CHAPTER XI

GOOD-BYE TO FOXY

RENARD turned in a white rage towards the men, Paul and Jean, who were standing impatiently waiting for the result of the parley with the two lads.

"What can I do?" he whispered, his utterance thick with passion. "One cannot use force; there might be an outcry which would rouse the whole house. What then is to be done?"

Paul advanced a step and pushed him aside.

"Since you have failed, Renard, in your half of the bargain," said he, "you cannot expect to share in the profits. Go away now, you and these useless boys of yours."

"But Paul," exclaimed Foxy, "did I not—"

"No," interrupted Paul, "I will hear nothing."

And Jean added:

"Enough, Renard; go without more words. Your belongings which are in the cart we will leave at No. 9 in the village to-morrow. There—that is all we have to say to you—now go."

With a snarl of savage disappointment and rage, Renard, taking the boys by the arm, led them away down the dark, shady walk by which they had come, and out once more into the road, where, under the shadow of two great trees, stood the cart and the patient horse.

"Oh, but you weel pay for dis, mine sweet boys!" muttered Renard, as he dragged the reluctant lads along. "Yes, you weel pay for dis—as de English say—tro' de nose. Dis night you have make me lose lot of moneys, and old Renard, he forgives not; dat you shall remember for effer. Amen."

A village well-known to Foxy was not far distant, and towards this he now led the two boys, muttering awful threats in mingled French and English, and swearing horribly under his breath. When they hung back, or for a moment struggled to free themselves, his cruel clutches forced them on.

In this fashion the village was reached, a place which at this hour looked like a little city of the dead, for there was not a light in the one straggling street of which the hamlet consisted. But Renard went straight to a small house standing back a few paces from the crooked thoroughfare in a narrow strip of weed-grown garden. Here he knocked in a peculiar way—not at the door, but at the window, and in a minute or two the door was opened to him. A few words passed between him and the man who opened the door, then Renard and the boys were shown into a room on the ground floor, where were two straw mattresses and a couple a three-legged stools and a table.

Setting down the candle which the owner of the house had given him, Foxy locked the door, and pulled off his rusty overcoat, first drawing from one of the pockets a coil of stout cord. Then sitting down on one of the stools, he proceeded to twist and knot this cord, until he had fashioned out of it a kind of rough cat-o'-nine-tails or scourge. But he glanced up now and again, and the malignant look on his ugly face—a mingling of frown and leer, full of evil triumph and covert menace—sent a shudder of fearful expectation through the chilled forms of the two lads huddled together on one of the straw mattresses.

In a few minutes the instrument of punishment was completed, and Renard, getting up from his seat, came towards the bed, and brandishing his scourge, said to Tad:

"Now, Edouard, hark to me! You shall take this wiep and you weel beat Philipe teel I tell you assez—enough. And as for you, Philipe, put off your coat, dat do wiep may work well. So! Allons! Begeen, and forget not dat you master is—"

"What!" cried Tad, aghast. "What, master! You want me to set upon this poor little chap and flog him? You don't mean it—you can't!"

"Mais certainement I mean it!" replied Foxy, showing his teeth. "Take dis wiep of cords and beat well Philips, or—" and the man's face assumed a yet more evil and threatening aspect.

"Don't anger him no more, dear Tad," said Phil in a whisper. "Do as he tells you. I can bear it. I ain't afeared of a thrashin' that I haven't deserved. There, I'm quite ready, and you'll see I won't cry nor make a sound."

But Tad that night had learned a great lesson while he stood with the burglars outside the little window of the outhouse. He had seen this gentle little lad brave the utmost that three villains could do to him, rather than commit a crime in obedience to their commands—a crime of which, but for Phil's example, Tad felt that he himself should certainly have been guilty.

And now—could he inflict pain upon this brave child, for fear of anything Renard could do? No—the lesson had not been lost upon the lad. True he had been on the downward track ever since he ran away from home, but here was the chance for a step up. Once more a chance lay before him, and his resolve was taken.

Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the cruel green eyes without flinching.

"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say nor what you do."

For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys, Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.

The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress, began to drink, muttering ominously the while.

We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his listless hand.

For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over, they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming, to see what they would do.

But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between the brows.

"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin' him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"

The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is? After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."

"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.

"Yes, that's true; and so let's clear out, and run away from Foxy. Better starve or die of cold alone and out in the open than live longer with this brute. Come, Tad—come quick, afore he wakes up."

"But we can't get out," whispered the elder lad. "Foxy locked the door, and the key's in his right trouser pocket, and he's lyin' on that side; we can't get it nohow."

"Then we'll get out at the winder," replied Phil. "See, it opens down the middle, and we can just squeeze through. Be quick, Tad; Foxy's snorin' like a hog now, but he may wake at any time."

Picking up their coats and caps, the boys opened the window, and just managed to get through, though for Tad it was a pretty tight fit.

Then away they went, lame, battered, and sore with their recent blows, but running at their best pace down the dark, crooked street, pausing not even to take breath, until they found themselves well outside the village, with miles of quiet open country stretching away before them, and a faint dawn just streaking the far-off east.