Part 7

"By Heaven, they're not above me!" ejaculated Talbot. "I'll tell Rousby so to his face, and let him take the consequences!"

Talbot and Michael went back to "The Bell and Anchor." The singing was still going on. The man and boy went into the tap-room, and ordered two cups of ale. They sat at a small table in a corner, some distance from where the four men were drinking, laughing, and singing. This was no time for Talbot to speak to them; their wits were too befuddled to pay any heed to what he might have to say.

Presently the man and boy went up to their rooms. The noise of the revelers reached their ears. Talbot was very angry. He told Michael that he should have a settlement with Christopher Rousby the next day. So loud was the noise down-stairs that Michael had to pull the bedclothes up about his head in order to get to sleep.

The next day was cold and dark--early winter. Talbot spent the morning going from house to house, questioning each owner as to unjust taxes that Rousby had collected, or any other injury the collector had done. He made a note of each complaint, and by noon he had a long list.

The two dined at the tavern, and afterward Talbot engaged a fisherman to row them out to the royal ketch in the river. Rain was falling now, and a wind had sprung up. Whitecaps dotted the water. The fisherman rowed them to the ship, and Talbot and Michael climbed up the rope-ladder that hung down over the side. A sailor stepped up to them. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I want to see the captain and Christopher Rousby," said Talbot. "I'm told that Rousby came out to the ship this morning."

"Aye, Mr. Rousby's still here," said the sailor.

"I am George Talbot," announced the other man, and, as if that were sufficient warrant for him to do as he chose, he walked across the deck and went down the companionway to the cabin. Michael kept close behind him.

A bottle and glasses stood on the cabin table. The captain, Christopher Rousby, and an officer of the ship sprawled in chairs. Rousby's face was red and bloated. At sight of George Talbot he smiled, but made no motion to get up from his chair.

Talbot didn't take off his hat or cloak, though both were wet with rain and spray. He stepped to the table and leaned on it with one hand, while he pointed his other gloved hand at the insolent-looking tax-collector. "You know who I am," said Talbot, in his deep, positive voice, "and I know who you are. I am chief of the deputy governors Lord Baltimore has appointed to care for his province during his absence; and you are a tax-collector."

"A representative of His Majesty the King of England," said the captain of the ship, as if to make out that his friend Rousby was a more important man.

"Let the fellow talk," said Rousby to the captain. "I've heard he was clever at making speeches."

His tone and manner were the height of insult. Talbot's face flushed, and Michael saw that his hand on the table doubled itself into a fist.

"Yes, I will talk," said Talbot, in a voice that could have been heard on deck. "And you will listen to me, whether you want to or no! I have a list of unjust taxes you've levied here in St. Mary's. The Devil only knows how many you've levied elsewhere." He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out the list he had made.

"I'll not listen to such speech on my own ship," said the captain, his hands on the arms of his chair as if he was about to stand up.

"Indeed you will!" roared Talbot. "This list is a list of crimes committed by your friend Christopher Rousby, representative of His Majesty the King of England in the province of Maryland." He opened the list and began to read the items, giving the names of the men in St. Mary's who had been unjustly taxed and the amount they had been forced to pay to the greedy collector.

The three men at the table grew restless; Rousby picked up his glass and drained it, the captain drummed on the arm of his chair with his fingers, the third man stared at the cabin-ceiling.

Talbot went on with his reading until he had finished the first page and turned to the second. Then Rousby broke in. "You can read all night," said he, "but I tell you now that all those taxes stand, and I'll collect more in future as pleases me."

"Even if you know they're illegal and unjust?" asked Talbot.

"Look you here," said Rousby, leaning forward. "The fact that I collect them makes them both legal and just. I am the law hereabouts, and I do as I please. If you don't like it, ride back to your own plantation, and leave matters here to your betters." His small bloodshot eyes sneered at Talbot.

Now Talbot's Irish blood was very quick and fiery. That word "betters" stung him, the look on Rousby's face infuriated him. "I don't admit any betters," said he. "In fact I only see inferiors before me." His voice was cold as steel, and as biting. Michael had never heard him speak like that before.

Rousby and the captain started to their feet.

"Keep out of this, you!" Talbot roared at the captain, and leaning across the table gave him such a push that he set him down in his chair. Then Talbot's gloved hand struck Rousby on the cheek. "Take that!" he cried. "If you want to settle the matter now, I'm ready!"

Rousby bellowed with rage. He gave the table a shove that sent it flying, and his fist shot out at Talbot. Talbot caught it and whirled the man around. Then Rousby grabbed the dagger he wore at his side and rushed at Talbot with it. Talbot stepped to one side, and the same instant drew his own knife. Rousby swung round at him again, dagger uplifted; but Talbot was the quicker. He struck with his knife, in the breast, pressed Rousby back and back until he leaned on the table.

It had all happened in the twinkling of an eye. Now the captain and the third man sprang forward. Each caught one of Talbot's arms and held it They were too late to save the collector, however. Talbot had stabbed him in the heart, and Christopher Rousby was dead.

The captain seized a pistol from a rack and leveled it at Talbot. "Drop your knife!" he ordered, "and surrender to His Majesty's officers! This is bad business for you! Murder of a royal agent!"

Talbot dropped the knife. "At your orders," he said. "I yield as your prisoner."

The other man caught up a rope and soon had the prisoner's hands bound behind him.

"Take him up on deck," said the captain. "And send two of the sailors down here to me."

The other officer marched Talbot up the companionway. Michael followed. On deck the officer stepped away from his prisoner long enough to speak to one of the sailors. While he was doing this Talbot whispered to Michael. "Get ashore," he whispered, "and tell the magistrate at St. Mary's what has happened. Then get word if you can to Sir William Talbot and to my wife."

It was dark on deck, a murky evening. Michael slipped over to the side of the ship, found the rope-ladder, and crawled down it to where the fisherman was still waiting in his boat. He didn't like to leave his master in the hands of his enemies, but he knew that Talbot wanted to be obeyed.

"Mr. Talbot is going to stay on board," Michael said to the boatman. "You're to row me to shore."

A little later he landed at St. Mary's. He was soaking wet and very cold, but he gave no thought to that.

II

Michael Rowan asked the boatman where the chief magistrate of St. Mary's lived, and, on being directed, went straight to the latter's house. To this man he told what had happened in the cabin of the ketch, how Rousby and Talbot had had a quarrel, how high words had passed between them, how Talbot had stabbed the tax-collector, and was now the captain's prisoner. The magistrate was very much alarmed.

"There's no knowing what they'll do to him!" he exclaimed with excitement. "Rousby treated us ill, there's no doubting that. But he was His Majesty's exciseman, and the killing of such, even in a righteous quarrel, is a mighty bad business! What's the captain going to do with Mr. Talbot?"

"I know no more about it than you," said Michael. "My master bade me give you the true account of what happened, and then told me to ride north to tell Mistress Talbot and help her rouse his friends to do what they could for him. You see he's kinsman to Sir William Talbot, and Sir William is nephew to Lord Baltimore."

The magistrate shook his head. "That might be of some avail if this affair concerned the province of Maryland alone," said he. "But Rousby was one of His Majesty's officers,--there's the difficulty."

"I must get my horse and start at once," declared Michael.

The magistrate went to "The Bell and Anchor" with Michael, helped him put bread and cheese in his saddle-bags, saw him mount his horse, and waved his hand as Michael set out up the village street. When the magistrate went to the water-front he learned that the ketch had weighed anchor and sailed to the south.

The night was cold and wet, and the road was dark and hard to follow; but Michael put his horse to the gallop and rode recklessly. His one thought was to reach Talbot's plantation on the Susquehanna as quickly as he could.

He rode until it grew so dark that he could not see to avoid overhanging boughs and holes in the road. Then he stopped at the next farmer's cabin, asked for a night's lodging, and was given a place to sleep before the hearth. At dawn he was off again, following the rude trail through the wilderness, making his meals from the food in his saddle-bags, and only stopping when he felt he must rest his horse.

That night he spent in a hunter's lodge, the next at a log house on the edge of a small village. He told the people who asked his business that he was on an errand for George Talbot, but he gave them no inkling of what the errand was.

He remembered the fords they had found on their journey south, and sought them again without much loss of time. Presently he came into country that he knew well, the upper shores of Chesapeake Bay where he had often ridden and hunted. Then he saw the familiar landmarks of Talbot's plantation, and was riding up the road to the door of the manor-house. He had pushed his horse to the utmost; he himself was tired and aching in every sinew and muscle. Late in the afternoon he threw himself from his mount and ran up the steps. He opened the main door and walked into the living-room, a muddy, bedraggled figure.

Mrs. Talbot was sitting at a spinet, a luxury brought out to Maryland from England. She stopped her playing and looked up as Michael entered. She saw he had important news. "What is it, Michael?" she asked.

He told her what had happened. She listened without interrupting him. Then she stood up. "Send your father and Edward Nigel to me at once," she said.

Michael went to his father's house, only a short distance from the big house, and then to the cabin of Edward Nigel. He gave each of them the message of Mrs. Talbot. Then he stabled the horse that had carried him so well all the way from St. Mary's. By that time the boy was too tired and sleepy even to taste the food that his mother had set out for him. He fell into his bed and was sound asleep.

Mrs. Talbot had great strength of character. She told her husband's two faithful Irish retainers that their master was now a prisoner, charged with the murder of a royal tax-collector. She said that they must set to work at once to see what could be done to aid him. She wrote out messages, one for Rowan to take immediately to influential friends in Baltimore City, the other for Nigel to carry to Annapolis. Then, when the two had set out, she and her maid prepared to journey to Baltimore City next day.

In a very short time the news had spread through the province. Men of influence, the members of the provincial council, met and took action in behalf of George Talbot. They had all disliked Rousby and the other royal excisemen, and almost all of them were close friends of the prisoner. The council sent messengers south to find out what the captain of the ketch had done with Talbot. The messengers returned with word that Talbot had been put in irons, that the captain had landed him in Virginia, and delivered him over to the governor, Lord Howard of Effingham, who had put him in prison at a small town on the Rappahannock River.

Lord Howard of Effingham had the name of being a greedy and tyrannical governor. The council of Maryland sent a request to him that Talbot should be tried by a court in Maryland. Lord Howard treated the request with contempt, saying that he meant to try Talbot himself, since the latter had killed one of His Majesty's officers, and he represented His Majesty in that part of the country. Talbot's friends knew what that meant. If Lord Howard sat in judgment on him Talbot's fate was sealed. There was a chance that a huge bribe might influence the governor of Virginia, but the chance was slim. So the council sent a messenger to Lord Baltimore in England, urging him to rescue his nephew's kinsman from Lord Howard's clutches.

Mrs. Talbot had done all she could through the council and other men of influence to help her husband, and their efforts seemed likely to bear very small results. Meantime Lord Howard of Effingham might decide to try George Talbot at any time. So the devoted wife determined to see what she could do herself. She had several long talks with Edward Nigel and Fergus and Michael Rowan, and they worked out a scheme for themselves.

On a cold day in the middle of winter a little skiff set sail from the landing-place at Talbot's plantation and headed for Chesapeake Bay. In the skiff were Mrs. Talbot, her two friends and retainers, Nigel and Rowan, and the faithful Michael. Fergus Rowan was a skilful sailor; he knew the river and the bay from long experience. He took the tiller, and the others, muffled up for protection from the high wind, watched water and shore as their little boat bobbed up and down on the waves.

The wind was favoring, and they made much better time than they would have done by riding through the wilderness. They spent the night at a small fishing-village, and were off again in the skiff next day. They sailed past Annapolis, on the River Severn, and went scudding down the bay to where the broad waters of the Potomac flowed into it. Rowan kept fairly close to the shore on their right, and presently changed his course to the west. Now they had come to the Rappahannock, and were sailing up it, keeping a close watch for a good place to land.

By night they had run into a little creek and made the skiff fast. A farmer's house was not far away, and the four headed for it. Fergus knocked on the door, and when a woman opened it he explained that they had expected to sail to a plantation farther up the Rappahannock, but that the darkness made navigation dangerous for one who was unfamiliar with the river. "There's a lady and three of us men," he said, "would be thankful for a night's lodging." Mrs. Talbot pushed back her fur hood, and the farmer's wife, looking at her, saw that she appeared to be of the quality, as the saying was, and invited them to step in.

The cabin was small; Fergus and Nigel and Michael shared the attic with the farmer, Jonas Dunham, while Mrs. Talbot was taken into Mrs. Dunham's room. They ate their supper on a table close to the kitchen hearth for warmth. Afterward Fergus inquired about the plantations farther up the river. Presently he chanced to say that he understood that the governor was holding Mr. Talbot of Maryland a prisoner somewhere in the neighborhood. That remark, innocently made, started Farmer Dunham's tongue to wagging. He said that the prison was about two miles distant, on the southern side of the river, and that it was true that Talbot was kept there. He made it pretty clear from what he said that the governor was not very popular along the Rappahannock, and that in his opinion Talbot had done a good job in killing one of the royal tax-collectors.

Mrs. Talbot and Fergus and Nigel each carried a bag of gold pieces, all that they had been able to gather in Maryland; and next morning they paid the farmer well for their food and lodging. They sailed up the river, close to the southern shore, in mist and rain, keeping a sharp lookout for the building that Dunham had described.

There was a small settlement on the shore, then woods, then a log building, square like a frontier fort, which they took for their goal. Fergus brought the skiff up to the bank, dropped the sail, and helped Mrs. Talbot to land. The mist had grown so thick that it hid objects a score of yards away.

Mrs. Talbot and Nigel stayed in the shelter of the woods while Fergus and Michael went up to the log house. They rapped on the door. A man with a grizzled beard opened it. Fergus asked him a few questions about the neighborhood, explaining that they were very wet and cold, and would like to find a tavern or some place where they could get a bottle of ale or brandy. The jailer said that one of his neighbors had spirits for sale, and suggested that he should show them the place. Fergus accepted the offer, and they went about half a mile down the road to the neighbor's, where Fergus showed a gold piece and was provided with a bottle of brandy.

Fergus saw that the jailer's glass was kept well filled. They became great friends across the table, and presently the jailer was telling his new acquaintances everything he knew. He had only one prisoner at present, a very fine gentleman from Maryland, Mr. George Talbot, and he felt very sorry for his prisoner because the latter's only crime was of falling foul of a tax-collector. Fergus suggested that the jailer hardly needed many assistants to keep guard over one man. The jailer answered that he only had two assistants, a young fellow only just lately arrived from England, and a lout of a boy.

When Fergus had learned all he wanted he paid for the bottle of brandy, tucked the bottle under his arm, and with Michael, walked back to the log house with the bearded man. There he thanked the latter for his kindness, and presented him with the bottle, which was still half filled. It seemed very probable that the jailer would use up the rest of the brandy on such a damp day.

The two went back to the woods and made their report. In the skiff there were provisions, and Mrs. Talbot and her friends had dinner there, and tried to keep as much out of the wet as they could. Then they waited for dusk, and the two men and the boy looked to the priming of their pistols.

The men, muffled in greatcoats, the woman, in fur cloak and hood, went up to the log house in the winter twilight. Nigel beat on the door with his fist, and after a considerable wait the door was opened by a young fellow, who looked as if he had only just been waked from a sound nap.

Mrs. Talbot, slipping her hood back from her head, smiled at the rather dull-looking fellow. "Can you shelter me from the storm?" she asked, in most appealing tones. "I'm wet and cold, and I'm afraid we've lost our way."

The boy didn't often see such a fine-looking woman, evidently no farmer's wife, but one of the gentry. "I'll go ask Master Hugh," he said. "Step in from the wet. This is no tavern, but a prison, my lady. Howsomever, I'll go ask Master Hugh."

The fellow hurried away, and Mrs. Talbot and her three companions stepped in. In a minute the serving-lad was back. "Master Hugh'll see you in his room," he announced, jerking his head in the direction of that apartment.

He stood aside, while the lady, Nigel and Michael went to the jailer's room. Fergus, hanging back a minute, slipped a gold piece into the fellow's hand, whispering, "A lady of quality. Be sure you speak her fairly." The youth squinted at the piece of money, a coin of greater value than any he had seen.

Master Hugh was drinking the last of the brandy as the party entered his room. The candle-light showed that he was far more disposed to be merry than suspicious. "A lady!" he exclaimed, getting to his feet and bowing. "'Tis a shame things are so rude here! Be seated, my lady." Then, recognizing Fergus and Michael, he smiled broadly. "Well met, my friends. Sit ye down. 'Tis a raw night. We must make ourselves comfortable." He glanced at the brandy bottle. "If I'd known company was coming, I'd have been more ready to give welcome," he added.

Mrs. Talbot loosened her cloak and smiled at the jailer as if she was delighted at his hospitality. "It's very agreeable here, I do assure you, Master Hugh," she said. "Good company is better than wine or food."

"So I think," said the jailer, flattered at the lady's graciousness.

"If my son and I might go out to the kitchen to dry our feet----" suggested Fergus.

"George, show them to the kitchen fire," the jailer ordered the boy, who stood staring in the doorway.

Mrs. Talbot drew her chair a little closer to Master Hugh. "My skiff met with a mishap as I was on my way to visit friends up the river," she said. And then she used all her arts to fascinate the jailer.

Fergus and Michael followed George to the kitchen. A man was scouring an iron pot on the hearth and looked up in some surprise. "They wants to dry their feet," George explained.

Fergus and his son pulled off their boots, showing their wet stockings. "Could Master Hugh spare you long enough to run down to the village and fetch us a bottle of brandy?" Fergus asked, and he held another shining gold piece so that George could catch its glitter.

George thought he had never seen such attractive strangers. "I think he might," he said, and left the room in haste, intent on winning the second coin.

The man at the hearth, seeing the gold piece, made room for the two strangers to stand near the fire. He also grew talkative, as Fergus, in a very friendly fashion, asked him various questions. He said there were only four men in the house at present, Master Hugh, the boy George, himself, and a prisoner, who lodged in a small room off the kitchen. He indicated the door to the prisoner's room.

"We have a lady with us," Fergus said after a time. "She's cold with being so long out in the rain. If you could build up the fire I might ask her in here to warm herself. She'll pay you well for your trouble." He held out a gold piece to the man, who took it readily enough, slipped it into his pocket, and straightway commenced to put new logs on the fire.

As the man placed the last log and turned to stand up again he found himself confronting a pistol-barrel. "Not a word!" murmured Fergus. "Keep your hands at your side!" He nodded to Michael, who had pulled a cord from under his jacket. "Bind him fast," he ordered. "Now we've no wish to do you harm," he added to his prisoner. "Only a rope round your hands and a cloth over your mouth. We'll put a couple more gold pieces in your pocket too, so that if you lose this place you'll have enough to find you another."

The pistol kept the man quiet until he was bound and gagged. Then Fergus slipped two coins into his pocket. That done, he ran to the door and drew back the bolt. But he found the door was not only bolted, but locked as well. He had no time to hunt for the key, so he threw himself against the door, and at the third try found the lock gave way. On a stool inside sat George Talbot. To his amazed master Fergus explained quickly what they must do.

Fergus and Michael and Talbot, all in their stocking-feet, their boots in their hands, stole down the hall. The lady who was entertaining Master Hugh had asked Nigel to close the door behind her so as to shut out the draught. The three men crept down the hall, past the jailer's door, and slipped out of the house. There they drew their boots on. Then Michael hurried his master down to the edge of the woods and the waiting skiff.

Fergus went back to the jailer's room. "I've sent my boy to the village to engage you a room for the night, my lady," said he. "If you are warm and rested, we might make our start."