This troop of horsemen, for such it was, might probably amount in the aggregate to twenty men, and presented an appearance like that of a strong muster at a rustic fox-chase, due allowance being made for the various weapons of offence; to wit, naked sabres, firelocks, and a world of huge horse-pistols, which the present field carried along with them. This resemblance was heightened by the presence of an old huntsman and a gamekeeper or two, in scarlet and green jackets, and a few yelping hounds that had followed after them. The majority of the crew consisted of sturdy yeomen; some of whom, mounted upon wild, unbroken colts, had pretty lives of it to maintain their seats, and curveted about in "most admired disorder"; others were seated upon more docile, but quite as provoking specimens of the cart-horse breed, whose sluggish sides, reckless alike of hobnailed heel or ash sapling, refused to obey their riders' intimations to move; while others again, brought stiff, wrong-headed ponies to the charge—obstinate, impracticable little brutes, who seemed to prefer revolving on their own axes, and describing absurd rotatory motions, to proceeding in the direct and proper course pointed out to them.
Dick could scarcely forbear laughing at these ridiculous manœuvres; but his attention was chiefly attracted towards three individuals, who were evidently the leaders of this warlike expedition. In the thin, tall figure of the first of these, he recognised Ranulph Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of the group he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied (nor incorrectly fancied) that his military bearing, or, as he would have expressed it, "the soldier-like cut of his jib," could belong to no other than Major Mowbray, whom he had once eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In the round; rosy countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio he discovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel.
"Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there?" exclaimed Dick, as he distinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have one friend among them whom I may welcome. So, they see me now. Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess, back—slowly, wench, slowly—there—stand!" And Bess again remained motionless.
The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; and as all were upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself at the archway, when a loud shout was raised, and the whole cavalcade galloped towards him, creating, as may be imagined, the wildest disorder; each horseman yelling, as he neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasioned by the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while oaths and blows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such hearty good-will, that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, or heard of the discord of King Agramante's ramp, this mêlée must have struck him as its realisation. As it was, entertaining little apprehension of the result, he shouted encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremost horseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling to the door, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's head, when a well-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, and horse and man rolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, a second succeeded, and was in like manner compelled to bite the dust.
"That will let old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at hand," exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot."
The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. Terrified by the shots, some of the boors would have drawn back, while others, in mid career, advanced, and propelled them forwards. It was like the meeting of two tides. Here and there, regardless of the bit, and scared by the firing, a wild colt broke all bounds, and, hurling his rider in the air, darted off into the green; or, in another case, rushed forward, and encountering the prostrate cattle cumbering the entrance to the priory hall, stumbled, and precipitated his master neck-over-heels at the very feet of his enemy. During all this tumult, a few shots were fired at the highwayman, which without doing him a jot of mischief, tended materially to increase their own confusion.
The voice of Turpin was now heard above the din and turmoil to sound a parley; and as he appeared disposed to offer no opposition, some of his antagonists ventured to raise themselves from the ground, and approach him.
"I demand to be led to Sir Ranulph Rookwood," said Turpin.
"He is here," said Ranulph, riding up. "Villain, you are my prisoner."
"As you list, Sir Ranulph," returned Dick, coolly; "but let me have a word in private with you ere you do aught you may repent hereafter."
"No words, sir—deliver up your arms, or—"
"My pistols are at your service," replied Dick. "I have just discharged them."
"You may have others. We must search you."
"Hold!" cried Dick; "if you will not listen to me, read that paper." And he handed Ranulph his mother's letter to Mr. Coates. It was without the superscription, which he had thrown aside.
"My mother's hand!" exclaimed Ranulph, reddening with anger, as he hastily perused its contents. "And she sent this to you? You lie, villain—'tis a forgery."
"Let this speak for me," returned Dick, holding out the finger upon which Lady Rookwood's ring was placed. "Know you that cipher?"
"You have stolen it," retorted Ranulph. "My mother," added he, in a deep stern whisper, articulated only for Turpin's hearing, "would never have intrusted her honour to a highwayman's keeping."
"She has intrusted more—her life," replied Dick, in a careless tone. "She would have bribed me to do murder."
"Murder!" echoed Ranulph, aghast.
"Ay, to murder your brother," returned Dick; "but let that pass. You have read that note. I have acted solely upon your mother's responsibility. Lady Rookwood's honour is pledged for my safety. Of course her son will set me free."
"Never!"
"Well, as you please. Your mother is in my power. Betray me, and you betray her."
"No more!" said Ranulph, sternly. "Go your ways. You are free."
"Pledge me your word of honour I am safe."
Ranulph had scarcely given his pledge, when Major Mowbray rode furiously up. A deep flush of anger burnt upon his cheeks; his sword was drawn in his hand. He glanced at Turpin, as if he would have felled him from the saddle.
"This is the ruffian," cried the major, fiercely, "by whom I was attacked some months ago, and for whose apprehension the reward of three hundred pounds is offered by His Majesty's proclamation, with a free pardon to his accomplices. This is Richard Turpin. He has just added another crime to his many offences. He had robbed my mother and sister. The postboy knew him the moment he came up. Where are they, villain? Whither are they gone?—answer!"
"I know not," replied Turpin, calmly. "Did not the lad tell you they were rescued?"
"Rescued!—by whom?" asked Ranulph, with great emotion.
"By one who calls himself Sir Luke Rookwood," answered Turpin, with a meaning smile.
"By him!" ejaculated Ranulph. "Where are they now?"
"I have already answered that question," said Dick. "I repeat, I know not."
"You are my prisoner," cried the major, seizing Turpin's bridle.
"I have Sir Ranulph's word for my safety," rejoined Turpin. "Let go my rein."
"How is this?" asked Mowbray, incredulously.
"Ask me not. Release him," replied Ranulph.
"Ranulph," said the major, "you ask an impossibility. My honour—my duty—is implicated in this man's capture."
"The honour of all of us is involved in his deliverance," returned Ranulph, in a whisper. "Let him go. I will explain all hereafter. Let us search for them—for Eleanor. Surely, after this, you will help us to find them," added he, addressing Turpin.