CHAPTER XVI.
"THE GOAT IN BOOTS."
It was almost noon of Saturday, June the twenty-first, when a party ofthree halted in the shade of a few stunted hawthorns by the side of thesandy, half-made road which leads from Margetstowe village to theturnpike, which, branching from the main London Road fifteen miles tothe south-west, runs north-eastward through Ecclesthorpe-on-the-Moor tothe sea at the mouth of the great estuary.
From this tree-clump could be seen, facing the junction of the sandyroad with the metalled, the front and the swinging signboard of "TheGoat in Boots." And here, that its two more ordinary-looking membersmight shed the oddity which they owed to the company of the third, theparty was to separate.
For in Amaryllis, sleep, Dick's care and Mrs. Brundage's wardrobe hadworked transformation. From the dust and mud on the thick little shoes,up over five visible inches of coarse grey stocking to clumsy amplitudeof washed-out, pink-striped cotton skirt, and thence by severity ofblue-linen blouse to the face lurking in the pale lavender of thequilted sun-bonnet, the eye met nothing which was not proper to thecountry-girl, dressed a little older, when the tail of hair swung to herbody's movement, than her sixteen years required.
If the face was not so ruddy as a moorland girl's should be, and if themark of the "smutty finger" beneath each eye suggested, out of Ireland,ill health--well, sickness and recovery are not restricted to the town,and the bright eyes, when the lids would lift, gave promise of returninghealth.
Dick matched her well.
With the cut cheek decently washed, the face shaved with Tom Brundage'sworst razor, and a patch of flour congealing the blood of his wound, helooked very different from the ruffian who had disturbed, so short awhile since, the lunch of the Brundage chickens. For his brown boots,brushed to the semblance of a shine, brown gaiters of the army cut,green cord riding-breeches which had delighted the heart of Tom Brundageuntil petrol prevailed over horseflesh and drove him into black; astriped waistcoat, of the old-fashioned waspish, horsey favour, partlybuttoned over a grey army shirt and loosely covered by his own Norfolkjacket, with a knotted bandanna in place of collar, made of him an odd,but wholly credible nondescript of the lower sporting world.
Men on the roads of that joyous Saturday might have asked was itwhippets, horses, or the ring which best explained this lank, keen-eyed,humorous-lipped, uneven-gaited fellow; but none would have suspected amasquerade in the figure offered to their eyes with an assurance soentirely devoid of self-consciousness.
Yet to Amaryllis it was perhaps the raffish green imitation-veloursHomburg hat which did most to alter Dick Bellamy's aspect; so that shewould wait for a glance of his eyes to assure herself that this wasindeed her wonderful friend and champion, and no new man nor changedspirit.
But Pepe, its one honest and unpretentious person, had made the wholetrio bizarre and incredible.
For though, on one word from Dick, Amaryllis had given her credence andtrust to the Lizard, she yet felt that he suited so ill with any Englishsurroundings that his incongruity would show up any boggled stitch intheir two disguises. So, while she nibbled the biscuit which Dick hadtaken from the paper in his pocket and ordered her to eat, and listenedto the unintelligible valedictory advice which Pepe was ladling out inSpanish, she was longing to be alone with the gentleman who looked soimpossible, and free from the company of the man who the very prickingof her thumbs told her was a criminal, in spite of the modest bearingand the uplifted gaze at his idol.
Did she also adore her Limping Dick, as Pepe his Cojeante? Was the oneworship antagonistic to the other? Why then--but Amaryllis, like manyanother woman, was so good a logician that she knew when to halt on theroad to an awkward conclusion.
Pepe at last swept off his hat in profound obeisance to "la senoritaroja," took Dick's hand with reverence and his generous wad of noteswithout shame, and hurried back on his road to "The Myrtles."
She looked at Dick's face as his eyes followed the Lizard, and read init an expression so strange and so mixed, that she turned again to takeher own last sight of the man she was glad to be rid of.
Pepe had vanished utterly.
"Yes," said Dick, following her thought, and responsive even to theterms of her recent reflection, "he never would fit an English landscapetill it swallowed him."
"'Amigo de grillos'?" said the girl. "Why do you call him that? _Amigo_must be _friend_. But _grillos_?"
"Irons--fetters," said Dick; and taking her by the arm, started in thedirection of "The Goat in Boots," walking with a curiously swaggeringgait which went far to mask his limp. "Amigos de grillos--fetter-pals.We were chained together for six months."
"In--in prison? Oh, Dick!" she cried, "I knew he was horrid."
"And me?"
"I know you aren't," she replied.
"I'm afraid he is, from your point of view," he replied. "But Pepe elLagarto has one streak which interests me."
"Tell me," said Amaryllis.
And as they walked slowly towards the inn, he told her of Pepe and hiscoca-leaves; of the Peruvian Indians' use of them to resist hunger andfatigue; and of how the little man had given his all, which he could notreplace, to help la senorita roja over the roughness of her way.
"I had to keep a little in a bit of paper to satisfy him," said Dick.
"Then he's kind to women, at least," said Amaryllis.
"When I met him, he was in for five years--murdering his wife."
"Why?"
"Found her in company he wasn't fond of," said Dick, "so he threw herout of window."
"And the--company?"
"Pepe slit its throat."
Amaryllis shuddered.
"No," resumed Dick, "you won't find any pretty Idylls of the Kinggadgets about Pepe. He gave you all his coca-leaves because he regardedyou as El Cojeante's woman--that's all."
"Do you?" asked Amaryllis, and her colour for the first time matched herhead-gear.
"For to-day--of course," he answered. "You're my daughter--and don't youforget it."
Amaryllis, if the word may be used of a sound so pleasant, giggled.
"Well, daddy dear," she replied, "I admit that your friend has a shinystreak running through his horridness. And I like him for worshippingyou with his dog's eyes. And I shouldn't wonder if you often find thosesilver veins in queer places, dad."
She said it like a question but received no response.
"If I've caught on to Pepe's topography," he said, "the road to theright there runs on an easy downward grade for two miles, then dipssharply for another. At the lowest point--they call it GallowstreeDip--there's another road, to the left, which runs straight toHarthborough Junction--the place we want. But at Gallowstree Dip, saysPepe, we shall find a motor-bike and side-car with two men ready to putour lights out on contact--if there aren't too many witnesses. So whenwe pass them we've got to be a larger party than two. So we start bygoing into the bar here, and you're going to swallow bread and cheeseand beer, there's a good daughter."
Amaryllis nodded. "But, Dick," she said, "if they aren't at GallowstreeDip?"
"We've got to make our plans as we go, and change 'em when we must. It'dseem incredible, wouldn't it--if it weren't for what you've seen andsuffered since last night. England! And you and I as much cut off fromBobbies and Bow Street as if we were in Petrograd or Central New Guinea.Suppose we _could_ find a village constable in a cottage--they'd killhim as gaily as they would you or me--but it isn't his at-home day, he'sat Timsdale-Horton Races. When this gaff's over, the belated soothsayerswill tell me: 'you ought to have roused the police and laid your casebefore them,' in one of the three great towns that I drove through lastnight. And what yarn was I to pitch? That there might be murder going tobe done at a place called 'The Myrtles'? And what time had I to tell itin? And where'd you be now, daughter, if I'd been two minutes later thanI was?"
Ever so gently Amaryllis squeezed his arm against her side in gratitude,and then quivered a little, remembering the horror of Dutch Fridji andher knife--and whe
re last she had seen it.
But Dick went on, as if he had noticed nothing, to tell her of the twoletters which had barely yet, he supposed, reached Scotland Yard. He hadno certainty, indeed, that the second, given to the landlord of "TheCoach and Horses," had even been posted. Before nightfall, at theearliest, therefore, no help could be counted upon from the police.
"Either," said Dick, "we must break through the bars of Melchard's cage,or keep hidden inside it. The bosses of this mob, you see, won't give adamn how many of their people get strafed as long as they suppress us,and get back what I've got in my pocket."
They were now not fifty yards from the horse-trough in front of "TheGoat in Boots."
A little way from the entrance, drawn up opposite to the stable-yard,stood a long, clumsy wagonette-brake with coats and green-carpetcricket-bags lying about its seats. Two horses were at the pole,seriously bowed over their nose-bags. A swingle-tree hung at the pole'send, and a second pair of reins was fast to the driver's seat, the fourcheek-buckles lying crossed over the wheeler's backs.
"Fower-in-hand, and leaders in staable! Sick, likely, or more gradelystuff," said Dick, musing aloud.
Amaryllis, whose eyes were on the signboard, started as if a strangerhad spoken at her side. She looked quickly in his face, and found it soaltered in expression that she knew the words had come from his lips.
"Oh, Dick!" she whispered. "You're wonderful. But whatever shall I do?If I open my mouth, I shall give us away."
"Howd tha mouth shut, then, 'Minta, lass," he said. Then, lowering histone, he added in his own language: "I'll account for you. Don't forgetyour name's Araminta. You've been ill, and the doctor's ordered open-airtreatment."
As they reached the threshold, the roar of Millsborough dialect came tothem through the windows of the bar-parlour.
Dick pointed to the bench by the door.
"Set there, lass, and Ah'll fetch t' grub," he said aloud. "'Tis bad airfor 'ee in tap-room."
As if the world were his, he swung into the bar, where he found twoyokels listening to the half-drunken lamentations of a middle-aged,plum-cheeked fellow in a shabby blue livery coatee with shabbier giltbuttons; and even while he was giving his order for a glass of mild, anda bit of bread and cheese on plate for daughter--who'd been main sick,and would likely throw her stomach if she sat in tap-room, for doctorsaid for her open-air treatment was best medicine--he was listeningpatiently to the man he guessed to be the driver of the cricketers'brake.
He took the glass and plate and a pat on the shoulder to 'Minta.
"You just make un go doan, lovey," he said. "More eaten, more stomicknext time. Eat slow and steady, says Dr. Pape."
Back in the bar, he buried his nose in his tankard.
For the tenth time Plum-face summed up his woes.
"Boy and man, nineteen year Ah've tooled St. Asaph's Eleven toEcclesthorpe June Fixture. Four-in-'and's historical, like goose toMichaelmas. But to-day, Old Grudgers--ye know Grudger's Bait, far end o'Mill Street? To-day, old Grudge, 'e says, 'You hitch Fancy Bloodnear-lead,' and I says 'im back, 'If 'ee puts 'er 'long o' Tod Sloan,Fancy'll go dead lame afore "T'Goat in Boots."' And dead lame shestands in staable here, first time six month. Not offerin' lame, mindyou, with a peck an' a limp when she keeps 'er mind on 'er wickedmeanin', but sore up to the off fore pastern, and the hoof that hotit'd light a lucifer. Fancy's a female, she is, same as your wife ormine; and Tod, 'e just sours 'er blood, and there ye are. Ah tell'ee, boys, Ned Blossom's shamed, 'e is, if he comes slatherin' intoEcclesthorpe-on-the-Moor wi' two sweatin' wheelers in twentieth year o'the match."
By this time Dick had received from the tapster his second order, atankard of old ale, laced with a surreptitious noggin of unsweetenedgin.
"And what-like nature o' a nag may this Tod be?" he asked, speaking withso easy a familiarity, and holding the pewter so invitingly that NedBlossom responded as to an old friend.
"Gradely bit o' stuff sure-ly," he replied. "And do love to fill hiscollar; but sulky-like he's been on t' road this day, wi' Fancy doin'nowt to share."
"Then leave Fancy in staable," said Dick, "and drive owd Tod unicorninto Ecclesthorpe wi' style."
Ned Blossom chuckled foolishly, and took the tankard Dick was offering,handle free, to his fingers.
"Like t' owd flea-bitten mare used to stand bottom o' Church Hill out o'Water Street, waitin' for t' bus comin'. They'd take the bar offen 'erback, hitch it to pole, an' away she'd go, scratchin' and scramblin' upto moor, like cat on roof-tiles. Ha! ha!" laughed Ned, and took a pullfrom the pewter. "But, say, who be you, standin' drinks like an owdfriend?"
"Forgotten Doncaster races, nineteen five, hast tha, Ned? Well, Ah'mpained in my choicest feelin's. Here Ah finds 'ee in misfortune, orderthe stuff tha needs, pay for it, give 'ee good counsel and call 'ee Ned,and 'tis not till ale's drownin' t' sadness of 'ee where it bides, that'ee call to mind you've forgotten Sam Bunce."
"Sam'l--ay, Sam'l Ah remembers. 'Twas t' Bunce as came 'ard like. Butnineteen five? Challacombe's Leger, that was. Ay, Bunce fits into it.This ale clears the wits wunnerful."
Dick was at the bar, money passing to the tapster.
"There's another, owd cock, where that came from," he said, turning toBlossom. "Mebbe the next pint'll make 'ee call to mind how Challacombe'swin cleaned me out--and me bound to get south away to Coventry?"
"Ay," said Ned again, politely remembering all that he was told. "See'd'ee off by t' train, I did."
"Good old Blossom you be," said Dick, laughing kindly, "sayin' nowt o'the two jimmies you lent to get me home--an' us both that full we forgotall about where I was to send the blunt! But it's not Sam Bunce'llforget what he owes a man, and Ah knew as Ah'd meet 'ee again."
And he pushed three one-pound notes into the fuddled Ned's hand, who sawno reason in denying a friend of this kind.
"'Most gone out o' my head, the money," he muttered. "But Ah knew 'eemeant paying."
Then, as he awkwardly separated the notes, puzzling over the third, "Bitof interest for the waitin'," said Dick. "Put 'em away, while I go andget that Tod Sloan hitched single to lead your pair."
"I'll never drive 'im," objected Ned mournfully. "Ah've been turned allends up, wi' this 'ere 'appening. Tod, 'e'll turn an' laugh at me."
"'Tis easy, owd man, if you keep 'im canterin' from start."
"Tried 'im tandem once, they did--oh, Gawd!"
"What you needs, owd Ned, is a kip, e'en if 'ee can't sleep. Who'sCaptain of o' this St. Asaph's cricketin' lot?"
"Rev'runt Mallaby--Dixon Mallaby. Gradely chap. Champion bat 'e be,nobbut 'e's a parson."
"Then I'll drive 'em," said Dick, "and you get a lift o'er toEcclesthorpe later, an' tool 'em home. 'Long about that time you'll berested, an' Tod'll be after his oats."
Blossom nodded, lifting his tankard and waving it on the way to hismouth, in feeble farewell.
As he went out Dick glanced sideways at Amaryllis. The sparkle in hereyes stopped him.
"Oh, daddy!" she murmured, "what a liar you are!"
"Cha-ampion!" said Dick, adding, as he left her: "Rubberneck!"
Already the cricketers were gathering about the rear of the brake,amongst them a gentleman.
To him Dick touched his hat.
"T' driver, sir, be o'ercome with near leader fallin' la-ame. He be anowd pal. Seems me tryin' t' buck 'im oop's gone wrong way down. So beyou offers no objection, sir, I'll drive 'ee myself. Sam'l Bunce I'mcalled, and 'tis Ecclesthorpe where us wants to go."
The Reverend Mr. Dixon Mallaby looked him up and down with good-humouredscrutiny.
"I can't object to being pulled out of a hole," he replied. "And I don'tthink I should enjoy driving Mr. Grudger's cattle myself."
"Then if ye'll bid landlord have Ned Blossom sent on t' Ecclesthorpewhen he be sober, I'll get t' three-cornered team hitched up."
And Dick went towards the stable, but turned back.
"Ought t' 'ave said, sir," he explained, "as I'll drive 'ee, so be asthere's room for
my daughter."
"The pretty girl on the bench there? Why, of course there's room. Doesshe want to see the match?"
"Doctor's orders she's to take all the fresh air there be, sir, andwe're paying for't in shoe-leather. By same token, she looks after metoo. Wouldn't let me out 'lone to-day, 'cos yesterday Ah went too free,an' got into a bit o' rough house."
"I see," said the clergyman. "That's a nasty cut on your cheek."
Dick laughed.
"One o' them others got a worse," he answered, and went in search of TodSloan.