cried d.i.c.k eagerly, the bull endorsing his statement with a melancholy bellow.

"Why, there is something wrong, then, my boys!" said the squire, angry now with himself for suspecting them of playing some prank. "Here, let's go down."

He led the way directly, and lit a lantern in the kitchen before throwing back the bolts and going out, armed with a big stick, the boys following close behind, and feeling somewhat awe-stricken at the strangeness of the proceedings.

"Hullo, my lads, what is it then?" cried the squire, entering the rough stable, where three horses were fastened up, and all half lying in the straw.

One of them turned to him with a piteous whinny, and then the great soft eyes of all three of the patient beasts were turned toward them, the light gleaming upon their eyes strangely.

"Why, what's this?" cried the squire, holding down the lantern, whose light fell upon the hocks of the poor beasts. "Oh, it's too cruel! what savage has done this!"

As he held down the light the boys hardly realised what had happened.

All they could make out was that the light gleamed horribly on the horses' hind-legs, and d.i.c.k exclaimed:

"Why, they must have been kicking, father, terribly!"

"Kicking, my boy!" groaned the squire. "I wish they had kicked the monster to death who has done this."

"Done this! Has anybody done this?" faltered d.i.c.k, while Tom turned quite white.

"Yes; don't you understand?"

"No, father," cried d.i.c.k, looking at him vacantly.

"The poor beasts have been houghed--hamstrung by some cruel wretch.

Here, quick!"

He hurried across to the lodge where a favourite cow and the bull were tethered, and as he saw that these poor beasts had been treated in the same barbarous way--

"Did you hear or see anyone, d.i.c.k?" he cried, turning sharply on his son.

"No, father. I was asleep till Tom woke me, and told me that the beasts were uneasy."

"It is too cruel, too cruel," groaned the squire huskily. "What is to happen next? Here, go and call up the men. You, Tom Tallington, go and rouse up Hickathrift. We may be in time to catch the wretches who have done this. Quick, boys! quick! And if I do--"

He did not finish his sentence; but as the boys ran off he walked into the house, to return with his gun, and thus armed he made a hasty survey of the place.

By the time he had done, d.i.c.k was back with the men, and soon after, Hickathrift came panting up, with Tom; but though a hot search was carried on for hours, nothing more was found, and by breakfast-time five reports had rung out on the bright morning air, as Squire Winthorpe loaded his old flint-lock gun with a leaden bullet five times, and put the poor helpless suffering brutes out of their misery.

"Three good useful horses, and the best-bred bull and cow in the marsh, squire," said Farmer Tallington, who had come over as soon as he heard the news. "Any idea who it could be?"

"No," said the squire; "thank goodness, no. I don't want to find out the wretch's name, Tallington, for I'm a hot-tempered, pa.s.sionate man."

"It's the drain, neighbour, the drain," said the farmer, shaking his head. "Let's be content with the money we've lost, and try to put a stop to proceedings before we suffer more and worse. There's them about as hev sworn the drain sha'n't be made, and it's the same hands that fired my stacks and those shots, neighbour."

"I daresay it is, farmer," said the squire sternly; "but do you know what it says in the Book about the man who puts his hand to the plough?"

"Ay, I think I know what you mean."

"And so do you, d.i.c.k?" said the squire.

"Yes, father."

"Well, my boy, I've put my hand to the plough to do a good, honest, sensible work, and, knowing as I do, that it's a man's duty to go on with it, I shall stand fast, come what may."

"And not leave me in the lurch, Mr Winthorpe?" said a voice.

"No, Marston, not if they hamstring me in turn," cried the squire, holding out his hand to the young engineer, who had hurried over. "I suppose I shall get a bullet in me one of these days; but never mind, we've begun the drain. And do you hear, all of you?" he shouted; "spread it about that the fen will be drained, and that if they killed me, and a hundred more who took my place, it would still be done."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE MAN OF SUSPICION.

There was a good deal of inquiry made about the houghing of Squire Winthorpe's horses, and there was a great deal of excitement before the poor beasts were skinned, for their hides to go to town to the tanyard and their carca.s.ses were carted away.

People came from miles in all directions, including all the men who were at work for Mr Marston--every one to stand and stare at the poor dead beasts and say nothing.

Small farmers, fen-men, people from the town, folk from the sh.o.r.e where the c.o.c.kle-beds lay, and the fisher-people who were supposed to live upon very little fish and a great deal of smuggling.

Even Dave and John Warren punted themselves over, both looking yellow and thin, and so weak that they could hardly manage their poles; and they too stared, the former frowning at the bull and shaking his head at the horses, but wiping away a weak tear as he stood by the cow.

"Many's the drop of good fresh milk the missus has given me from her, Mester d.i.c.k," he said with a sigh; "and now theer's no cow, no milk, no nothing for a poor sick man. Hey, bud the ager's a sad thing when you hev it bad as this."

There was a visit from a couple of magistrates, who asked a great many questions, and left behind them a squinting constable, who took very bad snuff, and annoyed d.i.c.k by looking at him suspiciously, as if he believed him to be the cause of all the mischief. This man stopped in the village at a cottage next to Hickathrift's, from which place he made little journeys in all directions, evidently full of the belief that he was going to discover the people who did all this mischief in the neighbourhood.

This constable's name was Thorpeley, and he did a great deal of business with a bra.s.s box and a short black clay-pipe, in which he smoked short black tobacco.

"I don't know," said d.i.c.k one day as he stood with his arms folded, leaning upon Solomon, talking to Tom Tallington and staring at Thorpeley the constable, who was leaning against a post smoking and staring with one eye at the fen, while with the other he watched the group of three in the Toft farm-yard.

"Well, I'm sure I don't," said Tom. "He never goes over to the town to buy any."

"And Hicky says n.o.body fetches any for him, but he always seems to have plenty though he hasn't any luggage or box or anything."

"No; I saw him come," said Tom. "He only had a small bundle in a red handkerchief!"

"And he keeps on smoking from morning till night."

"And watching you!"

"Yes. He's always watching me," cried d.i.c.k in an aggrieved tone.

"Stand still, will you? Yes, you'd better! You kick, and I'll kick you!"

This was to Solomon, who had hitched up his back in an arch, laid down his ears, thrust his head between his fore-legs and his tail between his hind, giving himself the aspect of being about to reach under and bite the tip of the said tail. But that was not the case, and d.i.c.k knew by experience that all this was preparatory to a display of kicking.

Solomon may have understood plain English or he may not. This is a matter which cannot be decided. At all events he slowly raised his head and twisted his tail in a peculiar manner, stretched out his neck, and c.o.c.king his ears he sighed loudly a sigh like the f.a.g-end of a long bray, all of which seemed to point to the fact that he felt himself to be a slave in leathern chains, gagged with a rusty bit, and at the mercy of his master.

"Flies tease him," said Tom apologetically. "Poor old Sol!"