The Poacher; Or, Joseph Rushbrook

“It’s all the same, my little poacher—it’s a hunt, at all events. They are gaining on us fast; we shall soon come to an explanation.”

The courier now climbed up to the coach-box to reconnoitre, and he shook his head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it; that he had heard that the wolves were out in consequence of the extreme severity of the weather, and that he feared that these seven were only the advance of a whole pack; that they had many versts to go, for the stage was a long one, and it would be dark before they were at the end of it.

“Have you ever been chased by them before?” said Joey.

“Yes,” replied the courier, “more than once; it’s the horses that they are so anxious to get hold of. Three of our horses are very good, but the fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that he will not hold out; however, we must keep them off as long as we can; we must not shoot at them till the last moment.”

“Why not?” inquired McShane.

“Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redouble their efforts to come up with us. There is an empty bottle by you, sir; throw it on the road behind the carriage; that will stop them for a time.”

“An empty bottle stop them! well, that’s queer: it may stop a man drinking, because he can get no mote out of it. However, as you please, gentlemen; here’s to drink my health, bad manners to you,” said McShane, throwing the bottle over the carriage.

The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, the wolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there is a trap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round it cautiously; the carriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animals were nearly out of sight.

“Well, that bothers me entirely,” said McShane; “an empty bottle is as good to them as a charged gun.”

“But look, sir, they are coming on again,” said Joey, “and faster than ever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it.”

The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and McShane were standing. “I think you had a ball of twine,” said he to Joey, “when you were tying down the baskets; where is it?”

“It is here under the cushion,” replied Joey, searching for the twine and producing it.

“What shall we find to tie to it?” said the courier; “something not too heavy—a bottle won’t do.”

“What’s it for?” inquired McShane.

“To trail, sir,” replied the courier.

“To trail! I think they’re fast enough upon our trail already; but if you want to help them, a red herring’s the thing.”

“No, sir, a piece of red cloth would do better,” replied the courier.

“Red cloth! One would think you were fishing for mackerel,” replied McShane.

“Will this piece of black cloth do, which was round the lock of the gun?” said Joey.

“Yes, I think it will,” replied the courier.

The courier made fast the cloth to the end of the twine, and throwing it clear of the carriage, let the ball run out, until he had little more than the bare end in his hand, and the cloth was about forty yards behind the carriage, dragging over the snow.

“They will not pass the cloth, sir,” said the courier; “they think that it’s a trap.”

Sure enough the wolves, which had been gaining fast on the carriage, now retreated again; and although they continued the pursuit, it was at a great distance.

“We have an hour and a half more to go before we arrive, and it will be dark, I’m afraid,” said the courier; “all depends upon the horse holding out; I’m sure the pack is not far behind.”

“And how many are there in a pack?” inquired McShane.

The courier shrugged up his shoulders. “Perhaps two or three hundred.”

“Oh! the devil! Don’t I wish I was at home with Mrs McShane.”

For half an hour they continued their rapid pace, when the horse referred to showed symptoms of weakness. Still the wolves had not advanced beyond the piece of black cloth which trailed behind the carriage.

“I think that, considering that they are so hungry, they are amazing shy of the bait,” said McShane. “By all the powers, they’ve stopped again!”

“The string has broke, sir, and they are examining the cloth,” cried Joey.

“Is there much line left?” inquired the courier, with some alarm.

“No, it has broken off by rubbing against the edge of the carriage behind.”

The courier spoke to the driver, who now rose from his seat and lashed his horses furiously; but although three of the horses were still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with them, and there was every prospect of his being dragged down on his knees, as more than once he stumbled and nearly fell. In the meantime the wolves had left the piece of cloth behind them, and were coming up fast with the carriage.

“We must fire on them now, sir,” said the courier, going back to his seat, “or they will tear the flanks of the horses.”

McShane and Joey seized their guns, the headmost wolf was now nearly ahead of the carriage; Joey fired, and the animal rolled over in the snow.

“That’s a good shot, Joey; load again; here’s at another.”

McShane fired, and missed the animal, which rushed forward; the courier’s pistol, however, brought it down, just as he was springing on the hindmost horses.

O’Donahue, astonished at the firing, now lowered down the glass, and inquired the reason. McShane replied, that the wolves were on them, and that he’d better load his pistols in case they were required.

The wolves hung back a little upon the second one falling, but still continued the chase, although at a more respectable distance. The road was now on a descent, but the sick horse could hardly hold on his legs.

“A little half-hour more and we shall be in the town,” said the courier, climbing up to the coach-seat, and looking up the road they had passed; “but Saint Nicholas preserve us!” he exclaimed; and he turned round and spoke in hurried accents to the driver in the Russian language.

Again the driver lashed furiously, but in vain; the poor horse was dead-beat.

“What is the matter now?” inquired McShane.

“Do you see that black mass coming down the hill? it’s the main pack of wolves; I fear we are lost; the horse cannot go on.”

“Then why not cut his traces, and go on with the three others?” cried Joey.

“The boy is right,” replied the man, “and there is no time to lose.” The courier went down on the sleigh, spoke to the driver in Russian, and the horses were pulled up. The courier jumped out with his knife, and commenced cutting the traces of the tired horse, while the other three, who knew that the wolves were upon them, plunged furiously in their harness, that they might proceed. It was a trying moment. The five wolves now came up; the first two were brought down by the guns of McShane and Joey, and O’Donahue killed a third from the carriage windows.

One of the others advanced furiously, and sprang upon the horse which the courier was cutting free. Joey leapt down, and put his pistol to the animal’s head, and blew out his brains, while McShane, who had followed our hero, with the other pistol disabled the only wolf that remained.

But this danger which they had escaped from was nothing compared to that which threatened them; the whole pack now came sweeping like a torrent down the hill, with a simultaneous yell which might well strike terror into the bravest. The horse, which had fallen down when the wolf seized him, was still not clear of the sleigh, and the other three were quite unmanageable. McShane, Joey, and the courier, at last drew him clear from the track; they jumped into their places, and away they started again like the wind, for the horses were maddened with fear. The whole pack of wolves was not one hundred yards from them when they recommenced their speed, and even then McShane considered that there was no hope. But the horse that was left on the road proved their salvation; the starved animals darted upon it, piling themselves one on the other, snarling and tearing each other in their conflict for the feast. It was soon over; in the course of three minutes the carcass had disappeared, and the major portion of the pack renewed their pursuit; but the carriage had proceeded too far ahead of them, and their speed being now uninterrupted, they gained the next village, and O’Donahue had the satisfaction of leading his terrified bride into the chamber of the post-house, where she fainted as soon as she was placed in a chair.

“I’ll tell you what, Joey, I’ve had enough of wolves for all my life,” said McShane; “and Joey, my boy, you’re a good shot in the first place, and a brave little fellow in the next; here’s a handful of roubles, as they call them, for you to buy lollipops with, but I don’t think you’ll find a shop that sells them hereabouts. Never mind, keep your sweet tooth till you get to old England again; and after I tell Mrs McShane what you have done for us this day, she will allow you to walk into a leg of beef, or round a leg of mutton, or dive into a beefsteak pie, as long as you live, whether it be one hundred years more or less. I’ve said it, and don’t you forget it; and now, as the wolves have not made their supper upon us, let us go and see what we can sup upon ourselves.”

Chapter Sixteen

Return to England