“You should surely be in bed, if there’s
a hole in your ribs.”
“In bed!” he sniffed. “I took
to bed, egad, and nearly got pinched. Now I’ve
no need for exertion. In this gap between the
Highlanders, I’m as snug as a flea in a blanket.”
After helping me into my clothes and on to my horse,
he strolled up to the dead man.
“Well, Turnditch,” he said, “you
know everything now, or nothing.” Then,
dropping lightly on his knee, he turned gaily to me,
and said, “Always plunder the Egyptian, dead
or alive.”
He rifled the spy’s pockets with the easy indifference
of an expert, singing as he turned them out:
“The priest calls the lawyer a cheat;
The lawyer beknaves
the divine;
And the statesman because he’s
so great,
Thinks his trade is
as honest as mine.”
He stopped his singing and, tossing a well-stuffed
leather bag up and down in his hand, said, “There’s
really no objection to virtue when the jade is not
her own reward. Chunk! chunk! There’s
alchemy for you! Half an ounce of lead into half
a pound of gold!”
He stowed the bag in his pocket, jumped on his mare,
and together we walked our horses to the turnpike,
where we halted side by side, our horses’ heads
to their respective destinations.
“Sir,” said I, holding out my hand, “I
am greatly in your debt. My name is Oliver Wheatman,
of the Hanyards, Staffordshire. May I have the
pleasure of learning yours?”
He took my hand, looked at me intently, with his grey
eyes very thoughtful and steady, and then said quietly,
“Samuel Nixon, Bachelor of Arts, sometime Demy
of Magdalen College, Oxford.”
“Commonly called ‘Swift Nicks,’”
I added, smiling.
“Right first time,” he cried gleefully,
and shot off like an arrow towards Manchester.
So Nance Lousely had not got her pinnerfull of guineas
after all.
DONALD
I got my wound in the early forenoon of December the
10th. About eight o’clock on the night
of the 17th I sat down in a deserted shepherd’s
hut to the meal Donald had got ready for me.
The week had been in one respect a blank, for I had
not seen Margaret. In every other respect it had
been laborious, strenuous, and exciting, and we had
just seen the end of the toughest job so far.
We, meaning my dragoons and myself, were on the top
of Shap. Some ammunition wagons had broken down
on the upward climb, bunging up the road at its stiffest
bit and delaying us for hours. His lordship and
the Colonel, with the infantry of the rear-guard, were
in Shap village a mile or two ahead. The Prince
was still farther on, probably in Penrith.
The delay was dangerous. Our army had rested
one full day at Preston and another at Lancaster.
Even at Preston the Colonel and I, with my dragoons,
had barely ridden out of the town when a strong body
of enemy horse rode in from the east, sent by Wade
to reinforce the Duke. Our margin of safety was
being cut down daily. We should have to fight
before long, and I was posted here, on the top of
Shap, to see that no surprise was sprung upon us.
