Travelling Rifleman

Cotton had let Buttons off the leash. The animal scrabbled about for a bit, then caught the scent again and headed for a clump of trees. There was a yelp and Cotton frowned.

"I'm all right," he said. He hadn't lost that much stamina, had he? He managed to catch Newbury up, suddenly missing the solid weight of his rifle.

"Whoever's in there, come out here where we can see you," Cotton said, hoping like hell that the dog hadn't been killed. That was going to piss the Major off mightily, if he had been.

The thief had meant to strike a blow to kill the dog. But the animal was just fortunate enough that it avoided the blade from hitting it dead. The knife still sunk into the flesh, but the dog seemed smart or in pain enough to leap away rather than toward the man.

It was bleeding profously and the next strike had it lie dazed while his attacker turned to flee. He backed, when he heard the voice. His gaze was a bit wild, staring around himself, thinking that a dog would leap out of another bush in a given moment. He could not afford to run and expose his back to one. It was the only place he could not easily defend. Instead he drew back a bit more, holding his dagger. ''Turn n' leave back to your house.. it will be safest for you and your mutts!'' He demanded still out of view.

Then he stepped , foot over foot, closer again. But he did this only so that he would be closer to the men, should they come. He could not run, not yet. But the first man coming past his tree, would certainly feel the blade to his throat.

The dog had been hurt, somehow. That was enough for Newbury. He quickened his step and cut sharply around the stand of trees, thinking to get on the other side of the still-unseen assailant. It was a spineless bastard who struck out at a dog from concealment, that was for sure. All the more reason to knock him onto his arse.

"Newbury!" Cotton wished like hell that he had his rifle, or even his sword, with him. He headed around the tree the other way, hoping to distract the thief, whoever he was. By giving him two targets, hopefully he'd get confused about which one to go for.

There was more barking in the distance, and a voice calling "Cotton! Mister Cotton!" Maggie had sent young Robert after all, and he was bringing more hounds.

"Come on out of there!" Cotton called. He could hear the baying of the rest of the pack. "We'll just track you down if you don't give yourself up!"

He was outnumbered. That he had known when he started off. Two men at best. One dog. But now, a third voice came, and there was more barking and seemed to be much more than a single hound that would soon be at his tail. He cursed. No man could outrun the dogs, even if they might be able to outrun the men. He did not mean to be hanged though, for thieves were hanged. And he would be caught red handed with these chickens that he had in his dirty bag.

He turned about. Perhaps an ambush was no longer a choice, perhaps fleeing as fast as he could master, and hoping that the dogs would be let out too late was the only thing he could do. Whatever the alternatives, he intented to run and that he all of a sudden did. Breaking off in the direction from which he could not hear any voices, nor threats.

The fugitive broke and ran. "Hoi! You! Get back here, or I'll set the dogs on you!" He thought the other looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't see him properly, and thought no more of it.

Get back? The man did not think him stupid, did he? His only option was to run. He ducked around a turn, down under a low lying branch, suddenly to the left as abruptly that he nearly slipped. He might have seen something that made him turn. But then he was off again, tired and hungry and unwilling to stop. The thought of the bawling hounds only made him try and press on. One man, two men, wherever the second could have been.

If only there would have been a stream, or a fence he could climb over and the dogs could not follow. He was running in the direction he thought could bring him to a fence, but it was still a distance from it. His belly rumbled and he bit his lip. He willed it to shut up and give him instead the needed boost. If it helped, it would be fed with a good saucy chicken in the evening!

What on earth was going on? Cotton and another man were chasing a third man across the grounds, with Robert trying to control half his hunting dogs. The fugitive looked like Zachary Pye. And the other man with Cotton looked like Joe Newbury. There was definitely something peculiar going on here.

He stood up in the stirrups. "Stand fast there!" he bellowed, in a voice that had been trained to shout orders across the fury of battle.

Pye stopped. He might not have recognised the voices of before, but it was that of once captain Vicery, the man who accepted him into the rifles, that he knew well enough. His innitial thought was to run again, but he stood there, as if following the order given on the field. Only , he was no longer a soldier, and this was not a battlefield.

He turned, looking in the direction from where the shout came. Of all the estates to steal from, he had wished to avoid such a one. Torn between fleeing and standing there, he looked an even sorrier appearance.

He looked as much like a startled rabbit as ever, to Vickery's mind. The few years of the peace obviously hadn't been good years for the ex-Rifleman. And Newbury was here, too.

"Robert, take the dogs back to the kennels," he called, walking his horse towards where Pye was, standing looking more lost than ever. "All right, Pye, come on. It seems to be a day for meeting old friends, does it not? Though I dare say you didn't realise this was my estate or you wouldn't be running the way you were."

"'scuse me, sir. Didn' mean ter." Pye hurried to say, his eyes downcast. "Didn' know it wos yers. Wouldn't'ave.... done nothing, if I knew it was..." He didn't exactly said he did, but it was obvious enough by that honest, guilty expression on his face. So, the man he ran from, was Cotton? And the other, ... if his memory wasn't wrong, it had to be Newbury.

It downed on him then, that he might have killed Vickery's hound and he seemed to look even lower then. "Didn't know .. it wos ..your dogs sir.."

Vickery slipped from the saddle, handing the reins to Cotton, who had caught them up by now.

"You look like a hen caught out in the rain," he said. "Cheer up. It's not the end of the world. I'm sure Cook can find something for you to eat, and then we'll have to find a place for you. And Newbury as well, by the looks of things."

"There's Buttons, sir," Robert said, and Vickery turned to see the lad cradling the dog. It wasn't dead, in fact it was trying feebly to wag its tail.

"Right, take him round to the stables and let Cotton have a look at him." Vickery turned back to Pye. "I think I need to speak with Newbury, which will give you time to have something to eat and get cleaned up before I see you. And if you took anything, give it to Cotton who will see it's put away safely. After all, if I don't know about you taking anything, I can't do anything about it. Understand?"

"Sir, yes , sir." It was a great relief to be let of in that way. Vickery probably knew, and if he did not, he would not learn of any dead chickens in his life time. Not the ones killed on this day. He looked at Cotton and nodded , more grateful about the promise of food than he had been years ago.

"Sir." He made a salute, falling back into his old routine. He was no longer in the army, but it was hard not to act in such a way, with Vickery there.

He turned to follow after Cotton quickly, not daring to meet Newbury's gaze. He had only then realised how close the man was to catching him as well.

Vickery touched his hat to the lad and made his own way up to the house. What a turn of events the day had produced!

"Food first, I think," Cotton said. "Only the way you are at the moment, would you mind eatin' in the stables? We can have a catch-up while I see to Buttons, and get one of the stable lads to see to Caesar here."

"Food's fine with me, anywhere's." The stables would be grand. Warm enough, he wouldn't mind thesmell if they had it, and then there was hay, which could prove to be a perfect bedding . He smiled and looked at Cotton, now reconising the face very well. "Is a nice place you live in. Real grand. Lots of plump...... i think I will have to return summat..of those."

"Thought there was one or two of them missin'," Cotton said easily. "Anythin' else you need to let me have while we'm about it?" He turned to Robert. "Here, lad, would you tell Maggie that we need some food for Zack Pye, once you've put them dogs back? We'll be in the stables if she wants to bring it herself."

"Um.. some o' these... thought they was worth something if sold." Of course he had waited for Robert to leave before showing the stolen bits. "I'll take 'em all out... in t' stables if yer want. I swear it will be all I have taken."

"It can wait till we'm alone. An' I know that'll be all you've took." Cotton led the way around the house to the stables, where he handed the horse over to one of the stable-hands who came out to meet them, before guiding Pye into an empty stall with clean straw strewn on the floor. He laid the dog down gently before sending a young lad for some water and a few rags.

"Right, you tell me about it while I see to Buttons here," he said, kneeling by the dog's side to tend to its wound. The dog whined softly, thumping the tip of its tail against the floor.

Pye stood awkwardly close enough to Cotton, but well away from the dog he had hit. He still disliked these creatures, finding more marks on his legs to add to the unfriendly experience he had shared with them. He placed his bag down, opened it and from it began to sort the things he had picked off from Vickery's rooms, when he was first there. He placed the chickens there with them, and looked a bit unhappy about that. Less troubled he was when he placed all the things of worth on the floor, careful to still keep it clean.

"T' army wos' a good source o' feed...unlike this... this'un life is ,.. stinks really." Which was a bit of his own description too. " You work fer Vickery, sir? Does Newbury too? N' your wife, she lives here?"

"Aye, the army was good, for what it was," Cotton said, gently cleaning the wound as he spoke. "Aye, I still work for the Captain. The Major, I should say. Newbury don't, yet - he only just come today, hopin' to get taken on a footman or some such. An' Maggie works here too. She's sort of the housekeeper." He glanced across at the younger man. "I dare say there'll be a job for you if you want, lad. The Major's pretty much only just bought the place, we'm still settlin' in like."

"A job?" As much as work might have been more tiresome than wandering about every day, it promised a regular feed, a place to sleep in, warm days inside, when outside the winds would chill the bones of the hardiest. He looked sideways at Cotton and shrugged:" Don't think you can say Major Vickery would need me, when's I dun'.. much know to do many things that others don't do better. I'd like ter. Have.. a work I mean.. a job. I would. If him, sir, would want ter take me in. Will he do so , fer Newbury? Did he say it?"

"Ain't had a chance to ask him about Newbury yet. Only just seen him for the first time since afore brekuss jus' now, when he come up an' yelled fit to bust." He'd done what he could for Buttons and now sat up, pulling his ankles so that he was sitting cross-legged in the straw. "Question is, if we find summat for you to do, would you want to stay here with us?"