The Rogues

by Jane Yolen

  He turned. “Nae, lad, that ye canna. Look what’s happened to ye since coming back here.” His voice was scathing now, his face in a full scowl. “Ye were already half gone with fever when Rood was readying to pitch ye over that cliff. No a bit of running or hiding or fighting in ye. Ye’d be dead twice over if I hadna happened by.” He pointed to the sky. “See those hawks?” There were two, soaring above us. “They miss the meal they might have had of ye.”

  “But I managed to find my way back to Dunraw and in the dark too,” I said. “And I’m alive now. I know my way about. I can take care of myself.” I put my fist over my heart. I had to convince him.

  Dunbar threw the half-whittled stick down. “And how will ye do that, lad? Ye’re nae soldier, as I was once, nae thief and smuggler as I am now. Ye’ve no killed a man in cold blood or in hot. What have ye stolen that was no first given ye?”

  I turned my head away as the heat rose to my cheeks. It was as if he could read my very soul.

  But he was not done with me yet. “Ye’re a crofter’s boy, and ye need a family about ye, a roof over yer head, good land to hand, and a hot meal awaiting ye at night.”

  I said softly, “But I could learn all that running and hiding and fighting from ye. I could be yer apprentice.”

  “Apprentice?” Dunbar laughed harshly. “I’m nae smithy or tanner. A man in my line doesna take on an apprentice. That would be as mad as taking on a wife and children.” There was a bitterness in those last words that reminded me he’d had a wife and child once.

  He stood, towering over me, and shoved the knife into his belt. “Instead of giving me grief, save yer strength for the march. It’s a long road to Glasgow and ye go tomorrow, as I told ye.”

  “And as I told ye—I’m no going.”

  We stood there like men about to battle.

  “Aye, ye’ve been handing me a pretty parcel of nonsense ever since ye woke,” he said as he brushed past me. “Ye can find somebody else to try yer havers on.”

  He stomped into the cave, not looking back at me. I followed after, and watched him stuff his pockets with snares, tobacco, food. Then he picked up his musket and powder horn. Slinging a water skin over his shoulder, he headed outside.

  “I’ve business to attend to,” he said gruffly. “Without need of any apprentice. There’s neeps I got from the fields outside the ruined cottages. They’re in the pot and been stewing all night. There’s some bread left to soak up the dregs. Make sure the fire is out until dark. Eat, rest, and make sure ye keep out of sight.” He stepped out of the cave, then paused to look back over his shoulder. “If I spot ye wandering around outside, I’ll turn ye over to Rood myself.”

  And then he was gone.

  19 THE CAVE

  I thought it safest to stay in the cave until I was sure he was far away. There’d been nothing in his voice to suggest his warning had been a joke. What if there was a reward on my head? Might he not be tempted to give me over to the laird?

  I checked around the starkly furnished refuge. There were wooden boxes, some tin pots, like trinkets in a magpie’s nest, piled one atop the other along one wall. In the stone wardrobe was a pile of ragged fabrics Dunbar must have used to patch his clothes on the lowest shelf. Small logs for the fire were stacked carefully near the entrance to the cave. Our bedding—just blankets and skins—lay on the floor.

  Suddenly I noticed something peeking out from beneath the pile of fabrics. It was a book. I pulled it out and slowly read the title on the cover:

  The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of

  ROBINSON CRUSOE

  I’d never come across a name like that before. I opened the book at random and read: Upon the whole, here was an undoubted testimony, that there was scarce any condition in the world so miserable but there was something negative or something positive to be thankful for in it.

  I tried to read more, but it was too difficult. I’d nae practice at it except for the Bible when Ma—and later Ishbel—had Lachlan and me read a passage out before Sunday meals. Following the long words in this Robinson Crusoe was like tracing a row of wobbly stepping-stones. Still, I learned something surprising about Dunbar I’d not known before. He was a reader, though this book seemed to be the only one he had in his cave.

  Putting the book back in its place, I ventured outside. Now I was curious to explore this region that had become both my prison and my salvation. I had no idea how far we’d come from the place where Rood had tried to kill me or whether the cave was on McRoy land.

  As I walked to the crag’s edge, I realized that from below, one would never guess there was anything up here worth the climb. The crag hid everything. In fact, the cave entrance itself was invisible, even from where I now stood.

  Yet I knew Dunbar was right to be cautious. Should I be caught, I’d put him in danger as well. Rood had already been made a fool of by Dunbar’s actions, and the factor was not a man to take mockery lightly. So, I pressed myself flat against the stone, making myself part of it, while I surveyed the bare country spread below me.

  Though I didn’t immediately recognize any landmarks, I realized we had to be on the laird’s land still. The crag was sitting in a glen, and McRoy owned three entire glens, with my own glen in the middle of the other two. The Rogue could not have dragged me farther away on his back, up and over mountains.

  Slowly, stealthily, I circled about the crag, the way a poacher might. Presently I made out what was surely the piney crest of Ben Torr. So, I thought, that stream glinting to the left of it must be the Killieburn. The morning sun, traveling from the east, gave me the map I needed. From this I worked out that I was on the far side of Kindarry House. If I were right—and the more I looked, the more I was sure of it—this was a bare stretch of country known as the Barrens, with scarcely a patch of good grazing. I’d heard of it but, before now, had never seen it. Neither man nor animal would be straying this way unless they meant to come. No wonder the Rogue made his home here. He was, I supposed, the king of this scrub-and-rock realm. From up here, he could spy out anyone coming for miles before they got here.

  As, I suddenly thought, can I!

  But I also realized that the cave was much farther from where Dunbar had found me than I’d originally thought. Only now did I understand how strong he must be, and I marveled at his stamina. He was right to question mine.

  Squatting down on my haunches, I thought: How can I change his mind? I needed him, but it was amply clear, he didn’t need or want me. I let out a deep sigh. I knew we had to stay together; I hadn’t the skills to survive on my own. Not yet. And come to that, I had no musket for shooting or knife for slicing.

  Och, Lachlan, I thought, if only you were here to talk with me. But of course he wasn’t. He was on his way to the city of Glasgow and from there to a boat bound for America.

  My nose began to drip and I snuffled it up. Some blackbird heard me and cried out in alarm.

  A gowk indeed! I was already showing myself a poor enough rogue without being scolded by a rook.

  I sat down on a log and thought gloomily that even being hanged for a thief would be better than taking the westward road alone. If I did find my family, what could I tell them? That I’d found our treasure, only to lose it again? That I put myself—and them—in danger? That I was a boy, a bairn, who wasn’t fit to go to Glasgow, much less the Americas? And yet … and yet … how I wanted to see them again. To lark about with Lachlan and listen to Da’s stories, to eat Ishbel’s good food.

  I stood and shook my head. If I kept up like this much longer, I’d be blubbering like a baby. But now I knew I had no choice. Since Dunbar won’t help me, I thought, I’ll have to break into Kindarry House myself.

  As I walked back toward the cave, I was afire with this idea again, already planning my route. After all, I’d been to Kindarry House twice, once as a bairn and not a week ago, when we brought the sheep to the laird. I knew what it looked like from the outside. And I’d been inside the Lodge, so how different could Kind
arry House be? Just as our cottages were alike, all small but-and-bens with a single door, so I imagined were the great houses alike: dozens of rooms opening one after another off a hallway, with many windows in each room.

  Out loud, I said: “I’ll climb in a back window, one far from the front of the house and the paddock. Then I’ll race like the wind through the rooms, looking into cupboards and drawers.” I remembered Josie’s cupboard and the way Rood had forced it open. I’d need a tool for that and wondered if the Rogue might have one in his boxes.

  Once I found the Blessing—and I’d take no more than that, otherwise it would be stealing—I’d sneak off to the stables, borrow a horse, maybe even Rob Roy fattened up on the laird’s oats, and gallop off westward to Glasgow. All my fears of too many servants and too many rooms I put well behind me. The more I told myself the tale of my adventure, the more possible it seemed.

  But once back inside the cave, the darkness, the damp sapped my spirits again. I remembered that I was only a boy, still weak from fever, without weapons or allies. One blow from Rood’s cudgel, one shot from the laird’s musket would put an end to me.

  I sat down on my bedding and picked at the stew Dunbar had left, but it did nothing to allay my fears. He might be a fine rogue, but he was a terrible cook. Ishbel’s stews had flavor. This cold mash of old neeps had none. So I lay down on the wool blanket and, presently, began to doze. In my dreams I stole not one but three Blessings and brought Bonnie Josie to America with me.

  When I woke, I felt worse than before. Finding the treasure really was only a dream after all.

  Knowing I needed to walk about, to get strong again, I got up and went outside, where I took a cautious stroll around the heather-clad hollow and stared out over the empty countryside. Except for a small, thin, silvery burn running alongside the crag’s bottom, too small for good fishing, there seemed to be nothing living down there, no rabbits or deer or sheep or …

  The count of what was not there made me sleepy and once more I dozed, this time sitting upright on a stone.

  When I woke, the sun was already sinking in a sky ruddy with pink-bottomed clouds. A light breeze sighed across the clearing, and the thrush took up its evensong, curling and curling higher than even I could hear.

  As the dark drew in, I started to get anxious about Dunbar. He’d been gone for hours. Suppose the laird’s men had hunted him down. Suppose he’d walked into an ambush and was even now lying in chains.

  Shouldn’t I go to his aid? I needn’t be without a weapon. I could fashion a cudgel from a tree limb. Standing, I looked around until I found a branch that would do. I tugged at it and it scarcely moved, which showed me how weak I was still. In this condition, how could I possibly help the Rogue? And hadn’t he told me to stay put and keep out of sight?

  “Dunbar’s work is not like Da’s,” I told myself, sitting on my rock and watching the path that wandered into the pine forest below. A rogue’s business wasn’t something left off at dusk so the man could hurry home for supper.

  Supper! I supposed I could go back into the cave and make some more stew so he could eat and not just have my leavings of cold neeps. Once it got fully dark, I could start the fire again.

  I smiled at my haverings. Usually Lachlan and I just took off and got into trouble without thinking. And here I’d spent an entire afternoon laying plans ahead of time. Perhaps, I thought, perhaps I will make a good rogue after all.

  As I started to turn, a bit of movement below caught my eye. There was a figure coming from the right at a brisk pace across the flat, rocky ground. I froze. Then when I was sure the man wasn’t looking up at me, I drew back into the cover of a gorse bush and peered through the twilight.

  It was only Dunbar, no mistaking that rabbit fur bonnet, that deerskin jacket, that swagger. I heaved a sigh of relief. He had a bundle slung over his shoulder, and he’d gone away without any such, just his pockets stuffed with what food and tobacco and stuff he needed. Intrigued, I watched him climb the hill, being careful to keep myself hidden.

  Halfway up, he stopped and carefully looked about. I leaned out of sight and took a deep breath, confident he hadn’t spotted me.

  When I looked out again—carefully, carefully—he was hunched over a cluster of rocks. He lifted one up and set it aside to expose a small hole. Into that he stuffed his bundle, then covered it over again. Before he could straighten up, I darted back into the cave and lay down by the cold fire, trying to look as if I hadn’t shifted all day.

  All the while I was thinking: What can Dunbar have brought back that’s so valuable he’s keeping it a secret even from me?

  When he came inside, he cleared his throat, and when I looked up sleepily, he bobbed his head at me. Then he cast a suspicious glance around the cave, as if to assure himself I hadn’t interfered with any of his belongings. Luckily the boxes and tins were just as he’d left them. Only the bowl of neeps was disturbed.

  Unslinging his musket and water skin, he sat down opposite me. “I’ve been thinking on what ye said,” he told me without meeting my eyes. He cleared his throat again, as if something were stuck there. “There’s no harm in ye staying a while longer. Provided ye make yerself useful.”

  I was so surprised I could hardly speak. In fact my jaw dropped open. This was just what I wanted. But what had changed his mind? And did it matter, so long as he changed it?

  “I’ll do … I’ll do whatever ye ask,” I blurted out at last. “Just name the task.” I could feel a big, daft smile spread all over my face.

  “We’ll speak more on it in the morning,” Dunbar said gruffly. “If ye’re to come with me, ye’d best get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ve been dozing all day,” I lied. “Canna we talk now?”

  “We canna.” His answer was almost a slap.

  We ate a cold, meager supper of carrots and barley in silence. It was as unappealing as the bowl of neeps. I cleared the dishes away, and he nodded. That was as close to a conversation as we came.

  I wanted to ask Dunbar why he was letting me stay, but he looked so distracted, I didn’t dare. Even when he sat back against the stone wall, eyes closed, smoking his pipe, I had the sense to keep quiet. I feared that if I upset him now, I’d lose all the ground I’d so mysteriously gained.

  Still, I was pleased with myself. Pleased for all that I’d figured out. And even more pleased I’d convinced Dunbar to keep me on. But I couldn’t help wondering what it was he’d hidden in that hole in the ground.

  Well, if he had a secret, I had my own secret too. I’d seen him hide his bundle. So, which of us was the greater rogue now?

  20 THE STILL

  The next morning Dunbar seemed more relaxed, as if he’d come to terms with me staying on. Though I was still curious about his change of mind, he brushed me off whenever I tried to question him.

  “I’ll no have ye fashing me the whole time,” he said testily. “If that doesna suit ye, ye’re free to leave.”

  I’d no choice then but to keep myself to myself.

  “Pack up some food and drink,” Dunbar said, gathering up his equipment, “and get ready to march. Since ye’re staying, I mean to put ye to work.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “No place we’ll get to by sitting here blethering.” He turned his back on me and packed up his weapons—musket, knife, and ammunition and some other strange tools I had no name for—into a leather sack.

  In a few moments he was off down the back side of the hill, a rocky path covered with grey scree that skittered away from us at each step. I scurried after, carrying a second sack filled with our provisions. The morning was bright, the sky spotted with three layers of clouds. I had to walk briskly, nearly breaking into a run, just to keep up with him. My legs were still wobbly from being ill, but I was not going to let that show.

  After a bit he turned and watched me, and then he nodded, as if approving my efforts to match his soldier’s stride.

  I can do it, I told myself. And indeed, the long
er we went, the stronger I felt.

  In this unfamiliar stretch of country I could tell only that we were headed east toward the Kindarry glens. We stuck to the trees, a large stand of oak, and wound our way through them, though what path we were on was unclear. I think Dunbar must have made up a different route each time to make it harder to track him. I turned to look behind us. I couldn’t see the crag and the cave at all, only a solid wall of trees.

  After a while, we left the protection of the forest and entered a stone gully with broken walls of grey flint. Our feet left no track here either.

  Dunbar didn’t speak to me, and so I kept silent as well. But it was hard. I wanted to know where we were going and why. I wanted to know if we were silent because it made us safer, or if we were silent because he had nothing to say to me, or if we were silent because of our secrets.

  Suddenly fear rose up like bile in my throat. Could Dunbar be carrying out his threat to turn me over to the laird? Was I a lamb being led to the butcher? I gnawed on that for a while until I saw that even though he’d threatened, it made no sense. Why would he go to all the trouble of saving my life, carrying me all the way to his lair, nursing me for days, only to betray me? And surely, since he’d saved me by shooting at the factor, he was as much a wanted man as I.

  But then, I reminded myself, he is a rogue. Who knows what rogues think?

  Almost as if he’d heard my thoughts, he said in a gruff whisper, “Ye’ll be wondering where we’re headed.” He nodded at the long gully.

  “It’s crossed my mind.” I tried not to sound too keen.

  “Word reached me yesterday that Rood’s not taken our run-in well.” He smiled, a slow smile that lit up his face. “He’s got men scouring the hills.”

  “Hunting for me? Or for ye?”

  Dunbar gave a wry laugh and signaled me to sit on a log that must have washed down the gully in some fierce storm years ago. It was as grey as the stone. Settling himself against a rock, Dunbar crossed his legs, took out his pipe, and stuck it in his mouth unlit. “They’ve no got the nerve to come after me. They know what a good shot I am, and they’re all too scared of catching a musket ball between the eyes. Nae, lad, it’s my other whisky still he’s got them hunting. He wants to take my purse, not my head.”