Thirty Two: Far From The Madding Crowd: Thomas Hardy - Horses' Tramping.

Cracked and mouldy halls of Bathsheba's house.  Maryann was was the lone occupier of the halls.  The church clock struck eleven. The village of Weatherbury was quiet as a graveyard. 

Maryann turned in her bed with a sense of being distributed. She was in the midst of sleep.  A dream was the cause of her awakening: something had happened. She sat up in the bed, and walked towards the window and looked out.  The paddock touched this end of the building.  She could just discern the uncertain gray moving figure approaching the horse that was feeding there.  The figure seized the horse by the forelock, and led it to the corner of the field.  Here stood a vehicle.  Minutes later, which she thought was spent in harnessing, she heard the trot of horse mingled with the sound of light wheels. 

Maryann feared it were robbers.  She hastily slipped on clothes, stumped down the disjointed staircase with its hundred creaks, ran to Coggan's the nearest house, and raised an alarm.  Coggan called Gabriel, who was lodged in his house, and altogether they went to the paddock.  Beyond all doubt, the horse was gone.

"Listen!" said Gabriel.  They all listened.  Distinct upon the stagnant air came the sounds of trotting horse passing over Weatherbury Hill --- just beyond the gypsies' encampment in Weatherbury Bottom.

"That's our Dainty --- I'll swear to her step," said Jan Coggan. 

"Mighty me!  Won't mis'ess storm and call us stupids when she comes back!" moaned Maryann.  "How I wish it had happened when she was at home, and none of us had been answerable." 

"We must ride after," said Gabriel, decisively.  I'll be responsible to Miss Everdene for what we do.  Yes, we'll follow."

"I don't see how," said Jan Coggan.  "All our horses are too heavy for that trick except little Poppet, and what is she between two of us?  If we only had that pair over the hedge we might do something."

"Which pair?"

"Mr Boldwood's Tidy and Moll."

"Then wait here till I return," said Gabriel 

He ran down the hill towards farmer Boldwood's 

"Farmer Boldwood is not at home," said Maryann.

"All the better," said Jan Coggan.  "I know what he is gone for." 

Gabriel returned shortly, running at the same pace with two halters dangling from his hand.

"Where did you find them?" said Jan Coggan turning round and leaping upon the hedge without waiting for an answer.

"Under the eaves.  I knew where they were kept," said Gabriel following him.  "Coggan, you can ride bare-backed? There is no time to look for saddles."

"Like a hero," said Jan Coggan.

"Maryann, you go to bed," shouted  Gabriel, from the top of the hedge.

Springing down into Boldwood's pastures, each pocketed his halter to hide it from the horses, who seeing the men empty handed, docilely allowed themselves to be seized by the mane, when the halters were dexterously slipped on.  Having neither bit nor bridle Oak and Jan Coggan extemporized the former by passing the rope in each case through the animal's mouth and looping it on the other side.  Gabriel mounted astride and Coggan clambered up.  They ascended to the gate and galloped off in the direction taken by the robber.

Weatherbury Bottom was reached in two or three minutes.  They scanned the shady green patch by the roadside.  The gypsies were gone.  

"The villians," said Gabriel, "which way have they gone, I wonder?" 

"Straight on, as sure as God made little apples," said Jan Coggan.

"Very well; we are better mounted, and must overtake them" said Oak.

"Now, on at full speed." 

"No sound of rider could be heard now.  The road metal grew softer with clay as Weatherbury was left behind, and the late rain had wetted its surface to somewhat plastic, but not muddy state.  They came to cross-roads.  Jan Coggan suddenly pulled up moll and slipped off.

"What's the matter?" said Gabriel.

"We must try to track them, since we can't hear them," said Jan Coggan fumbling in his pockets.  He struck a light, and held the match to the ground.  The rain had been heavier here, and all the foot and horse-tracks abraded or blurred, and little puddles of water reflected the flame of the match like eyes. One set of tracks was fresh and had no water in them; one pair of ruts was also empty.  The foot prints forming this recent impression is full information as to pace; they were equidistant pairs, three or four feet apart, the right and left foot of each pair being exactly opposite one another.

"Straight on!" Jan Coggan exclaimed.

"Tracks like that mean a stiff gallop.  No wonder we don't hear him.  And the horse is harnessed --- look at the ruts. Aye, that's our mare sure enough !" 

"How do you know?" 

"Old Jimmy Harris only shoed her last week, and I'd swear to his make among ten thousand." 

"The rest of the gypsies must have gone earlier, or some other way," said Oak."  "You saw there were no other tracks?"

"True.  They rode along silently for a long, weary time.  Coggan's watch struck one.  He lighted another match, and examined the ground again.

"Tis a canter now," he said throwing away the light.  "A twisty rickety pace for a jig.  The fact is they overdrove her at starting; we shall catch them yet."

Again they hastened on.  Coggan's watch struck two.  When they looked again the hoof-marks were so spaced as to form a zigzag if united like the lamp along a street.

"That's a trot, I know," said Gabriel.

"Only a trot now," said Coggan cheerfully.  "We shall overtake him in time." 

They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles.  "Ah ! a moment," said Jan Coggan cheerfully.  "We shall overtake him in time." 

They pushed rapidly on for yet two or three miles.  "Ah! a moment," said Jan Coggan.  "Let us see how she was driven up the hill.  It will help us."

A light was promptly struck upon his gaiters as before, and the examination made.

"Hurrah!" said Coggan.  She walked up here -- and well she might.  We shall get them in two miles, for a crown."

They rode three miles and listened.  No sound was heard save a mill-pond [1] trickling hoarsely through a hatch ( of the reservoir) and suggesting gloomy possibilities of drowning by jumping in.  Gabriel dismounted when they came to a turning.  The tracks were absolutely the only guide as to the direction, and great caution was necessary to avoid confusion.

"What does this mean?" said Gabriel looking up at Coggan as he moved the match over the ground about the turning.  Coggan, like the panting horses showed signs of weariness, again scrutinized the mystic characters.  This time only three were of regular horseshoe shape.  Every fourth was a dot.

He screwed up his face and emitted a long "Whew-w!" 

"Lame," said Oak.

"Yes.  Dainty is lamed; the near-foot-afore," said Coggan slowly, straining at the footprints.

"We'll push on," said Gabriel, remounting his humid steed.

The road had been good for the most part. It was as good as any turn-pike road [2].  The last turning had brought them to high road leading to Bath.  Coggan recollected himself.

"We shall have him now." 

"Where?" 

"Pettiton turn-pike. The keeper of the gate is sleepy. And in his sleep slow way it is a done job." 

Nothing was said further.  A shady background of trees and lush green. 

Five white bars were visible crossing their route a little way ahead.

"Hush, we are almost close!" said Gabriel.

They were just in front of the white bars.

"Hoy-hoy ! Gate," the keeper exclaimed. The door of the turn-pike house opened, the keeper came out half dressed.  A candle in his hand. The light illuminated the whole group.

"Keep the gate closed," shouted Gabriel.  "He has stolen the horse !"

" Who?" said the turn-pike keeper.

Gabriel looked at the driver of the gig.  A woman. His mistress, Bathsheba!  She turned her face away from the light.

"Why, it's mistress!" said Jan Coggan.

"Well, Gabriel," she inquired quietly, "where are you going?" 

"We thought ---" began Gabriel.

"I am driving to Bath," she said, taking for her own use the assurance that Gabriel lacked.  "An important matter made it necessary for me to give up my visit to Liddy, and go off at once.

What, then, were you following me?" 

"We thought the horse was stolen." 

"Well --- what a thing!  How very foolish of you not to know I had taken the trap and horse.  I could neither wake Maryann nor get into the house, though I knocked for ten minutes against her window-sill.  Fortunately I could get the key of the coach-house.  I troubled no one further. Didn't you think it might be me?"

"Why should we, miss?" 

"Perhaps not.  Goodness mercy!  What have you been doing --- bringing trouble upon me in this way? What ! Mustn't a lady move an inch from her door without being dogged like a third?"

"But how were we to know, if you left no account of your doings ? expostulated Jan Coggan, "and ladies don't drive at these hours as a general rule of society." 

"I did leave an account --- and you would have seen it in the morning. I wrote it on charcoal on coach-house door when I had come back for the horse and gig. That I could arouse nobody and should return soon." 

 

"But you will consider ma'am that we couldn't see that till it got day light." 

Though she was vexed at first, she appreciated their devotion to her. "Well, I really thank you for taking this trouble, but I wish you had not borrowed Boldwood's horse." 

"Dainty is lame, Miss," said Coggan. "Can you go on?" 

"It was only a stone in her shoe.  I dismounted and pulled it out a hundred yards back.  I can manage very well, thank you.  I shall be in Bath by daylight.  Will you now return, please?"

She turned her head --- the gateman's candle shimmering upon her quick clear eyes as she did so --- passed through the gate, and was soon wrapped in surrounding shades of summer boughs.

Jan Coggan and Gabriel retraced the road by which they had come.  Gabriel said shortly, "Coggan, suppose we keep this as quiet as we can?"

"I am of one and the same mind."

    END OF THE CHAPTER 

==============================1. A mill-pond is a reservoir built by damming a stream to store water for powering a water-mill, acting as a crucial energy source.  It regulates water flow, ensuring a consistent supply to turn the wheel.

2. A toll-road managed by trusts in 17h to 19th century. It was maintained by funds collected as tolls.