CHAPTER LII
CATCH THEM WHO CAN!
For a space that concourse of marriage guests stood frozen withsurprise and wonder. Then a hoarse cry arose from Black Murdo and hisfriends. With one accord they rushed for the stables; but some groom,eager to enjoy his holiday untrammelled at the wedding, had locked thedoors. The key could not be found. The door must be broken down. Thenwhat a cursing, shouting, striking of scullions ensued, Black Murdo inthe midst raging like a fiend!
But all the while Kate was in the arms of her love, and the brave horsewent rushing on, stealing mile after mile from the confusion of theirfoes. They were past the water of Dee, fording by the shallows ofThreave, before ever a man of their pursuers was mounted at Balmaghie.On they rode towards the green-isleted loch of Carlinwark, at whosenorthern end they were trysted to meet with the curate and Jean Gordon.
Soon Carlinwark's dappled square of blue gleamed beneath them as theysurmounted the Wizard's Mount and looked down upon the reeking chimneysof cottages lying snugly in the bield of the wooded hollow. Neverslackening their speed on the summit, they rushed on--Drumclog goingdown hill among the rabbit-holes and thorn bushes as swiftly and surelyas on level pavemented city street.
And there at last, by the Three Thorns of a thousand trysts, stood thecurate of Dalry, Peter McCaskill, and Jean Gordon by his side with ablue cloak over her arm. A little way behind them could be seen thebrawny blacksmith of Carlinwark, Ebie Callan, his sledge-hammer in onehand and the bridle-rein of a chestnut mare in the crook of his leftarm.
There was as yet no sight or sound of pursuit behind them when theystayed Drumclog.
"Hurrah!" said the curate, standing before Wat and Kate in his whitecassock and holding his service-book in his hand. "Are your minds madeup? There is little time to lose, 'Dearly beloved, forasmuch,' and soon--Walter Gordon of Lochinvar, do you take this woman whom you nowhold by the hand (take her by the hand, man)"--so on and on he mumbled,rustling rapidly over the leaves of his book--"before these witnesses?And do you, Katherine McGhie, take this man?--very well then--'whom Godhath joined....' There, that is finished, and 'tis as good a job asif it had been done by the Dean of Edinburgh. They cannot break PeterMcCaskill's marrying work except with the dagger. And as to that, youmust ride to save your skin, Wat, my lad."
"Mount upon this good steed, my lady," said the blacksmith to Kate;"she will carry you to Dumfries like the wind off the sea. She isfaster than anything this side of the border."
And after she had mounted, with Ebie Callan's gallant assistance, JeanGordon cast the blue cloak about her.
"See and draw the hood decently about your head when ye come to thetown-end o' Dumfries," she cried.
"WITH HIS LOVE BETWEEN HIS ARMS"]
"And," said the curate, "mind ye, Black Murdo has a double post-relayof horses prepared for his bride and himself all the road to York,where the king is. Ebie has been ten days away through these outlandishparts layin' them doon. So ye can just say when ye get to the WhiteHorse in the Vennel: 'The horses for my Lord of Barra and his lady,'and there ye are! In the town of Dumfries they do not know BlackMurdo frae Black Satan--nor care. And now away wi' ye! I hear themcoming, but ye'll cheat them yet. There's nocht in the stables o'Balmaghie that can catch you and your bonny lady if ye keep clear o'moss-holes."
The pursuers were just topping the hill when the black and the chestnutwere again put to their speed, and then, with a wave of the handfrom Kate, and shake of his chevron-glove from Wat, the lovers wereoff on their long and perilous ride. The curate stood looking afterthem a moment; then, pulling his surplice over his head, he waved itfrantically, like a giant kerchief, murmuring the while: "The blessingo' the Almighty and Peter McCaskill be on ye baith!"--which was all thebenediction that closed the marriage service of Wat Gordon and KateMcGhie.
Jean Gordon had turned aside to wipe her eyes, and the blacksmithstood staring after them with his mouth wider open than ever. As thepair surmounted the tangled hill of whins behind the little villageof Causewayend, Wat looked down a moment from the highest part, butwithout checking his horses, in order to note the positions of hispursuers. Seeing this, the blacksmith became suddenly fired withenthusiasm. He lifted the mighty sledge which he had brought out in hishand and twirled it about his head.
"To the black deil wi' a' that wad harm ye or mar ye, ye bonny pair!"he shouted.
This was Ebie Callan's formula of blessing, and quite as serviceable inits way as that of the curate.
But at that moment a horseman, coming at a hand gallop down the hill,broke through the thicket and rushed at speed between the Three Thornsalmost upon Peter McCaskill and the smith. His horse reared and shiedat the waving surplice and the threatening hammer, whereupon the riderwent over the pommel of his saddle and crashed all his length on thehard-beaten path. When he regained his footing, lo! it was Black Murdoof Barra himself, and very naturally he rose in the fiercest of tempers.
He drew his sword and would have rushed upon the curate, but that theblacksmith stepped in front with his sledge-hammer.
"Haud up, my man!" he exclaimed, peremptorily, as if the Lord of Barrahad been a kicking horse he had set himself to shoe; "stand back ginye dinna want your pow cracked like a hazel-nut. Mind ye, Ebie Callannever missed a chap wi' the fore-hammer in his life!"
At this point Peter McCaskill suddenly flapped his surplice in the faceof Barra's horse, which flourished its heels and cantered away to meetits companions.
For by this time the other pursuers were beginning to come up, and,seeing that nothing could be gained by delay, Barra called to one ofthese, whose horse he took, and, delaying till a more convenient seasonany vengeance on Ebie Callan, once more set off in pursuit.
"Praise the Lord, they hae gotten a grand start. There's no' yin o'the vermin will come within a mile o' oor Wat on this side o' Dumfrieswhatever," affirmed the curate.
"And what's mair," added the smith, "if he gets the horses I laid doonfor my lord, he will ride into Carlisle with no' a McGhie or blackhieland McAlister within miles o' him."
"Except the McGhie on the chestnut," said Peter McCaskill.
"And even she's a Gordon noo, if ye hae as good skill in your weldingtrade as I hae in mine," replied Ebie Callan, turning away to hissmithy bellows.
* * * * *
It cannot be told at length, in this already over-long chronicle,in what manner Wat and Kate rode into Dumfries far ahead of theirpursuers, or how they mounted on the horses prepared for Barra and hiscountess and went out amid the cheering of the populace. Nor is thereroom to relate how at each post they found, as Ebie had foretold,horses ever fresh and fresh, innkeepers obsequious, hostlers ready todelay all pursuers for a gold piece in hand as they rode off. Neitherdoes it matter to the conclusion of the tale (which cannot long bedelayed, though there would be pleasure in the prolonging of it) howthey were assaulted by footpads at Great Salkeld; how Wat's bladeplayed like summer lightning among them to the scatterment of therascals; how Kate shot off a pistol and harmed nobody; how they restedthree hours at Long Marten, and how Wat kept watch while Kate slepton the long, brown heath of the fell betwixt Stainmoor and the NineStandards at the entering in of Yorkshire.
These make a tale by themselves which ought to be told one day--but bya tale-teller unbreathed by a longer race than even that from the houseof Balmaghie to the court which King William was holding in the city ofYork.
It is sufficient to say that without once being sighted by theirpursuers after they topped the hill beyond Carlinwark, Lochinvar andKate, with thankful hearts, caught their first glimpse of the towers ofYork Cathedral, hull down in the broad plain, like the masts of a shipat sea.
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