Read Online The Highwayman's Footsteps by Nicola Morgan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Morgan
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are you?â I shouted. My voice was as weak as smoke, blown away on the wind. No reply came back, only another swirl of snow.
I walked forward. What choice did I have? I walked on and the ground was firm beneath the snow. But where was the lantern, the horse, the rider? Whom might I thank? There was nothing to be seen, merely motionless shadows and shapes disappearing deep into the night.
I looked at the ground in front of me. The snow was covering everything quickly, large flakes settling with increasing thickness. But surely ⦠I stepped forward, bent down to see more clearly. Surely these were hoof prints? I ran forward, following them as fast as I could, before they could be covered completely.
After a few moments, I could see them no more. They had simply disappeared. When I looked behind me, there were the ones I had followed, still just visible. But there were none in front. Perhaps the snow had been shallower here. Perhaps the horse had begun to gallop and its prints were further from where I was looking? Perhaps I had lost my sense of direction again?
At that moment, just when I was wondering which way to turn, I heard a sound. The unmistakable whinny of a horse. I listened again. Once more it came, muffled, from my right. That was the direction I took, caring nothing if it might be dangerous, wanting only to find the person who had helped me. I needed his help still. I did not know where I was or what to look for. Bessâs instructions would be useless now that I was far from her path.
A few yards further on, a little way up the slope, I could make out the shape of a building in front of me. I halted, hesitant once more. There were no lights, no smoke, just the dark shadows of the walls and the outline of a roof against the night sky. I heard the horse again, the soft noise of its feet moving. It seemed to come from the black hole of an open doorway â a wide doorway â of a stable or barn.
As I walked towards it, the snow began to fall less heavily. I looked around, but could see no movement, of horse or human. No danger. Apart from the black doorway. Anything could be in there, anyone, waiting for me to come in, ready for me. But of whom was I afraid? Who could be lying in wait, and why? If someone had guided me in safety across the marsh, why would he do so if he then meant me harm?
Although reason told me there was little danger, my beating heart said otherwise. I walked forward as strongly as I could, looking behind me as often as I looked ahead and pulling both pistols from my belt. There was no time to check their priming and I knew there was a strong chance that the powder had not stayed dry. I put one pistol back and took the knife from my bag in place of it. Pistol in one hand, knife in the other fist, blade pointing upwards, I walked firmly on. And as I came to the doorway, I sprang forward with a shout which sounded braver than I felt.
Chapter Sixteen
N o one leapt back at me. No one shouted. I peered into the darkness. I could see nothing. I strained my eyes and ears. But it was my nose that told me what the barn contained. Horse. The unmistakable smell of warm horse.
As I stood there, slightly away from the open doorway, waiting for my eyes to become used to the deeper blackness, I heard a sound, footsteps, slow footsteps, coming towards me. But not human, I knew. Horse. What I did not know was whether there was a rider. I held my knife out in front of me.
It was only the horse, riderless. He came towards me and put his head over the top of his stall as if I were an old friend, trusting me, or perhaps sensing that I was no danger to him. Horses know such things, I believe. He put his muzzle in my hand. I could tell little of his appearance or breeding in the darkness, only sense his size and power.
Reassured by his friendliness, I went into the stall with him. Now, I could tell he was well-bred, muscled, strong in his tall withers, his mane finely groomed. I felt his
I walked forward. What choice did I have? I walked on and the ground was firm beneath the snow. But where was the lantern, the horse, the rider? Whom might I thank? There was nothing to be seen, merely motionless shadows and shapes disappearing deep into the night.
I looked at the ground in front of me. The snow was covering everything quickly, large flakes settling with increasing thickness. But surely ⦠I stepped forward, bent down to see more clearly. Surely these were hoof prints? I ran forward, following them as fast as I could, before they could be covered completely.
After a few moments, I could see them no more. They had simply disappeared. When I looked behind me, there were the ones I had followed, still just visible. But there were none in front. Perhaps the snow had been shallower here. Perhaps the horse had begun to gallop and its prints were further from where I was looking? Perhaps I had lost my sense of direction again?
At that moment, just when I was wondering which way to turn, I heard a sound. The unmistakable whinny of a horse. I listened again. Once more it came, muffled, from my right. That was the direction I took, caring nothing if it might be dangerous, wanting only to find the person who had helped me. I needed his help still. I did not know where I was or what to look for. Bessâs instructions would be useless now that I was far from her path.
A few yards further on, a little way up the slope, I could make out the shape of a building in front of me. I halted, hesitant once more. There were no lights, no smoke, just the dark shadows of the walls and the outline of a roof against the night sky. I heard the horse again, the soft noise of its feet moving. It seemed to come from the black hole of an open doorway â a wide doorway â of a stable or barn.
As I walked towards it, the snow began to fall less heavily. I looked around, but could see no movement, of horse or human. No danger. Apart from the black doorway. Anything could be in there, anyone, waiting for me to come in, ready for me. But of whom was I afraid? Who could be lying in wait, and why? If someone had guided me in safety across the marsh, why would he do so if he then meant me harm?
Although reason told me there was little danger, my beating heart said otherwise. I walked forward as strongly as I could, looking behind me as often as I looked ahead and pulling both pistols from my belt. There was no time to check their priming and I knew there was a strong chance that the powder had not stayed dry. I put one pistol back and took the knife from my bag in place of it. Pistol in one hand, knife in the other fist, blade pointing upwards, I walked firmly on. And as I came to the doorway, I sprang forward with a shout which sounded braver than I felt.
Chapter Sixteen
N o one leapt back at me. No one shouted. I peered into the darkness. I could see nothing. I strained my eyes and ears. But it was my nose that told me what the barn contained. Horse. The unmistakable smell of warm horse.
As I stood there, slightly away from the open doorway, waiting for my eyes to become used to the deeper blackness, I heard a sound, footsteps, slow footsteps, coming towards me. But not human, I knew. Horse. What I did not know was whether there was a rider. I held my knife out in front of me.
It was only the horse, riderless. He came towards me and put his head over the top of his stall as if I were an old friend, trusting me, or perhaps sensing that I was no danger to him. Horses know such things, I believe. He put his muzzle in my hand. I could tell little of his appearance or breeding in the darkness, only sense his size and power.
Reassured by his friendliness, I went into the stall with him. Now, I could tell he was well-bred, muscled, strong in his tall withers, his mane finely groomed. I felt his
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