by Jane Yolen
He turned to me with a grin. “We’re next, then.”
“Nae, man, ye’re mad,” I said, backing away from the edge. The crash of the waterfall was dinning in my ears.
Dunbar took stock of me and cast a wary eye at the slopes above. Any sound of the redcoats approaching would surely be drowned out by the water’s thunder.
“I’ll go first, then, to show ye the way,” he said.
He picked up his musket, took a backward step, then dashed forward, launching himself into the air. His coat flapped about him, and he landed in a crouch on the far side. Drawing himself up, he turned and stretched an encouraging hand toward me.
“Come on, lad! Any more dawdling will kill us!”
I shook my head. My face was beaded with spray, but my mouth was as dry as tanned leather. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t jump.
“Ye can do it!” Dunbar said sharply. “Do it for love of yer kin or to spite the thieving laird, but—God’s mercy, Roddy!—make the bloody jump!”
28 DARK CLOUDS
The Rogue’s words stung me like a lash, and it was more shame than courage that drove me on. In two strides I reached the edge, then jumped. Beneath my feet I could feel the huge empty depth of the ravine. It felt like there was a giant serpent below, its mouth wide open, waiting to swallow me.
For an instant my heart surged with hope, then just as quickly I knew I was falling short. Desperately I stretched out for the other side. As my feet dropped beneath me, I dug my fingers into the far ground, clawing frantically, my face pressed against earth and rock. My feet scrabbled on the sheer slope, searching for some purchase, but I was losing hold.
“Oh, God!” I cried. “Oh, God!” Sheer terror turned me cold as ice.
I was slipping, my fingernails breaking on the hard surface, my shoes tearing. I looked up and saw Dunbar’s face above me. He was leaning far over the edge, stretching down with both hands. At the last instant he managed to grab my wrists. I dangled for a breathless moment, then he gave a grunt and heaved me up beside him.
I lay there panting until Dunbar hauled me to my feet. I was shaking badly, but the Rogue supported me with one arm and pressed his flask to my lips.
“Drink!” he ordered. “It’ll steady ye.”
I took a swallow and the fiery whisky burned down my gullet, easing the icy shock.
“Come now, laddie, we’ve a ways to go yet,” said Dunbar, giving me an encouraging clap on the shoulder.
As we scrambled up the barren slope, I thought: I did it! Alan Dunbar said I could—and I did! A warm feeling spread through me, warmer than the whisky, and I grinned.
An open deer track led toward a stand of pine. Beside the track grew tiny knots of heather, still brown and barely budded. It would be months before the hillside would glow with purple flowers. It was as if we were the only living beings on earth. But we were alive!
Finally we reached the shelter of the pines, and at the same time a crack of a musket sounded, louder than the now-muffled thunder of the falls. Quickly, Dunbar crouched behind a large rock and pulled me down beside him. He nodded to the far side of the ravine where the redcoats were working their way down the slope, testing their footing on the treacherous ground. “Here they come, lad.”
He braced the musket against his shoulder, resting the barrel on the rock as he took aim. I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw as he pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the ravine, and the bullet kicked up a plume of dirt right at the feet of one of the soldiers.
The redcoat jerked back, and his companions froze in their tracks, looking around to see where the shot had come from. While they hesitated, Dunbar rapidly reloaded and loosed off another round, which whacked off a rock only inches from another man. Our pursuers blazed off a couple of random shots, then scrambled frantically for cover.
Dunbar gave a satisfied grin as he loaded his gun again. “That should hold them a while. They’ll be scared to cross in case I pick them off as they jump.” He stood slowly, bent over, and I did the same. “Now we have to stay low so they can’t see us above the rising fog from the water and the damp grass.”
He turned then, heading up the slope, keeping low in the shade of the pines. I scurried along beside him, wondering what was in his mind.
“Did ye mean to miss them?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’ve no stomach for shooting soldiers. I wore that same uniform myself for far too long. But I’m a good enough shot to miss them as I will. Still, if I have to kill to dodge the gallows, I do it, but for now I’ll just keep running as long as there’s a way forward.”
His words gave me fresh respect for the man. Determined as he was to be free, he still abided by a code of honor. And then I thought: What a puzzle he is. One moment a rogue and the next a man worthy of the Highland chiefs of old.
Overhead a solitary eagle, in ever-widening circles, surveyed the ground below. I shivered, thinking: Aren’t we lucky that redcoats canna fly.
A hard day’s journey we had of it, clambering over more rocks and shale, chancing the narrow tracks, and sometimes clinging by our fingernails to avoid tumbling from the heights. We were always on a slope and often a slippery one at that. I wondered if I’d ever be able to straighten up and walk right again.
Midway through the morning there was a shot in the distance and then another. I looked around to see where they were coming from, but Dunbar wasn’t concerned.
“They’re too far off to be shooting at us,” he said. “They’ll be bagging game for their meal.”
“I’m glad of anything that slows them up,” I said, wondering at the same time what we were going to do for a meal. My own stomach was so empty, it thought my throat had been slit hours ago. All we’d eaten this day had been river water and a handful of dark berries. The moldy cheese and bread in our pack was long gone.
To make things more difficult, dark clouds rolled in and unleashed a heavy, relentless rain. The ground grew soggy beneath us. Walking became nearly impossible, and we slogged along. I encouraged myself with the thought that the soldiers were not as used to trekking through the hills after cattle and sheep as I. But then I remembered how they were used to going after human prey, and any encouragement I’d felt left me.
By afternoon’s end, the rain was beating down in a ceaseless torrent. The steep slopes both above and below us were slick and muddy.
“We must press on,” Dunbar told me. “We canna be caught out here in the open.”
I answered with a nod, hoping I looked braver than I felt. I promised myself not to fall behind. However, as I toiled up the mountainside, the muddy footing slipped away under me and I started to slide uncontrollably.
Dunbar made a grab for me but only set himself slithering downward at my side. Both of us were clawing at the wet ground with hooked fingers already scraped raw by the climb. But neither our hands nor our feet could find any purchase to slow our sickening-quick descent.
“Cursed fates,” Dunbar cried as he dug at the slimy earth and kicked at it with the toes of his boots.
“Double curse!” I shouted.
Then suddenly I spotted a rock jutting out of the ground to my left. I managed to catch it with one hand, then swung the other over to secure my grip.
The Rogue was sliding past me, trailing more curses in his wake. I thrust out my right leg and managed to hook my foot through the strap of his musket. The other end of it caught under his shoulder like a sling, pulling him up short. He immediately took the chance to dig his feet into the earth, then gradually worked his way up beside me.
I groaned in pain, for it felt as if my knee would burst apart under the strain of Dunbar’s weight.
Blinking at me through the rain, he laughed. “This is no the way I thought this old gun of mine would save me. Good work, lad.”
I grinned under his compliment but wouldn’t let him see how much it mattered. “Well, we’re even now.”
Tilting his head to the left, he said, “Aye—we are. Now listen, lad, there’s some
wee trees clinging on over there. If we slide ourselves over that way careful like, the going will get easier.”
He crawled sideways on his hands and knees and I went after, careful to secure a good hold before making any move. Looking up, I could see the grooves we’d left in the mud.
We took shelter from the rain under a moss-covered overhang. As we sat knee to knee, Dunbar brought out a crust of bread and some overripe cheese from his pack.
“I thought it was all gone,” I said.
“I always like to surprise my apprentices.” He chuckled and handed me half. “Keeps them on their toes.”
I was so grateful I began to laugh, and he joined me. We laughed until our stomachs were sore, and then we ate our meager rations slowly, happy for each small bite.
Soaked through and aching with weariness, I was still buoyed by the fact that our long slide down the hill might have gained us time on the redcoats. And they would be hard-pressed to chase us in this downpour. I said as much to Dunbar.
“Whether we’ve gained or lost,” he said, “we canna yet know. But I can tell you this, lad. There’s no sense in dwelling on what’s lost.” He leaned toward me and said with a kind of forced eagerness, like a father to his flagging son, “We’re alive and free yet. That’s the good side of things.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m starting to think there’s nothing left in the world but us and this wet mountain.”
Dunbar gazed out at lashing rain and the grey peaks beyond. “‘I looked now upon the world as a thing remote,’” he said in a strange, faraway voice, “‘which I had nothing to do with, no expectation from, and, indeed, no desires about.’” He smiled at the puzzled look on my face. “It’s a line from a book,” he said.
“That book I saw in yer cave?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Found that, did ye? Aye, Robinson Crusoe, by a man named Defoe. I wish I had it with me now. A book like that’s a wondrous thing for settling a man’s mind.”
“I’ve never read a book,” I confessed. “All I know is the bits of the Bible the minister tells us, and Ma and Ishbel have read out to us. That and stories about fairies and giants. Aye—and the Bonnie Prince.”
“This book’s a bit different from those tales,” said Dunbar gently. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. They were as washed out as the grey skies. “Then again, maybe not so much so. It’s about a man named Crusoe, shipwrecked on an island where he lives alone for many a long year with only God for company. The two of them have some rare conversations that set Crusoe to thinking. Then one day he finds a companion, a savage running from his enemies, and Crusoe’s wee world grows bigger.”
“An island, eh?” I said. “Is that what ye’re looking for?”
Dunbar shook his head. “Nay, lad. No more. Like Crusoe, I’ve had enough of tending to my own wants and hurts and nothing else. If we get clear of all this—of the redcoats who are as mired down right now as we—I’m minded to make something more of my life. Something bigger. Something real. And I’ll not live it alone any longer.”
29 AT A RUN
We slept cold and wet and weary, but we slept nonetheless. By early morning the sky had cleared, and the sun set about its work of drying out the rain-soaked ground. There were three light layers of clouds, white streamers across the blue. The streams were swollen from the rain, and we filled our flasks, drinking thirstily, careful not to be seen.
Dunbar smacked his lips and surveyed the wild landscape. “This is how the world must have looked to Noah when he landed his boat on the mountain,” he said. “Fresh scrubbed and new.”
“I was thinking we might have need of a boat ourselves.” It was as if we’d all but forgotten the redcoats, the night terrors, the dead man behind us.
“A pair of stout legs will serve us just fine,” said Dunbar. “By day’s end we’ll have made it to lower ground, where the forests will keep us hid.”
“Hiding will be good,” I said, suddenly aware of how open the ground was around us.
All at once Dunbar stiffened, his sharp ears picking up some sound too soft for my hearing. I turned as he raised his musket and took aim. On the slope above us a redcoat was descending, carefully picking out his footing on the rocks.
How had he found us? Why had we not noticed him before? My heart leapt in my chest like a frightened hare.
When the redcoat saw that he’d been spotted, he tried to level his gun, but Dunbar fired first. His bullet smacked into the stock of the soldier’s musket, knocking it clear out of his hands. The shock of it made the man lose his footing and he fell onto his back, sliding down the wet slope toward us.
“Here!” he yelled to his comrades. “I have them!”
He dug in his heels and struggled to his feet, pulling a bayonet from his belt. Then he lunged at me with the long, sharp blade. Only a desperate instinct made me grab his knife arm, twisting it and using his own momentum to throw him over my shoulder.
“Well done, lad!” Dunbar cried as the redcoat went tumbling head over heels down into the thick undergrowth far below us.
“How did he know where we were?” I asked.
But Dunbar hardly listened to my question. “Damn yon mud slide!” he cursed. “They must have found firmer ground than we to have gained on us so fast.”
For a moment I stood there frozen until the Rogue yanked at my sleeve. “Come on!” he said. “The hounds are on our trail for sure now!”
I managed to keep pace with him, even though my feet slithered wildly in the damp earth. We circled away from the place where the redcoat had fallen and crouched low.
“There!” cried a voice from above us. “There’s the two of them!”
A musket rang out. I flinched at the noise, but the shot missed us both by nearly twenty yards.
“Dinna mind that,” said Dunbar, as if he could read my fears. “They’re trained to shoot into enemy ranks, not pick off a running target. Keep moving. Zigzag. Dinna stay in one place.” He ran, and I followed.
Another shot came and then another. Each time I tensed for the thump of a bullet into my body but nothing even came close. Dunbar was right. As long as we kept moving, we were safe.
Still, by the time we reached some sparse cover among a scattering of firs, I was soaked in a cold, nervous sweat. A sharp pain stabbed at my side. “Ye’d best go on without me,” I gasped. “I’ll just slow ye down.”
Dunbar grabbed me by the arm. “Ye’re doing fine, lad,” he said.
“No, really, leave me.”
“Hold yer nerve. I dinna desert my comrades.” His voice was as hard and sure as the very mountain we were standing on, and I felt my own spirit take strength from him.
Comrade, I thought.
He looked down at me. “I promise I’ll get ye out of this, lad.”
The answer sprang to my lips by his will rather than mine. “I know ye will.”
“Ahead there!” barked a redcoat. “We’ll have them this time, my boys!” It was a deep, harsh voice, and suddenly I was once more deathly afraid.
The words spurred us to dash even faster until we came to a hollow in the ground. Dunbar dived in, dragging me down beside him. He reloaded his musket faster than I could tie a knot, and then he set his eye to sight down the barrel. “If we’re to get clear, we must give them pause,” he said calmly.
A soldier appeared through the trees at a run, looking more intent on clinging to his gun than anything else. “This is going to sting,” whispered Dunbar. He squeezed the trigger and shot the redcoat in the shoulder. The man fell with a grunt of pain, clutching at the wound as he rolled over.
“That should fix up easy once the sawbones gets to work on it,” Dunbar said under his breath as he reloaded.
We could see more soldiers now, slowing as they came under the shadows of the trees. Dunbar shot off a branch right over one of their heads. At this, they all dropped to the ground, cursing.
“Unlike the king’s soldiers,” he said, patting
his musket, “I’ve spent these past years learning to shoot rabbits and wild birds. Needs a steadier hand and a surer eye than hitting a man.”
We rolled out the far side of the hollow and wriggled off through the undergrowth, keeping low and out of sight. Beneath me the ground smelled musky and damp and full of life. We heard muskets bang behind us as the redcoats fired at random, but the shots were far off, as if the soldiers hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to follow. Dunbar’s pinpoint shooting had indeed given them pause.
Once we’d put a good distance between us and them, we got to our feet and began running again. For nearly fifteen minutes, we ran without slowing until we reached a tall, grey rock. Sheltering behind it, I watched Dunbar cast an appraising eye over the nearby crags, grey and slatey.
“If I reckon this right,” he said, “I’ve a trick up my sleeve yet.”
“Have ye an army lying in wait, then?” I was panting. “If we had even a small one, we could ambush the redcoats.”
“Nae army.” He laughed. “But I know this spot because I’d reason to hide out here once.” He was still looking around. “An old man showed me an escape route. The Devil’s Reach, it’s called. Up there.” He pointed to a horseshoe-shaped peak, its curved side tilted up toward the sky.
I squinted up. “Devil’s Reach? Doesna sound all that inviting. And …” I paused, gauging the height of the slope. “It’s very far away.” Not only far away, but bare rock rising out of thickly wooded slopes, with no hiding place for fugitives like us.
Dunbar clapped me on the shoulder and we started climbing again. “Some folks say it’s the very rock where Satan took Jesus Christ to offer him all the kingdoms of the world. Others that anyone going up there is snatched away by the devil and never seen again.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I asked, clambering over a fallen tree trunk. “It looks more like a trap than an escape.”