Page:Weird Tales v15n01 1930-01.djvu/108

reached the gate. The guard, awakened by the clamor of their fellow, appeared in the sooty gloom of the guardhouse. Two storm lanterns, one on each side of the gate, cast a small circle of illumination around its base. Here the four burly forms of the guards ran about confusedly.

"Through them, Davie, and unbar the gate!" roared Kidd in the youth's ear. "I'll tend this mangy crew!"

"Aye!" cried Davie, leaping forward. He lusted for the clash of steel; for the fierce hand-to-hand struggle that stirred the blood; for the reckless victory that would lift them from this hell-hole and make men of them once more. But Kidd was ahead of him. With sword in hand he had jumped full in the center of their foes. Before he had recovered his balance he parried the slash of a broadsword and pricked an antagonist in the throat. Davie, before he could break through, found himself confronted by a huge fellow, who swung savagely at him with his weapon. Their blades met with a shower of sparks.

Davie, no novice, sliced and parried with his cutlas till he severed his opponent's arm. Kidd, as Davie reached the gate, beat down a leveled pistol, inclined his head to avoid a murderous blow, ran the man through and almost in the same breath stepped a pace to the right to engage the fourth opponent—and all this with the cool precision of a fencing-master, unhurried, a flush of obvious enjoyment on his pallid cheeks.

Davie raised the heavy bar and turned to see the last man fall. As Kidd ran toward him there came sounds of confusion from the jail, and with all haste they pushed wide the gate and were soon without the walls.

"To horse!" cried Kidd, his voice hollow, though not without a ring of triumph. He led the way across the cobbled street to the darkest shadows of some trees. Two horses stamped restlessly, bridled and saddled.

"Thou must make London, lad, and the 'Kerrigan Arms.' Friends await thee there." Kidd's voice was lost amid the shrieking wind.

"And thou?" questioned Davie as he mounted.

"Begone!" cried Kidd. "I follow close!"

In the teeth of the wind Davie rode toward London. Betimes he could hear hoofbeats behind him, but soon the voice of the wind was become a sullen animal roar, riven at intervals by distant crashes of thunder, and as the roar became a howl, a clamor, anon the hoofbeats died away.

Davie Bartmey crossed the sanded floor of the taproom to where two men sat silent and gloomy.

"Bentley! Cotton!" he exclaimed joyfully. The men addressed came out of their revery in a flash and looked into the face of the newcomer.

"Thou!" gasped the one called Bentley. "Alive? We thought thee hanged. How comes it, Davie?"

Cotton stared in silence, unbelieving, his very gaze betokening interrogation.

"With Kidd's assistance I escaped from Newgate this night past."

"Impossible!" retorted Bentley, while Cotton drew askance.

"Nay, 'tis a fact," insisted Davie. "Side by side we hacked our way to freedom. Even now Kidd follows close behind me."

For a time there was silence. Cotton glanced at Bentley as if seeking understanding, but finding none he closed his eyes in bewilderment. Davie noted his friends' strange behavior, but could not guess its purport. At length Bentley, stirring uneasily, lifted his eyes from the floor and turned to Davie.

"Knowest not that Kidd was executed yesterday at dawn?"

"'Tis a lie!" cried Davie.

"Nay," said Bentley firmly. "We saw him hanged!