Deep Moat Grange

by S. R. Crockett

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE HUNTERS OF MEN

  In the village of Breckonside on that December morning was to be seen asight the like of which I never looked upon. Doors were open all upand down the street. Every window was a yellow square of light.Frighted, white-faced women looked round curtains. Children in theirscanty nightgowns clung on to stair rails, and tried to look out of theopen front door without taking their feet off the first-floor landing.

  The men of the village mustered about the police office--not because ofany help poor old Constable Codling could be to them, but because thevery place gave a kind of legality to their proposed doings.

  For this time there was no doubt in the minds of any at Breckonside.Harry Foster was a comparatively poor man, even taking intoconsideration the banknotes which he carried in the mail bags. But myfather, Joseph Yarrow, was the richest and most powerful man in all thedistrict--ay, as far down as East Dene itself.

  More than that, he had ridden to Longtown to take payment of a longoutstanding debt. Bob Kingsman had heard him say so--so, for thematter of that, had I myself. It would certainly be a large sum forhim to mention it twice, reticent as he was on all such matters.

  The road to Longtown, or back from Longtown--for it was doubtless therethat he would be trapped--led over Brom Common, by the edge of SparhawkWood, and so on through the Slack into Scotland. On all the long road,there was only one suspected house--Deep Moat Grange. Only one manwhose wealth could not be accounted for penny by penny--Mr. Stennis,the Golden Farmer. Only one nest of mysterious and dangerous folk--MadJeremy and his sisters. All the rest were shepherds and their littlewhite shielings.

  The conclusion was clear--at least to the minds of theBreckonsiders--in, at, or about Deep Moat Grange, Joseph Yarrow,senior, was to be found--and, what was even more to the point, JosephYarrow's money.

  The conclusion was, they would go in a body to Deep Moat Grange. Ourregistrar, Waldron, who was great on the instinct of animals, tried toget Dapple to retrace her steps. She was led out into the yard, andinstantly retraced them into the stable.

  At the Bridge End there was a halt. The heads of our Breckonsiderswere no ways strong. Besides they were dazed with the sudden alarm.

  The memory of poor Harry, the strange tales they had heard for the lastten years of vanished drovers, travellers seen on the moss and thenvanishing in some hollow, like the shadow of a cloud, to be seen nomore, weighed heavy upon them.

  Then some fool cried out that Hobby Stennis had been often seen of latewith his son Robin's daughter--meaning Elsie--and who knew?

  Now, no one can ever tell what will seem reasonable to a crowd of suchrustics as those about us. And, indeed, if it had not been for mymother--who strode out, and, even in her grief, raged uponthem--asserting that Elsie was a good girl and should not be meddledwith, I do believe that Nance Edgar's house would have been routed outfrom garret to hallan, to seek for the captors or assassins of myfather.

  The sound of many feet, the hoarse murmur of voices in angrydiscussion, and perhaps, also, the reflected light of many lanternsawoke both Nance Edgar and Elsie. But it was Elsie who was first down."What is it?" she asked, standing in the doorway with a plaid about hershoulders, and her feet thrust into Nance Edgar's big, wooden-soled,winter clogs. "What has brought you out?"

  I told her that my father had not returned from Longtown, but that someone had brought Dapple home, unlocked the door of the yard, and let inthe mare--then relocked it and gone his way. I had quiteforgotten--shame be to me--that of all this my mother had yet been toldnothing. She stumbled where she stood a little before them all. Akind of hoarse cry escaped her lips, and it was into Elsie's arms thatshe fell. Perhaps it was as well. For in the rough and tumble of thatdark, wintry campaign there was no place for women.

  In a while Nance Edgar came out also, and she and Elsie soon got mypoor mother into a comfortable bed. I had a word or two with Elsie.She would fain have come, making no doubt but that it was in theneighbourhood of that accursed house of the Moat Grange that my father,if, indeed, he were dead, had come by his end.

  But I reminded her, first, that she was Hobby Stennis's owngranddaughter. Also, she was a teacher in the local school, and,accordingly, leaving all else to one side, that she and I must not runthe hills and woods as we had been in the habit of doing ever since shehad come from Mrs. Comline's as a little toddling maid. Last of all,my mother would stay behind more contentedly if so be Elsie were withher.

  Now it was a black frost, clean and durable. There had, of course,been considerable traffic over the moor road during the days of theTryst at Longtown. So the feeble light of our lanterns in the wintermorning could reveal nothing as to the means by which Dapple hadreached home, nor yet who had brought her. Indeed, we were all morethan a little dazed. It seemed such a terrible, unthinkable event, theloss of my father, that no one after him could feel secure. He hadbeen the strongest among us, and if he had fallen to the knife of thesecret criminal the only question in Breckonside was, Who was to be thenext to go?

  Mingled with all this, there was a curious deference toward me, whollynew in my experience. The villagers called me "Mister Joseph," insteadof "Joe," as had been their wont. They consulted me as to the steps tobe taken--without, however, any very great idea of acting upon what Ihad to advise. Indeed, that morning, there did not seem to be but theone thing to do--that was, to go as quickly as possible to Deep MoatGrange, and lay hands upon the whole uncanny crew Mr. Stennis hadgathered about him there.

  It was the earliest grey of the December morning--which is to say,little better than night--when we descended the slopes of Brom Common,crossed the road, and entered into the woods which surrounded Deep MoatGrange. Not without considerable difficulty could I induce thesearchers to extinguish their lanterns. And there were more than oneof these hunters of men who would have been glad of any excuse to turnback now---men, too, who had been the bravest of the brave when thefamiliar sights and sounds of the village street compassed them about.

  Several of the searchers kept looking over their shoulders andexamining the branches of the trees curiously, as if afraid that MadJeremy might suddenly descend upon their shoulders from these tossingarms netted so blackly between them and the sky.

  The dead leaves scuffed and crisped under foot. Sometimes a roostingbird, disturbed in its slumbers, or an early-questing, wild creaturescurried away into the underbrush. It was an eerie journey, and it waswith a breath of relief that I found myself stopped at the Moat, withthe water sleeping beneath, black and icebound for want of a current.The drawbridge was up, and at first it seemed that we had come to theend of our tether. But a little testing and scrambling showed me thatthe Moat was covered with ice strong enough to support us all, goingover carefully and one by one.

  Presently we stood on the edge of the wide, green lawn, now hard anddark beneath our feet, the blades of grass stiff with frost andbreaking under our tread like tiny icicles. Between us and the duskyshadow of the house, set against the waking gloom of the eastern sky,there were only the black mounds of Miss Orrin's garden, where the Lentlilies had waved so bravely in those spring days when first Elsie and Ihad looked upon Deep Moat Grange.

  There were about twenty of us, variously armed. I had a pistol and aScottish dirk. There were two or three rifles, about a dozen shotguns,many old swords, and even a pitchfork or two in lieu of better. If thecourage of the men had been as good as their armament, we might haveassaulted a fortress by way of a forlorn hope. But concerning thiscourage I had my doubts. For Breckonside was like most other villages.The men were good enough, but valued their own skins a great deal morethan anybody else's--even that of their natural chief, my father.

  Still I did not doubt but that they would do their best. For one thingthey dared not turn back. They had to stick to the pack, and, afterall, two was the extent of the number of foes they would have toface--one of whom was old. But then the other was that terrifyinglegend of the vil
lage and all the country round, Mad Jeremy himself.

  Still numbers give, if not strength, at least confidence. Indeed, themen moved so closely together, that I was in constant fear of someweapon of war going off and giving warning to our foes within the darkhouse.

  What we needed was a leader. And after I had guided them across theice of the Moat, somehow I slipped into that position myself. I was atleast the person most concerned. I never before knew that I loved myfather--not particularly, that is. And, perhaps, after all it was onlyblood-kinship that did it. At any rate, I felt a new sensation stealupon me--a steady, cold determination to be revenged on any one who hadharmed him--to find out all about it and bring the miscreant tojustice--even to kill him if I could. Yes, there is no use denying it.I knew the verse, "Vengeance is Mine--I will repay!" Which is verytrue, but is an impossible thing to say at a time like that. No doubtin the long run He will, and does, but it seems too long to wait.

  There was not a light to be seen anywhere about the house of the Moat.The crisp wind of earliest dawn made a dry sough among the evergreensof the shrubbery. The tall chimney clusters were black against thesky, and beneath them and about the overgrown porch the ivy leavesclattered bonely like fairy castanets.

  We stood still--close together, but very still.

  Then strangely, familiarly, out of the darkness there came to our earsthe sound of the sweet singing of a hymn--a hymn, too, that every oneknows. I am not going to set down here which one it was. I nevercould rightly bear to hear it again--much less can I join in singingit. It was spoiled for me, and I would not for the world spoil it forthose who may read this history of true, though strange, happenings.

  Then, quick as a flash, I thought of the barn where we had seen andheard such wonderful things, Elsie and I. But it was no time forreminiscence. I stepped quietly across the yard and lifted the thick,felted fold of matting. I pushed open the half of the inner door,which perhaps the chill of the night, perhaps the needs of the service,had caused those within to close. Behind me I could hear the people ofthe village breathe restrainedly, and I smelled the odour of burnedhorses' hoofs which clothed the blacksmith like a garment. EbieMcClintock was the one man there with a stiff upper lip, and it was amightily comforting thing to feel him at my back, even though hecarried no other weapon than an iron hammer snatched up from the smithyfloor as he came away.

  The barn was dark, lighted by a couple of tall candles on the altar,and one caught on to the side of a kind of reading desk. I could atfirst see no more than a huddle of figures clad in black with whitekerchiefs bound about their foreheads. The draught from without,caused by the opening of the door and the lifting of the curtain, madethe candles flicker, and, indeed, blew out the one at the little deskfarthest from us.

  It seemed to me, however, that I saw a figure, or, rather, a dimshadow, flit across the heavy hangings, and disappear in the darknessbehind. I could not have sworn it, though such was my impression; forat that moment the villagers, bearing on my shoulder, crowding ontiptoe to look, broke like water over an overfull dam. The other halfof the door fell back with a clang, and they entered confusedly,tearing down the curtain in their haste. A shot went offaccidentally--the very thing I had been expecting all the time frommen, who, though warned, would persist in carrying their guns at fullcock. No harm, however, was done, save that a bevy of bats, disturbedin their winter's repose, dashed wildly for the door, striking theirfaces before swooping out into the night.

  Then the kneeling women rose--the three mad sisters, and one whostepped in front of them, their elder and protector, Aphra Orrin.

  It may seem strange, yet in a moment there came upon me a sense ofshame. All was so decent and in order, as for some private Divineservice in an oratory. A Bible was open at the lesson for the day, a"marker," with a gold cross hanging between the leaves. The altarnicely laid with a white cloth, and against the black pall, which hidthe end of the barn, hung a great gilt crucifix.

  "What seek ye here?" said Miss Orrin, standing up very tall, andspeaking with a certain chill and surprising dignity which overawedmany of my followers.

  "I seek my father!" I answered, since nobody else could. "He has beenlost, and it is here that we have come to look for him."

  And though the villagers murmured, "Ay--ay, rightly said, MasterJoseph!" I could not but feel at that moment that my reasoning was butweak. If I had had to speak with a man it would have been different.

  "This," said Miss Orrin, "is the house of Mr. Stennis, and to him youshall answer. Meantime, I am in charge, and shall defend to thelast----"

  But a score of voices interrupted her. "Where is your brother? Whereis Mad Jeremy? Where is Mr. Stennis?"

  "I know not where my brother may be," she answered. "In his bed, mostlikely. You are at liberty to go and look. But as for my master, towhom you shall answer, he is in the City of Edinburgh in connectionwith some law business. If you seek him there I warrant he will beeasy enough found."

  But I remembered the flitting shadow I had seen, and crying out,"Search the house, boys! I will take the blame!" I launched myselfbehind the black hangings which fell behind me like the curtain in atheatre. A door opened to my hand, and I fell down a flight of steps,the shrill shrieks of the mad women behind me resounding keen andbatlike to my ears.