, the next time you ha’ the chance o’ palaverin’ to her. Go on! Emp’y your pockets o’ everything.”

      “I’ve only this penknife; these tablets, and pencil – that’s all, I assure you.”

      “What’s that glitterin’ thing,” asked the footpad, pointing to something the courtier appeared anxious to conceal, “as hangs about yer neck? Let’s have a squint at it?”

      “That, sir, – that is a – a – a locket.”

      “A locket; what be that?”

      “Well, it’s – it’s – ”

      “It be wonderful like a bit o’ a watch. What be inside o’ it?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Nothin’. Then, what do you carry it for?”

      “Oh, there is something inside; nothing of value, however; it’s only a lock of hair.”

      “Only hair. A love-lock, I s’pose? Well, that arn’t o’ much valley sure enough – leastwise to me it arn’t – and yer may keep the hair. But I’ll trouble you for the case. It look like it mout pawn for somethin’. Quick, off wi’ it!”

      The terrified courtier instantly complied with the demand – in his fright not even taking advantage of the permission granted him to preserve the precious love token; but delivering both lock and locket into the outstretched fingers of the footpad.

      “O sir,” said he, in a supplicating tone, “that is everything – everything!”

      “No it arn’t,” gruffly returned the robber, “you’ve got a niceish doublet thear – satin spick-span – trunks to match; boots an’ spurs o’ the first quality; a tidyish hat and feathers; an’ a sharpish toad-sticker by yer side. I doant partickler want any o’ these things for myself; but I’ve got a relation that I’d like to make ’em a present to. So, strip!”

      “What, sir! would you send me naked on my errand? You forget that I’m the bearer of a message from the king?”

      “No, daang me if I do; and daang the king, too! That ere’s potery for ye. I’ve heerd ye be fond o’ it at Court. I like prose better; and my prose be, dismount an’ strip.”

      Notwithstanding the tone of raillery in which the footpad was pleased to express himself, the unfortunate courtier saw that he was all the while in serious earnest, and that there would be danger in resisting his demands.

      Spite of his reluctance therefore, he was compelled to slide down from his saddle, and disrobe himself in the middle of the road.

      Not until he stood stark naked, did the relentless robber suffer him to desist – leaving to him little else than his shirt and stockings!

      “O sir! you will not mount me thus?” said the wretched man, appealing with upheld hands to the footpad. “Surely you will not send me in this guise – the bearer of a royal message? What a figure I should cut on horseback, without my boots – without my hat or doublet – without – ”

      “Stash yer palaver!” cried Garth, who was busied making the cast-off clothes into a bundle. “Who said ye war goin’ to cut a figger a-horseback? Whar’s yer horse, I sh’d like to know?”

      The courtier gave a doubting nod towards the steed.

      “Oh!” responded the footpad, coolly continuing his task, “moat a been your horse ten minutes agone. He be myen now. I’ve been a-foot long enough, while you an’ yours ha’ been ridin’. It be my time to mount for a bit. That’s only fair turn an’ turn, ar’nt it?”

      The dismounted messenger made no reply. Though surprise and terror had by this time well-nigh deprived him of his senses, he had enough left to admonish him, that all remonstrance would be idle. He said nothing, therefore; but stood with shivering frame and teeth chattering like castanets: for it chanced to be one of those chill autumnal nights, when the cold is felt almost as sensibly as in December.

      The footpad took no further notice of him, until he had completed the binding of the bundle. Then straightening himself up, face to face with his victim, he surveyed him from head to foot with a half-quizzical, half serious look.

      The latter at length predominated – as if some suspicious thought had come uppermost in his mind.

      “Cowardly as ye be, ye king’s minion,” said he, addressing the trembling messenger in a tone of scornful bitterness, “thear mout be cunnin’ an’ mischief in ye. I’ll take care that ye doant go furder this night. Come along into the house here! Ye woant object to that – seein’ as ye’re so starved-like outside. Come along!”

      And without waiting for either the assent or refusal of the individual thus solicited, the robber seized him by the wrist; and half led, half dragged, him over the threshold of the hovel.

      Once inside the ruin, he proceeded to bind his unresisting victim with cords, which he had taken in along with him. He had plenty of light for his purpose: for a portion of the roof had fallen in, and the moonlight shone brightly upon the thatch-strewn floor.

      Expert in the handling of ropes, his task was soon performed; and in a few minutes the King’s messenger stood with his arms bound behind his back, and his ankles lashed as tightly together, as if he had been a dangerous felon!

      “Now,” said the robber, after securing the last loop, apparently to his satisfaction, “you woant come loose till somebody lets ye; and that arnt goin’ to be me. I ha’nt no wish to be cruel to ye – tho’ ye are a king’s flunkey – an’ as ye’ll be easier lyin’ down than stannin’ up, I’ll put you in that position.”

      As he said this, he let go his hold, and permitted the unfortunate man to fall heavily upon the floor.

      “Lie thear, Master Messenger, till somebody lifts ye. I’ll see to the deliverin’ o’ yer message. Good-night!”

      And with a mocking laugh Gregory Garth strode back over the threshold – leaving the astounded traveller to reflections that were neither very lucid nor very pleasant.

      After passing out of the hut, the footpad hastened to take his departure from the spot.

      He led the steed of the messenger out into the middle of the road, and tied the bridle he had made to the cantle of the saddle. He then glided up to the near side of the horse; and caught hold of the withers – as if about to mount.

      Something, however, caused him to hesitate; and an interval elapsed, without his making any effort to get into the saddle.

      “Daangit, old partners!” cried he, at length – addressing himself to his band of dummies, whom he had been for sometime neglecting – “’twon’t do for us to part this fashion. If Greg’ry Garth are promoted to be a highwayman, he arn’t goin’ to look down on his pals o’ the path. No! Ye shall go long wi’ me, one an’ all. Though the hul o’ ye put thegither arnt worth this shinin’ ticker I’ve got in my fob, for all that I can make better use o’ ye, than leavin’ ye here to scare the crows o’ Jarret’s Heath. Come along, my boys! I’se boun’, this stout charger from the royal mews be able to carry the hul on us, an’ not think it much o’ a looad neyther. I’ll find room for all o’ ye – some on the crupper, and the rest on the withers. Come along then!”

      Without waiting for any reply to his proposal, he glided around the edge of the opening: and, rapidly dismantling the dummies one after the other, he