Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 113: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a i ee ROVING JACK, THE PIRATE HUNTER. ~ 133 a ass -He once more pressed the blushing girl to his heart, Then he remounted. “Farewell, my peerless Egyptian,” he laughed, as he gallantly waved his laced hat. ‘‘They must ride swift to overtake me,” ‘‘ Away ! away !” cried the girl. At this moment a throng of the Bow Street runners burst forth from the wood, and came rush- ing towards the spot where the bighwayman still lingered. Jonathan Wild and the farmer were the leaders of this party. ‘Give me law !” shouted Tom King, ‘A start of a dozen lengths, and then catch me who can !” The farmer laughed. Jonathan Wild thundered an oath, and fired a shot at the desperate outlaw. Jael screamed. “Off, my lass,” cried Tom to the gipsy girl, “These villains may illtreat you.” “No, that they shan’t,” cried the farmer, ‘Off, you vagabond ; we'll ride you down before you get out of the forest,”’ “Don’t halloo till you’re out of the wood!” arened Tom, ‘Come on, you sluggards! Tally fe ” And away he rushed at a reckless pace. Enraged at having missed his aim, Jonathan Wild dashed his pistol to the earth. He spurred on. As he passed Jael he lashed viciously at her with his whip. “i She cowered down, however, and avoided the ow. Away flew Lightfoot, now refreshed and full of mettle, - Away sped the others in hot chase. The farmer, the best mounted of the party, forged ahead. The farmer drew a pistol from his holster, Still he seemed loth to fire. Tom King, who had turned in the saddle, and had also drawn a pistol, perceived this, He replaced the weapon. He laughed, and, waying his hat, cheered the old hunter. Still onwards he sped, The boughs rustled past. The farmer kept close on his flanks, Soon he was close alongside. “You have a pocket-book of mine,’ panted the farmer, ‘‘ containing notes for fifty pounds. Yield it up, you dog !” “T will to you,” laughed Tom King, throwing the book on the ground. “ Pick it up.” “‘T’ll see you hanged first !”’ roared the farmer, dashing on to the chase, regardless of all but over- taking his man, Jonathan Wild was third in the race, For many yards the old farmer and the highway- man rode side by side. Oakley attempted to catch the robber’s rein. Tom King clubbed his pistol. ‘Hold off |” he shouted. ‘I don’t want to harm you,” Lightfoot sprang desperately onwards. The farmer’s noble horse began to show signs of exhaustion, Tom King had now a fair lead. Away and away he darted, leaping over every obstacle that impeded his rush, Over meadow, through copse, and along the rustling corn-srofts, the hunted and the jhunters | swept madly on, Tom King led them a wild chase, He leaped hedge, ditch, and brook. At some distance from the wood there was a village, through which the road passed, and the highwayman galloped towards it. As he passed under the banks on either side the road, a shout was heard, and a number of men were seen running along beneath the trees. They consisted of country labourers and Quilt Arnold’s party of Bow Street runners, Tom King entered the village, He dashed up the main street, A party of tipplers gathered at the door of the principal inn, laughed and cheered the dashing- looking fellow as he flew past the porch. There was a little bridge that crossed the brook, and over it Tom rattled at a fyrious gallop. _ Beyond was an orchard, through which the Bow Street runners were hurrying, shaking the fruit- laden boughs as they rushed under them, and bringing the ripe apples hailing down. Quilt Arnold clambered over the wall, and dis- charged his carbine at the highwayman. The bullet passed through his flowing hair. At the same moment, Tom King being close- pressed by Barnesdale, turned and fired at him, The officer was hit in the shoulder, He uttered a dismal yell, tossed up his arms, and rolled out of the saddle. Infuriated by the injury done to their comrade, the runners growled fierce oaths, fired their pistols in a volley, and spurred hard to overtake the fugitive. But Lightfoot bore on gallantly. The old farmer, whose face looked as red as the sun through a November fog, kept up a desperate ace, Tom King, however, gained ground slowly and surely, and about noon had left his pursuers far behind him, He turned into a narrow, rugged lane, and followed its windings till he reached a lonely _ dingle. Here he drew rein, His horse panted and quivered, hung her beau: tiful head, and showed every sign of extremé distress. The highwayman dismounted. For an instant -he stood hat in hand, a triumphant smile lighting up his manly face, inwardly chuckling over his escape. Then he turned his glance upon his splendid courser, which had borne him so bravely through the perilous day. He patted her neck, and spoke soothingly to her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and caressed his cheek. Tom King led her into the bush, She walked very lamely. Not many steps had she proceeded before she staggered, and, sinking on the earth, stretched her fine but strong limbs, threw back her moulded neck, and panteéd with exhaustion. Tom looked at her with pride and affection, He left her. Wearily retracing his steps, for he was stiff and tired after his long and furious ride, Tom came to a stile half way down the lane. He clambered over it, and, crossing a meadow, entered a corn field, and filled his pockets with rain. E Returning to the side of his exhausted steed, he fed her with the corn. The beautiful creature turned her eloquent eyes ae i I et ) COMNICOOOKS CO