CHAPTER VI.

A CUNNING SCHEME.

After leaving the inn, the two strangers took themselves off for a quarter of an hour to decide upon their plans, then strolled like a couple of inquisitive idlers toward the post-station in front of which the traveller's carriage stood, nearly ready for departure, as the postilion was already putting fresh horses to it.

Captain Russell and his companion approached the vehicle, and, seating themselves upon one of the benches in front of the post-house, pretended to be examining the animals that were being harnessed, with a knowing eye.

"You have a horse there that seems to be as willing as he is handsome," Russell remarked to the postilion, after a few minutes' scrutiny.

"And he is as good as he looks, my friend," replied the postilion, pleased by the well-deserved praise bestowed upon his steed, "so I call him the Friar, and he is worthy of his name."

"He's a fine animal, there's no doubt of that. What a broad chest he has, and what powerful withers and flanks!"

"And what a beautiful head he has!" chimed in Pietri. "It is as delicate and intelligent as that of any Arabian steed."

"It is evident that you are both good judges of horse flesh, gentlemen, so you won't doubt my word when I tell you that I can get over a mile or two of ground in the twinkling of an eye with the Friar and Sans-Culotte, as I call his mate."

"Yes, it must be a real pleasure to have a horse like that between one's legs, my worthy fellow. Though I'm a sailor, I've ridden horseback a good deal, but I never had the good fortune to bestride an animal like that."

"I can very readily believe that, monsieur; but this I know, you will never bestride a finer one."

"And it is too bad!"

"I don't see what you are going to do about it."

"Would you like to make forty francs, my friend?" inquired the Englishman, after a brief silence.

"Forty francs, I?" exclaimed the astonished postilion.

"Yes."

"But how the devil could I?"

"In the easiest way imaginable."

"Let me hear it."

Just as the Englishman was about to make known his proposition, a waiter from the inn crossed the street to tell the postilion that he need not be in a hurry, for the traveller would not be ready for some time.

"What is he doing? and why did he order his horses so long ahead, then?"

"I don't know anything about that, but I do know he's a queer one. What do you think he dined on? He drank milk instead of wine, and ate some poached eggs and panada."

"Panada? Well, he must be a queer one!" said Jean Pierre, scornfully. Then turning to Russell, "Come, friend, what were you going to tell me a few minutes ago about--"

"Step into the stable-yard, my good fellow, I want to say a few words to you."

"I can't leave the Friar; he would be sure to cut up some caper. He's always fussing with Sans-Culotte. Whoa, you rascal! See, he's beginning his antics now. Whoa, there! if you break away, you brigand, I'll give you a beating you'll remember."

"Listen, then," said the Englishman, whispering a few words in the postilion's ear.

"What a funny idea!" exclaimed that young man, laughing.

"Will you accept my offer?"

"Really--"

"If you will, here are twenty francs. You shall have the rest when you get to the appointed place. After all, what risk do you run? There is no harm in it."

"None in the world, but it is such a funny idea. It isn't the first time I've heard of the like, though. What do you think I saw in Dieppe the other day? Those privateersmen--my! how they make their money fly!--did the queerest things! I saw some of them offer twenty-five napoleons to an old sacristan to dress himself up like a woman in a furbelowed dress and a plumed hat and then drive about the town in a cab with them."

"What else could you expect, my good fellow? Sailors are on shore too seldom not to amuse themselves according to their fancy, provided it doesn't injure anybody. You agree, don't you?"

"Oh, well, it isn't worth while to have any scruples when one has to deal with a passenger who eats panada and doesn't drink wine, I admit, so--"

"So here are twenty francs," added Russell, slipping a gold piece into the postilion's hand. "You shall have as much more presently."

"All right, but make haste, for the place is a good league from here. Take the first road to the left."

A moment afterward the two strangers had disappeared.

* * * * *

About a quarter of an hour afterward, while the postilion was doing his best to restrain the gambols of the Friar and his mate, the proprietor of the Imperial Eagle appeared in the doorway and cried:

"Mount, my boy, mount! Here comes the gentleman!"

"The devil!" muttered Jean Pierre, climbing slowly into the saddle. "My milk-drinker is in a dreadful hurry all of a sudden. I sha'n't be able to get my horses there fast enough, now, I suppose."

As he spoke, he guided his horses up to the door of the inn, and the traveller stepped into the vehicle. The landlord bowed respectfully to his patron, and as he closed the carriage door called out to the postilion:

"Drive along, Jean Pierre, monsieur is in a hurry."

"You shall just fly along, monsieur," replied Jean Pierre, cracking his whip noisily.

They traversed the town at a gallop and soon reached the highway, but they had gone only a couple of hundred yards when the postilion checked his horses abruptly, and, turning in his saddle, seemed to be waiting for something.

The traveller, surprised at this sudden stop, lowered one of the windows, and asked:

"Well, what's the matter?"

"What's the matter?"

"Yes."

"I've no idea, I'm sure."

"You don't know?"

"I'm sure I don't."

"But why did you stop?"

"Because you called to me to stop."

"I did?"

"Yes, and so I stopped."

"You are mistaken, I didn't call you."

"Yes, you did, monsieur."

"But I tell you I didn't. So go on, and try to make up for the time you have lost."

"You needn't worry about that. I'll drive like mad now. I don't mean there shall be a piece of the carriage left when we get to the next station."

And he again started his horses off at a gallop. But at the end of two hundred yards there was another sudden pause.

"What's the matter now?" demanded the traveller. "Is anything the matter with your harness?" he reiterated, seeing the postilion busying himself with his saddle-girth, uttering the most frightful oaths all the while.

There was no reply but another long string of furious imprecations, however.

"Is your horse disabled?"

Another string of oaths was the only answer.

"At least tell me what is the matter, my boy."

"Oh, never mind, monsieur, I've fixed everything all right now."

"Well, try to keep it all right, then."

"We shall fly along the road like birds, now, never fear, bourgeois," responded the youth, springing into the saddle and cracking his whip furiously.

The shades of night were falling, a few stars were already visible in the western horizon, but in the distance one could still dimly discern, by reason of the chalky character of the soil, a steep hill bordered by tall elm-trees.

The post-chaise flew swiftly along for about ten minutes, then the pace slackened, a trot succeeded the gallop, a walk succeeded the trot, and then the vehicle stopped short again.

This time Jean Pierre jumped down and examined one of the Friar's feet with great apparent solicitude.

"_Mille tonnerres!_ one of my horses has gone lame!" he cried.

"Gone lame?" repeated the traveller, with unruffled calmness, though these numerous delays were certainly enough to try the patience of a saint. "Gone lame, did you say?"

"Yes, frightfully lame," answered Jean Pierre, still holding up the horse's foot.

"But how did he happen to go lame so suddenly, my boy?"

"The devil take me if I know."

"Shall we have to stay here?"

"No, bourgeois, there's no danger of that. If I could only see what has made the horse go lame, but it is getting so dark--"

"Yes, and you must be sure not to forget to light the lanterns at our next stopping-place."

"Ah! I can feel what it is with my finger. There is a stone crowded in between the shoe and the frog. If I can only loosen it everything will be all right again."

"Try then, my boy, for really this is getting very tiresome," replied the still calm voice of the traveller.

Inwardly chuckling over the success of his ruse, the postilion continued to loudly curse the stone he was ostensibly endeavouring to remove, until he thought the two strangers must have had plenty of time to reach the appointed spot, after which he uttered a cry of triumph. "The accursed stone is out at last!" he exclaimed. "Now we shall just fly along again."

And again the vehicle started off at a rapid trot. Though night had really come now, thanks to the clearness of the air and the innumerable stars, it was not very dark. On reaching the foot of the hill the postilion stopped his panting horses, and, after springing to the ground, approached the carriage door, and said:

"This is such a steep hill, bourgeois, that I always walk up to make it easier for my horses."

"Very well, my boy," replied the occupant of the vehicle, tranquilly.

The postilion walked along beside his horses for a few seconds, then gradually slackened his pace, thus allowing them to get a short distance ahead of him. Just then, Russell and Pietri emerged from behind a clump of bushes on the roadside, and approached the postilion. The latter, as he walked along, had removed his braided jacket, red waistcoat, and top-boots. The Englishman, who had likewise divested himself of his outer apparel, slipped on the jacket, plunged his feet into the high boots, and seized the hat, after which the postilion, smiling at what he considered an excellent joke, handed his whip to Russell, remarking:

"It is too dark for the gentleman to see anything, so when you mount my horse I'll get up on the rack behind, with your companion."

"Yes, and when we reach the next station I will get down, and you can put on your own clothes again, and I mine. And now here is the twenty francs I promised you."

And slipping a gold piece in Jean Pierre's hand, Russell quickened his pace, and, overtaking the horses about twenty yards from the top of the hill, began to walk along beside them.

It was now too dark for the traveller to perceive the substitution that had just been effected, but as the carriage reached the summit of the hill the occupant leaned out and said to the supposed postilion:

"Don't forget to put on the brake, my lad."

"I am going to do that now," answered the pretended postilion, in a disguised voice.

Then slipping behind the vehicle, he said in a low tone to the Maltese and to Jean Pierre:

"Get up behind and hold on tight. I'm going to put on the brake."

The two men obeyed, while Russell rattled the chain of the brake, as if he were applying it to the wheel, but this was really only a pretence on his part; then vaulting into the saddle, he dug his spurs into his horse's flanks, and sent the carriage flying down the hill with frightful rapidity.

"Good God! we are lost, and the milk drinker in the bargain," exclaimed Jean Pierre hearing the chain of the brake dragging along on the ground. "Your friend failed to put the brake on, after all."

The Maltese, instead of answering the postilion, struck him such a violent blow on the head with the butt end of a pistol that Jean Pierre let go his hold on the rack and fell to the ground, while the carriage flew down the hill enveloped in a cloud of dust.