Highwayman- The Complete Campaigns by Michael Arnold

Author:Michael Arnold [Arnold, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2020-03-23T22:00:00+00:00

10

Colonel Francis Maddocks knew the Ironside Highwayman the moment he saw him. Lyle’s lean, spare physique, his dark cloak, his wide hat with fair hair sprouting beneath the rim, were the stuff of Maddocks’ nightmares. He kicked hard, raking his horse’s flanks brutally, and jerking one of his twin pistols from its holster. “We have him now, men!” he brayed, standing in the stirrups, and shooting into the darkness. “We have him now!”

He galloped through the plume of smoke, squinting hard, but evidently the pistol ball had flown wide. He yearned for the others to shoot, but knew they could not. As mounted infantry, dragoons carried muskets, and could not discharge them effectively from the saddle. With a roared oath he thrust his weapon home and did not bother with the second, the range too great. Instead he drew his long backsword, straightened his arm and peered along the steel’s sleek length, the point hovering over Lyle’s chest.

And Samson Lyle ran.

The outlaw spun on his heels, bolting back towards the cottage, and for a moment Maddocks thought he might entrap himself within, the dandy fox finally brought to ground. But then he veered right, away from the road, and Maddocks kicked again, determined the undergrowth would be no hindrance to pursuit. Only then did he see where the fugitive was headed. Three horses waited in the tree line. Two — a black and a roan — bore figures on their backs, both masked. The third carried only an empty saddle. The beast was a big grey, and he knew it instantly. Had ridden at its side in more fights than he could remember. He hated the mere sight of it.

“Cut him off!” Maddocks screamed above the cacophony of his own stallion’s hooves. “Cut him off, damn your eyes!”

Already the trio of waiting horses were turning. The mounted pair spurred forwards, passing between two wizened trees to vanish onto an ancient track, leaving the grey in their wake. Lyle reached it, hooking the toe-end of his boot into the stirrup. Maddocks howled in rage, released the reins to steer with his thighs, and freed his second pistol. His dragoons were charging in his wake, but their slung muskets rendered them impotent. Only when they halted could the weapons be brought to bear.

Lyle swung himself up into the saddle with the agility of an acrobat. He was lashing the grey with hands and feet, willing the creature into a gallop.

Maddocks was thirty paces short now. “Shoot!” he screamed left and right. “The mount will take fright!” He knew his was the only firearm worthy of the name in a chase, but perhaps the sounds of the muskets might take a toll upon the cowardly stallion.

Some of his dragoons were firing now, having slewed to a standstill and dismounted. They would be unsighted and next to useless, but the noise was as terrific as he had hoped. He emptied his own pistol at Lyle’s back, blinding himself by the flashing pan and gout of smoke.

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