And this was exactly what I did; and a terrible run I had for it, fearing at every step to hear the echo of shots in the valley, and dropping down the scrubby rocks with tearing and violent scratching.  Then I crossed Bagworthy stream, not far below Doone-valley, and breasted the hill towards Slocombslade, with my heart very heavily panting.  Why Jeremy chose to ride this way, instead of the more direct one (which would have been over Oare-hill), was more than I could account for:  but I had nothing to do with that; all I wanted was to save his life.

And this I did by about a minute; and (which was the hardest thing of all) with a great horse-pistol at my head as I seized upon his bridle.

“Jeremy, Jerry,” was all I could say, being so fearfully short of breath; for I had crossed the ground quicker than any horse could.

“Spoken just in time, John Ridd!” cried Master Stickles, still however pointing the pistol at me:  “I might have known thee by thy size, John.  What art doing here?”

“Come to save your life.  For God’s sake, go no farther.  Three men in the covert there, with long guns, waiting for thee.”

“Ha!  I have been watched of late.  That is why I pointed at thee, John.  Back round this corner, and get thy breath, and tell me all about it.  I never saw a man so hurried.  I could beat thee now, John.”

Jeremy Stickles was a man of courage, and presence of mind, and much resource:  otherwise he would not have been appointed for this business; nevertheless he trembled greatly when he heard what I had to tell him.  But I took good care to keep back the name of young Marwood de Whichehalse; neither did I show my knowledge of the other men; for reasons of my own not very hard to conjecture.

“We will let them cool their heels, John Ridd,” said Jeremy, after thinking a little.  “I cannot fetch my musketeers either from Glenthorne or Lynmouth, in time to seize the fellows.  And three desperate Doones, well-armed, are too many for you and me.  One result this attempt will have, it will make us attack them sooner than we had intended.  And one more it will have, good John, it will make me thy friend for ever.  Shake hands my lad, and forgive me freely for having been so cold to thee.  Mayhap, in the troubles coming, it will help thee not a little to have done me this good turn.”

Upon this he shook me by the hand, with a pressure such as we feel not often; and having learned from me how to pass quite beyond view of his enemies, he rode on to his duty, whatever it might be.  For my part I was inclined to stay, and watch how long the three fusiliers would have the patience to lie in wait; but seeing less and less use in that, as I grew more and more hungry, I swung my coat about me, and went home to Plover’s Barrows.

CHAPTER XXXIX

A TROUBLED STATE AND A FOOLISH JOKE

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