by John Buchan
Half an hour was spent in idleness till the dawning of hunger warned him to return. The crossing as seen from this side looked more formidable, for the first stones could only be reached by jumping a fairly broad stretch of current. Yet the jump was achieved, and with renewed confidence Sir Archie essayed the more solid boulders. All would have gone well had not he taken his eyes from the stones and observed on the bank beyond a girl’s figure. She had been walking by the stream and had stopped to stare at the portent of his performance. Now Sir Archie was aware that his style of jumping was not graceful and he was discomposed by his sudden gallery. Nevertheless, the thing was so easy that he could scarcely have failed had it not been for the faithful Mackenzie. That animal had resolved to follow his master’s footsteps, and was jumping steadily behind him. But three boulders from the shore they jumped simultaneously, and there was not standing-room for both. Sir Archie, already nervous, slipped, recovered himself, slipped again, and then, accompanied by Mackenzie, subsided noisily into three feet of water.
He waded ashore to find himself faced by a girl in whose face concern struggled with amusement. He lifted a dripping hand and grinned.
“Silly exhibition, wasn’t it? All the fault of Mackenzie! Idiotic brute of a dog, not to remember my game leg!”
“You’re horribly wet,” the girl said, “but it was sporting of you to try that crossing. What about dry clothes?”
“Oh, no trouble about that. I’ve only to get up to Crask.”
“You’re Sir Archibald Roylance, aren’t you? I’m Janet Raden. I’ve been with papa to call on you, but you’re never at home.”
Sir Archie, having now got the water out of his eyes and hair was able to regard his interlocutor. He saw a slight girl with what seemed to him astonishingly bright hair and very blue and candid eyes. She appeared to be anxious about his dry clothes, for she led the way up the bank at a great pace, while he lingered behind her. Suddenly she noticed the limp.
“Oh, please forgive me, I forgot about your leg. You had another smash, hadn’t you, besides the one in the war — steeplechasing, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, but it didn’t signify. I’m all right again and get about anywhere, but I’m a bit slower on the wing, you know.”
“You’re keen about horses?”
“Love ‘em.”
“So do I. Agatha — that’s my sister — doesn’t care a bit about them. She would like to live all the year at Glenraden, but — I’m ashamed to say it — I would rather have a foggy November in Warwickshire than August in Scotland. I simply dream of hunting.”
The ardent eyes and the young grace of the girl seemed marvellous things to Sir Archie. “I expect you go uncommon well,” he murmured.
“No, only moderate. I only get scratch mounts. You see I stay with my Aunt Barbara, and she’s too old to hunt, and has nothing in her stables but camels. But this year... “ She broke off as she caught sight of the pools forming round Sir Archie’s boots. “I mustn’t keep you here talking. You be off home at once.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m wet for days on end when I’m watchin’ birds in the spring. You were sayin’ about this year?”
Her answer was a surprising question. “Do you know anybody called John Macnab?”
Sir Archibald Roylance was a resourceful mountebank and did not hesitate.
“Yes. The distiller, you mean? Dhuniewassel Whisky? I’ve seen his advertisements—’They drink Dhuniewassel, In cottage and castle—’ That chap?”
“No, no, somebody quite different. Listen, please, if you’re not too wet, for I want you to help me. Papa has had the most extraordinary letter from somebody called John Macnab, saying he means to kill a stag in our forest between certain dates, and daring us to prevent him. He is going to hand over the beast to us if he gets it and pay fifty pounds, but if he fails he is to pay a hundred pounds. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”
“Some infernal swindler,” said Archie darkly.
“No, he can’t be. You see the fifty pounds arrived this morning.”
“God bless my soul!”
“Yes. In Bank of England notes, posted from London. Papa at first wanted to tell him to go to — well, where Papa tells people he doesn’t like to go. But I thought the offer so sporting that I persuaded him to take up the challenge. Indeed, I wrote the reply myself. Mr Macnab said that the money was to go to a charity, so Agatha is having the fifty pounds for her native weaving and dyeing — she’s frightfully keen about that. But if we win the other fifty pounds papa says the best charity he can think of is to prevent me breaking my neck on hirelings, and I’m to have it to buy a hunter. So I’m very anxious to find out about Mr John Macnab.”
“Probably some rich Colonial who hasn’t learned manners.”
“I don’t think so. His manners are very good, to judge by his letter. I think he is a gentleman, but perhaps a little mad. We simply must beat him, for I’ve got to have that fifty pounds. And — and I want you to help me.”
“Oh, well, you know — I mean to say — I’m not much of a fellow... “
“You’re very clever, and you’ve done all kinds of things. I feel that if you advised us we should win easily, for I’m sure you had far harder jobs in the war.”
To have a pretty young woman lauding his abilities and appealing with melting eyes for his aid was a new experience in Sir Archie’s life. It was so delectable an experience that he almost forgot its awful complications. When he remembered them he flushed and stammered.
“Really, I’d love to, but I wouldn’t be any earthly good. I’m an old crock, you see. But you needn’t worry — your Glenraden gillies will make short work of this bandit... By Jove, I hope you get your hunter, Miss Raden. You’ve got to have it somehow. Tell you what, if I’ve any bright idea I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you so much. And may I consult you if I’m in difficulties?”
“Yes, of course. I mean to say, No. Hang it, I don’t know, for I don’t like interferin’ with your father’s challenge.”
“That means you will. Now, you mustn’t wait another moment. Good-bye. Will you come over to lunch at Glenraden?”
Then she broke off and stared at him. “I forgot. Haven’t you smallpox?”
“What! Smallpox? Oh, I see! Has old Mother Claybody been putting that about?”
“She came to tea yesterday twittering with terror, and warned us all not to go within a mile of Crask.”
Sir Archie laughed somewhat hollowly. “I had a bad toothache and my head tied up, and I daresay I said something silly, but I never thought she would take it for gospel. You see for yourself that I’ve nothing the matter with me.”
“You’ll have pneumonia the matter with you, unless you hurry home. Good- bye. We’ll expect you to lunch the day after to-morrow.” And with a wave of her hand she was gone.
The extraordinary fact was that Sir Archie was not depressed by the new tangle which encumbered him. On the contrary, he was in the best of spirits. He hobbled gaily up the by-road to Crask, listened to Leithen, when he met him, with less than half an ear, and was happy with his own thoughts. I am at a loss to know how to describe the first shattering impact of youth and beauty on a susceptible mind. The old plan was to borrow the language of the world’s poetry, the new seems to be to have recourse to the difficult jargon of psychologists and physicians; but neither, I fear, would suit Sir Archie’s case. He did not think of nymphs and goddesses or of linnets in spring; still less did he plunge into the depths of a subconscious self which he was not aware of possessing. The unromantic epithet which rose to his lips was “jolly.” This was for certain the jolliest girl he had ever met — regular young sportswoman and amazingly good-lookin’, and he was dashed if she wouldn’t get her hunter. For a delirious ten minutes, which carried him to the edge of the Crask lawn, he pictured his resourcefulness placed at her service, her triumphant success, and her bright-eyed gratitude.
Then he suddenly remembered that alliance with Miss Janet Raden w
as treachery to his three guests. The aid she had asked for could only be given at the expense of John Macnab. He was in the miserable position of having a leg in both camps, of having unhappily received the confidences of both sides, and whatever he did he must make a mess of it. He could not desert his friends, so he must fail the lady; wherefore there could be no luncheon for him, the day after to-morrow, since another five minutes’ talk with her would entangle him beyond hope. There was nothing for it but to have a return of smallpox. He groaned aloud.
“A twinge of that beastly toothache,” he explained in reply to his companion’s inquiry.
When the party met in the smoking-room that night after dinner two very weary men occupied the deepest arm-chairs. Lamancha was struggling with sleep; Palliser-Yeates was limp with fatigue, far too weary to be sleepy. “I’ve had the devil of a day,” said the latter. “Wattie took me at a racing gallop about thirty miles over bogs and crags. Lord! I’m stiff and footsore. I believe I crawled more than ten miles, and I’ve no skin left on my knees. But we spied the deuce of a lot of ground, and I see my way to the rudiments of a plan. You start off, Charles, while I collect my thoughts.”
But Lamancha was supine.
“I’m too drunk with sleep to talk,” he said. “I prospected all the south side of Haripol — all this side of the Reascuill, you know. I got a good spy from Sgurr Mor, and I tried to get up Sgurr Dearg, but stuck on the rocks. That’s a fearsome mountain, if you like. Didn’t see a blessed soul all day — no rifles out — but I heard a shot from the Machray ground. I got my glasses on to several fine beasts. It struck me that the best chance would be in the corrie between Sgurr Mor and Sgurr Dearg — there’s a nice low pass at the head to get a stag through and the place is rather tucked away from the rest of the forest. That’s as far as I’ve got at present. I want to sleep.”
Palliser-Yeates was in a very different mood. With an ordnance map spread out on his knees he expounded the result of his researches, waving his pipe excitedly.
“It’s a stiff problem, but there’s just the ghost of a hope. Wattie admitted that on the way home. Look here, you fellows — Glenraden is divided, like Gaul, into three parts. There’s the Home beat — all the low ground of the Raden glen and the little hills behind the house. Then there’s the Carnbeg beat to the east, which is the best I fancy — very easy going, not very high and with peat roads and tracks where you could shift a beast. Last there’s Carnmore, miles from anywhere, with all the highest tops and as steep as Torridon. It would be the devil of a business, if I got a stag there, to move it. Wattie and I went round the whole marches, mostly on our bellies. No, we weren’t seen — Wattie took care of that. What a noble shikari the old chap is!”
“Well, what’s your conclusion?” Leithen asked.
Palliser-Yeates shook his head. “That’s just where I’m stumped. Try to put yourself in old Raden’s place. He has only one stalker and two gillies for the whole forest, for he’s very short-handed, and as a matter of fact he stalks his beasts himself. He’ll consider where John Macnab is likeliest to have his try, and he’ll naturally decide on the Carnmore beat, for that’s by far the most secluded. You may take it from me that he has only enough men to watch one beat properly. But he’ll reflect that John Macnab has got to get his stag away, and he’ll wonder how he’ll manage it on Carnmore, for there’s only one bad track up from Inverlarrig. Therefore he’ll conclude that John Macnab may be more likely to try Carnbeg, though it’s a bit more public. You see, his decision isn’t any easier than mine. On the whole, I’m inclined to think he’ll plump for Carnmore, for he must think John Macnab a fairly desperate fellow who will aim first at killing his stag in peace, and will trust to Providence for the rest. So at the moment I favour Carnbeg.”
Leithen wrinkled his brow. “There are three of us,” he said. “That gives us a chance of a little finesse. What about letting Charles or me make a demonstration against Carnmore, while you wait at Carnbeg?”
“Good idea! I thought of that too.”
“You’d better assume Colonel Raden to be in very full possession of his wits,” Leithen continued. “The simple bluff won’t do — he’ll see through it. He’ll think that John Macnab is the same wary kind of old bird as himself. I found out in the war that it didn’t do to underrate your opponent’s brains. He’s pretty certain to expect a feint and not to be taken in. I’m for something a little subtler.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you feint in one place, so that your opponent believes it to be a feint and pays no attention — and then you sail in and get to work in that very place.”
Palliser-Yeates whistled. “That wants thinking over... How about yourself?”
“I’ve studied the river, and you never in your life saw such a hopeless proposition, All the good pools are as open as the Serpentine. Wattie stated the odds correctly.”
“Nothing doing there?”
“Nothing doing, unless I take steps to shorten the odds. So I’ve taken in a partner.”
The others stared, and even Lamancha woke up.
“Yes. I interviewed him in the stable before dinner. It’s the little ragamuffin who sells fish — Fish Benjie is the name he goes by. Archie, I hope you don’t mind, but I told him to resume his morning visits. They’re my best chance for consultations.”
“You’re taking a pretty big risk, Ned,” said his host. “D’you mean to say you’ve let that boy into the whole secret?”
“I’ve told him everything. It was the only way, for he had begun to suspect. I admit it’s a gamble, but I believe I can trust the child. I think I know a sportsman when I see him.”
Archie still shook his head. “There’s something else I may as well tell you. I met one of the Raden girls to-day — the younger — she was on the bank when I fell into the Larrig. She asked me point-blank if I knew anybody called John Macnab?”
Lamancha was wide awake. “What did you say?” he asked sharply.
“Oh, lied of course. Said I supposed she meant the distiller. Then she told me the whole story — said she had written the letter her father signed. She’s mad keen to win the extra fifty quid. For it means a hunter for her this winter down in Warwickshire. Yes, and she asked me to help. I talked a lot of rot about my game leg and that sort of thing, but I sort of promised to go and lunch at Glenraden the day after to-morrow.”
“That’s impossible,” said Lamancha.
“I know it is, but there’s only one way out of it. I’ve got to have smallpox again.”
“You’ve got to go to bed and stay there for a month,” said Palliser- Yeates severely. “Now, look here, Archie. We simply can’t have you getting mixed up with the enemy, especially the enemy women. You’re much too susceptible and far too great an ass.”
“Of course not,” said Archie, with a touch of protest in his voice. “I see that well enough, but it’s a black look-out for me. I wish to Heaven you fellows had chosen to take your cure somewhere else. I’m simply wreckin’ all my political career. I had a letter from my agent to-night, and I should be touring the constituency instead of playin’ the goat here. All I’ve got to say is that you’ve a dashed lot more than old Raden against you. You’ve got that girl, crazy about her hunter, and anyone can see that she’s clever as a monkey.”
But the laird of Crask was not thinking of Miss Janet Raden’s wits as he went meditatively to bed. He was wondering why her eyes were so blue, and as he ascended the stairs he thought he had discovered the reason. Her hair was spun- gold, but she had dark eye-lashes.
CHAPTER 4. FISH BENJIE
On the roads of the north of Scotland, any time after the last snow- wreaths have melted behind the dykes, you will meet a peculiar kind of tinker. They are not the copper-nosed scarecrows of the lowlands, sullen and cringing, attended by sad infants in ramshackle perambulators. Nor are they in any sense gipsies, for they have not the Romany speech or colouring. They travel the roads with an establishment, usually a covered cart and one or mo
re lean horses, and you may find their encampments any day by any burnside. Of a rainy night you can see their queer little tents, shaped like a segment of sausage, with a fire hissing at the door, and the horses cropping the roadside grass; of a fine morning the women will be washing their duds on the loch shore and their young fighting like ferrets among the shingle. You will meet with them in the back streets of the little towns, and at the back doors of wayside inns, but mostly in sheltered hollows of the moor or green nooks among the birches, for they are artists in choosing camping-grounds. They are children of Esau who combine a dozen crafts — tinkering, fish-hawking, besom-making, and the like — with their natural trades of horse-coping and poaching. At once brazen and obsequious, they beg rather as an art than a necessity; they will whine to a keeper with pockets full of pheasant’s eggs, and seek permission to camp from a laird with a melting tale of hardships, while one of his salmon lies hidden in the bracken on their cart floor. The men are an upstanding race, keen-eyed, resourceful, with humour in their cunning; the women, till life bears too hardly on them, are handsome and soft-spoken; and the children are burned and weathered like imps of the desert. Their speech is neither lowland nor highland, but a sing-song Scots of their own, and if they show the Celt in their secret ways there is a hint of Norse blood in the tawny hair and blue eyes so common among them.
Ebenezer Bogle was born into this life, and for fifty-five years travelled the roads from the Reay country to the Mearns and from John o’ Groats to the sea-lochs of Appin. Sickness overtook him one October when camped in the Black Isle, and, feeling the hand of death on him, he sent for two people. One was the nearest Free Kirk minister — for Ebenezer was theologically of the old school; the other was a banker from Muirtown. What he said to the minister I do not know; but what the banker said to him may be gathered from the fact that he informed his wife before he died that in the Muirtown bank there lay to his credit a sum of nearly three thousand pounds. Ebenezer had been a sober and careful man, and a genius at horse-coping. He had bought the little rough shelties of the North and the Isles, and sold them at lowland fairs, he had dabbled in black cattle, he had done big trade in sheep-skins when a snowstorm decimated the Sutherland flocks, and he had engaged, perhaps, in less reputable ventures, which might be forbidden by the law of the land, but were not contrary, so he believed, to the Bible. Year by year his bank balance had mounted, for he spent little, and now he had a fortune to bequeath. He made no will; all went to his wife, with the understanding that it would be kept intact for his son; and in this confidence Ebenezer closed his eyes.