Half an hour later they were on their way, Mr Winfield and his hounds in his buggy, his sons and young helpers on horseback. Dennis was on the box with John, who was starting to get really fidgety, not surprisingly since John had no means to defend himself at all. His own mood surprised him more, ever since seeing the beaten-down shape of the mother at the table in that tiny, leaky house, Dennis had felt an anger build in him as he had rarely experienced before. He had never hated the enemy, he knew they were forced to fight as much as he had been.
But now, he hated those brigands, hated how they abused their superior training to hurt others. And for pleasure, for the defenceless farmers would have given up their resources without use of violence. But his hatred did not boil or steam, it was icy cold instead. Dennis knew he must seem very confident, and in fact he was deadly calm. It was a sensation he recognized from the past, it was the calm before battle, and he hadn't felt it in his last year of active service. The state he was in now was the ideal mood for a soldier, his senses open to the slightest noise or tiniest blink of the sun on metal. Nothing to take his energy before it was needed in action. Trauma had taken this feeling away, he had been fidgety before battle, fearful, as John was now, and he had often frozen in fear. But no more. Agnes had cured him, love had cured him, Dennis was back to stability.
Mr Winfield left his boys and their hounds at the edge of the first farm, it was early afternoon and they were eager to explore the territory they were going to protect. Dennis knew they'd be hurt if they really met up with the brigands, though the dogs would probably bear the brunt of an attack, but he was not going to draw Mr Winfields attention to himself again by protesting this excellent chance for the brigands to arm themselves and gain strong horses.
The brigands would not strike again, their own little crew would find them and take them out. Dennis didn't feel fear for himself and his loved ones, nor did he feel his usual distaste of violence. The idea of hurting these men, of possibly killing them, did not upset him. These weren't innocents, these were rabid wolves out for the blood of others, and they needed to be put down as quickly as possible.
John and Guy would be safe enough behind the new hounds John and Dick had picked from the five available to them. The dog was a large brindle, self-assured but very obedient. The bitch was as black as the night, with yellow eyes, quite a frightening-looking creature, but John and Dick were both infatuated with her, and the look in Mr Winfield's eyes as they presented their pick to him spoke volumes: this was one of his best, and he did not like to let her go.
'That is my best youngster, Mrs Beauchamp,' he said, 'and I'll let you have her, because I trust she will live a happy, useful life with you. But I beg you to have a litter of those two, and send for me when the pups are eight weeks old, so I can choose the best bitch to replace her with.'
Agnes had readily agreed with this, they'd had puppies before and she loved taking care of the litters. She was inside the carriage now, with Dick, Guy and the two hounds, gun ready no doubt, probably nervous about what was to come.
In the middle of a rather gloomy forest Mr Winfield stopped his team and tied it to a tree off the road. John followed suit and offered to stay with the horses. Dennis could see he was desperately afraid to be alone in a forest where brigands were hiding, but in fact it was safer for him to stay than to come along.
'Will you stay here, too, Guy?' Agnes asked her butler and friend.
'I'll leave one rifle with you, it'll be safer than coming with us. Dick can take the hounds.'
Guy did not like the idea but he saw the sense in it. He could fight, but not good enough to tackle a deserter, and John could not stay all by himself, he was truly helpless against attack. At close quarters Guy could not handle a rifle, the chances of hitting one of his own were too great, he was no more than an average marksman. But at long range things were different, a rifle would give any brigand second thoughts about an attack, and the noise of a shot would bring the others right away.
'I'll stay with John. I don't think they move by daylight anyway, we'll be perfectly safe. I do prefer to have the rifle, though.'
So now the three of them followed their guide, who was obviously very capable of finding his way in the woods. Blackear ranged ahead, unleashed, and when he froze over a trail Mr Winfield observed, 'This was not made by a deer, this is a man's trail. Look at the damage.'
Dennis was an expert tracker, there hadn't been any moors in France but plenty of forests, and he agreed with the hunter. They had struck the brigands' track.
'The hut is that way, I propose we approach it with caution and from the back. Will you take the rear, Dick, with those hounds, and keep a close eye on them? They'll warn you well before you can see someone approaching.'
Dick nodded, he seemed alert but not unduly afraid. He had the confidence of a very tall, strong man, he just couldn't imagine someone posing a serious threat to him. He did walk through the forest a lot quieter than Dennis would have expected for such a tall man. Of course the others never made a sound.
Right behind Dennis, Agnes showed only the slightest bit of fear, and Dennis guessed it was mainly fear for him, she knew he'd be in the thick of the fray and she couldn't know Dennis did not feel his usual qualms about killing. She expected him to aim to take those brigands out, which he would, but not at the cost of someone he loved.
A hut came into view, and Mr Winfield signaled them to stay put. He approached it cautiously, circled around, then came back.
'There's no-one home, no fire in the hearth, they're out plundering. Give Blackears one moment to catch their scent, and we'll pursue.'
He went into the hut in total disregard of his own safety and came out with a piece of clothing. Grinning, he held it in front of Blackears and let the hound get the scent.
'You may want to let yours get the scent, too, Dick, it'll let them practise their skills.'
Incredible! Did this man take those brigands at all seriously? Training dogs on a mission?
Dick checked with Agnes, who nodded briefly, then let his leashed duo sniff the garment. But not for long because Blackears, who had been systematically searching the bushes around the site, had found a fresh trail.
'This leads towards the farm I'd expect them to target next. It's relatively out of the way, like the freeholds. This is one of yours, though, ma'am. It's half an hour, but they're breaking a trail through the undergrowth, we can follow their tracks. I hope you're in good shape, if we want to save your people we're going to have to hurry.'
And he would have plunged headlong into the trail, Blackears far ahead of the four of them, had Dennis not intervened. This was all too clear-cut, too easy. An enemy never left such a perfect trail to find, these fellows might be stupid or overconfident, but this could also be a trap. The brigands might have heard the carriages coming, they had left them within earshot, it was not unthinkable the three men were hidden in the bracken pretty closeby. Following them heedlessly in single file would make their firearms useless, enabling the brigands to pick them off one by one. Time for some strategy in enemy territory.
'Please wait, Mr Winfield, and if you love that hound of yours, put it on a leash. This is not a game, these men are probably professional killers, and they most likely have a sentry posted at all times. They may have heard us coming, they could be lying in wait for us anywhere between here and their intended target. Following their trail in single file will leave us exposed to ambushes.'
The hunter turned towards Dennis and looked at him incredulously.
