for an Exmoor fog (such as he had often sworn at), that he might turn aside and lurk, while his pursuers went past him!  But no fog came, nor even a storm to damp the priming of their guns; neither was wood or coppice nigh, nor any place to hide in; only hills, and moor, and valleys; with flying shadows over them, and great banks of snow in the corners.  At one time poor Stickles was quite in despair; for after leaping a little brook which crosses the track at Newland, be stuck fast in a “dancing bog,” as we call them upon Exmoor.  The horse had broken through the crust of moss and sedge and marishweed, and could do nothing but wallow and sink, with the black water spirting over him.  And Jeremy, struggling with all his might, saw the three villains now topping the crest, less than a furlong behind him; and heard them shout in their savage delight.  With the calmness of despair, he yet resolved to have one more try for it; and scrambling over the horse’s head, gained firm land, and tugged at the bridle.  The poor nag replied with all his power to the call upon his courage, and reared his forefeet out of the slough, and with straining eyeballs gazed at him.  “Now,” said Jeremy, “now, my fine fellow!” lifting him with the bridle, and the brave beast gathered the roll of his loins, and sprang from his quagmired haunches.  One more spring, and he was on earth again, instead of being under it; and Jeremy leaped on his back, and stooped, for he knew that they would fire.  Two bullets whistled over him, as the horse, mad with fright, dashed forward; and in five minutes more he had come to the Exe, and the pursuers had fallen behind him.  The Exe, though a much smaller stream than the Barle, now ran in a foaming torrent, unbridged, and too wide for leaping.  But Jeremy’s horse took the water well; and both he and his rider were lightened, as well as comforted by it.  And as they passed towards Lucott hill, and struck upon the founts of Lynn, the horses of the three pursuers began to tire under them.  Then Jeremy Stickles knew that if he could only escape the sloughs, he was safe for the present; and so he stood up in his stirrups, and gave them a loud halloo, as if they had been so many foxes.

[Illustration:  419.jpg With a wave of his hat]

Their only answer was to fire the remaining charge at him; but the distance was too great for any aim from horseback; and the dropping bullet idly ploughed the sod upon one side of him.  He acknowledged it with a wave of his hat, and laid one thumb to his nose, in the manner fashionable in London for expression of contempt.  However, they followed him yet farther; hoping to make him pay out dearly, if he should only miss the track, or fall upon morasses.  But the neighbourhood of our Lynn stream is not so very boggy; and the King’s messenger now knew his way as well as any of his pursuers did; and so he arrived at Plover’s Barrows, thankful, and in rare appetite.

“But was the poor soldier drowned?” asked Annie; “and you never went to look for him!  Oh, how very dreadful!”