'Tis not the first face of a predicament that is always the right aspect, and men may, as often as not by holding their peace, come at the heart of the matter, always provided there is naught in the case to make the blood sing. Now in a pretty lively turn of life on the road I have met many types, and some of these such characters as you would scarce credit; but 'tis not always that they are conjoined thus in their odd individualities with a stirring episode; and hence I pass them by in these accounts of my career. Nevertheless there was in the meeting with Sir Damon Boll that which pleased me mightily, at least in the end. Indeed, 'twas a rare piece of chicanery from the outset, what time I left the Boar's Head in a chaise and two horses of my own for Epsom, like any gentleman with an important journey of his own before him. And so in truth I had, for I was to set up for my lord, if you please, with a lackey and all; but the affair, though 'twas humorous beyond fancy, enters not into this adventure. It was enough that the thought tickled me on my road out of Southwark,[233] going by Camberwell and Newington, and I was in a fair good humour as we rocked along the ruts that sharp November evening.

When the postilion was come out by Streatham and was for making across the heath, the moon, that was half and bright, struck into the lowering clouds, and the open waste glowed of a sudden swiftness. The window of the chaise was open and the air streamed in, but I could make out little with my peepers because of the blackness. And here there was a savage rocking of the body of the chaise, and a cracking as of a wheel against something. So popped I forth my head and roared to the postilion, cursing him for his clumsiness, and he cursing back at the horses; and between us there was a pretty commotion. For here was a nobleman (save me!) upon his travels with a damned dung-fork of a rascal on whom he might let loose his tongue and be not questioned. That was how I phrased it to myself, being not as wroth as I seemed, but indeed enjoying to feign it; when withdrawing my head, as we were got back again upon the track, I espied a blacker shadow in the blackness about the heath.

It held my eye a moment, for I knew it well enough to be the figure of a man, and then it darted into nearer view; and the light, bettering at the same instant, showed[234] me a fellow with a hat askew on the back of his head, a heavy pistol at the stand-and-deliver, and a face under a dark mask at the chaise's edge.

"Hold!" says he loudly to the postilion, and catches at the horse nearest. The frightened fellow pulled in, and says this night-bat, as boldly as you will, and as cheerfully, poking his barker through the window, "now, my good sir, pray do not dally, but hand out forthwith. Dalliance, my dear sir, is the spirit of my lady's chamber, not of snapping sharp winter nights like this. Disgorge, my buck, disgorge!"

Now you will conceive it was an odd situation for Galloping Dick to be thus waylaid and handled after the manner of his own craft, though this was not the first occasion that it had happened. But to that you will add this, that there was that in his air, as in his voice, and in the very swagger of his challenge, which showed me here was no ordinary tobyman. So says I to myself, silently gazing in his pistol: "What have we here?" And then aloud said I: "Sirrah, what do you?" in a lordly tone.

"Faith," says he, not lowering his pistol, but speaking in a rollicking way, "be not my words plain, brave knight, or must I make 'em bark? I require of you all that you[235] have in the chaise, barring what I will spare you out of charity, your clothes and cock-hat for the sake of shame."

"Oh!" said I, in a hesitating way, "then are you a gentleman of the road, rascal?"

"You honour me to put a name upon me," said he, with an inclination of his head. "For myself, I should desire to go unnamed, so as to escape the perils of the law."

"I will tell you this," I broke out in seeming indignation, "you shall be well hanged—that's your destiny."

"Maybe," said he, carelessly. "As well be picked by crows on a gallows as in a ditch. Deliver, my lord."

"I ask your indulgence, Captain," said I, in another voice; "there is a packet I would fain keep—"

"Pish! I must have all or none," he interposed. "Yet I am in a mood to indulge you, so be you give me your hand on paper that I took all off you."

This made me perpend, for my wits are sharp, and I began to guess that this was maybe by way of a wager, and that the fool was rattling the dice on his life.

"I will do that," said I, after a pause, "if you will let this document that is important to none but myself remain. I have sixty guineas also."

[236]

"Hand 'em over," says he, in a jocose way.

His pistol was still at my head, and I made search for my purse and gave it to him, the which he pocketed without so much as examining it.

"And for this warranty," said he, "I have quill and paper;" whereat I knew that I was upon the right thought. He put a hand into his pocket, but being by now unsuspecting that he had any to deal with save a mild sheep, he paid little heed to his earlier precautions; and the next I had his pistol hand in my clutch. He was taken aback at the first, but struggled gamely, though (Lord save us!) he was no match for me. With a twist of the wrist his pistol fell to the road with a dull clank, and presently I had the door of the chaise open and was gripping him in the darkness. And now 'twas my barker that was against his forehead.

"I was mistook," said I, as he came to a pause in his struggles, "and 'tis not the gallows will have you, sure, but this cold barrel o' mine. And so say your prayers."

He uttered a little reckless laugh. "Oh, I will spare you them," says he; "doubtless you're in haste to be on."

"Come," said I, "off with that mask," and I knocked it clean off his face with the pistol, just as the moon emerged in her full whiteness.

[237]

'Twas a young man, well-formed, and of a handsome bearing, that stood before me, and I saw that his features were disfigured by a cynical smile. Yet there was in that expression, as I judged, something impulsive and full-hearted that took me. I contemplated him.

"You're no tobyman," said I. "A tobyman would think shame to be took as I took you just now."

For answer he whistled, and then, "Good my man, get forward with your job," said he. "I have cast and lost."

"Why," said I, lowering my barker, "I know 'twas along of a wager this was done, and so bungled."

He threw me a glance under the moon without offering to run. "How know you?" he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Rip me," said I, "when a gentleman of the road takes the road (save he be in liquor) 'tis for a serious purpose, and that's guineas. He walks with a proper gait; he's no come-lightly. But you—" I came to a pause.

"You're wrong," said he, "'twas no wager."

"Oh, well," said I "'tis a pity that so fit a youth should go woo the Triple Beam, and I find it in my heart to give you a chance. What say you? Your story for your life."

He thought a moment. "Agreed," said he.[238] "'Tis no harm and no good to no one. If your ears itch you shall have it."

"Then 'tis sealed on that," I replied, and happened to look away a moment from him.

In the moonlight the heath emerged dimly, and I descried near a patch of bushes a waiting figure.

"So," said I, "that is your game, my master. You bring confederates, and accept of my terms to betray me. Damme, but I will shoot ye both where ye stand or run."

Now, I was broke out very furious, for it seemed to me that I saw the whole purpose of this ambush very clearly, and I raised my pistol as I spoke.

"What's that?" said he, suddenly, and stared at me, and then away to where my eyes had gone. But at that instant the waiting figure took to its heels and ran in a white light, limping as it ran till it vanished swiftly into the darkness.

"By the Lord, Crookes!" said my tobyman.

"So," said I, not now realising where I was, but feeling cautiously ahead. "And who may Crookes be that's such a white-liver?"

"'Tis Sir Damon's servant," said he, and added: "'Tis in the tale and the bargain."

"In that case," said I, "let's have the tale[239] and the bargain ere my mind shifts, as it is apt to do of a cold November night."

He shrugged his shoulders. "You have the advantage, and 'twill hurt nor harm none. Sir Damon Boll is uncle and guardian to a young lady who returns me my passion. But he will none of the match, being anxious to dispose of her to a certain lord. This evening I besought him to acquiesce in our betrothal, but he refused.

"'If it be money' said I. ''Tis not money,' says he, with his grin. 'If it be place and position,' said I again, but again he interrupted me. ''Tis neither,' says he. 'Ye're well enough, man, but who weds my niece must prove himself. Ye're a young gentleman of the town,' says he. 'When I was young we was wont to be more than that; and, by God! young man,' says he, 'ye shall have her if ye rob a coach or carry stand-and-deliver to a chaise.' 'What mean you?' said I, not knowing what he meant. 'If so be,' said he, speaking more slowly, 'you shall have spirit and temper enough to take all that is within a traveller's chaise this night you have my word you shall have my niece.'"

"Well," said I, seeing he paused.

"Well, here I am," said he, and laughed discordantly.

"Come, 'tis a very proper and romantic[240] comedy," said I. "And why d'ye suppose he gives you this chance?"

He shook his head. "I know not," he said.

"And why d'ye suppose this Crookes, Sir Damon's man, if that be his name, is hanging about?"

He started. "I never thought of that," said he.

"Well," said I, deliberately, "it means if I was you, young cockerel, I would think twice ere I put faith in Sir Damon Boll. He hath you in a cleft stick."

"You mean—" he asked anxiously.

"Why, are you not took in the act?" I replied; "took with a red hand. And why runs that rogue back to his master? He hath followed you."

"Damnation!" says he, starting, and looks at me.

"Upon my heart," I said, "ye're a pretty fellow to take to the roads, with no more prudence or care about you than a sucking dove. If I mistake not, down flies this Crookes with news of your discomfiture, as he would also have been witness to your success; and presently maybe up comes Sir Damon to gloat upon you. Oh, I have a fondness for such deep, ripe rascals, stap me, I have!"

He stood moodily fiddling with his fingers,[241] a frown on his brow. "Well?" said he at last inquiringly, and smiling defiant.

"Well," said I, "I think I will have a look at this Sir Damon, and gads me! if there be not the sound of a vehicle. Would ye like another fling at the high toby?"

He looked at me in wonder, and I winked.

"Should this be Sir Damon—"

He whistled. "Now, damme," he cried briskly, "ye're the gamest cock that ever crowed out of Whitehall."

"Well, let's go to meet him and seek what we shall find," I said, for I did not want that the arriving carriage should come up with mine; and so bestowing an order on my wondering fellow; we walked back briskly upon the London Road.

The night was still relieved by the pale moon that shone through the naked oaks behind us, and we could perceive the huddle of a chaise separating out of the darkness a score or two of yards away.

"'Tis his livery," says my friend, "'tis his coach for sure."

"Well, may I perish, but he runs a hazard this night, does this said Sir Damon," I said with a laugh, and I took him by the arm. "Look you," says I, "you were but a bantam, with a bantam's voice yonder. You shrilled too high, damme, for your spurs. If you would[242] venture another main, take heed to one that knows, and keep your eyes straight—as straight as your weapon. With level hands and eyes, rot me! I would be afraid of nothing under heaven save stalking ghosts and ill-willing witches. Set on, man, if so you have a mind, and I'll wager you will go through with the adventure."

"Gad!" says he, with his laugh, "I will pluck him bare for his pains, and enjoy it. I am your debtor, sir, for this night's topsy-turvy."

Just then the chaise rocked into the faint light before us that stood in the darkness of the trees, and he made a step forward, halted as if in doubt, and then dashed at it, shouting in a loud voice to the postilion. But I lay close in my earth, like an old fox, watching of 'em.

Well, the chaise was at a stand-still, and there was a hubbub, as you may fancy; for the old gentleman was come out to see a highwayman took, and not to be rumpadded himself. But he was of a stout spirit, and though there was my young gentleman at the window with his barker, and his mask that he had refitted on him, I could descry a white head poked forth and a voice exchanging words sharply.

"Deliver!" says my man.

"Deliver! I will see thee damned first," says the spirited old bubblyjock.

[243]

"I regret the necessity," says my man, presently, but his barker drew nearer.

"I will have this place scoured for you," said the old boy.

"If you make more ado," says my man, amiably, "I shall be in the sad case of dabbling white hairs red." With that, seeming to recognise the folly of resistance, Sir Damon sank back in his seat.

"What is't you want?" he asked in another voice.

"'Tis very simple," says t'other; "merely all that is in your chaise with you, save what clothes you sit in." And now that the man's head no longer blocked the window he pressed closer in, and at the same instant uttered an exclamation of surprise. And so I daresay did Sir Damon also, for he must have recognised by that saying with whom he had to deal; the which must have astonished him who came forth to see the young buck laid by the heels. But he gave vent to no sound just then, and 'twas my young gentleman of the toby who spoke.

"I will be content with nothing short of all that is with you, sir," said he, in a gay voice, as of one well content with himself and destiny. "And first, your purse."

Well, he must have got that, for says he next, "Now, your jewel-case;" and that too[244] came out of the window in the ghost of a hand that was like a woman's for slenderness. "Ye're prompt in payment, my dear sir," continues my friend, "for the which I thank ye as an exacting creditor. But you have still something by you."

Then comes in Sir Damon's voice, quite still and cool now. "You have all, sir—you have all. My word spells my honour, unless, indeed, you have changed your courteous intention about my clothes."

"Nay, I leave none bare," says he, "in particular to those wild winds. But I see you have company, and fair company too;" at the which, as you may guess, I pricked up my ears and moved forward a step out of the darkness.

"Well, sir," says Sir Damon from the coach, sharply, "would you rob the lady also?"<............