By this time Mamie had arrived home; she had also arrived at a desperate decision. She left the car in the drive and, without stopping to remove her hat and coat, she went straight into the drawing-room and sat down at her desk.
As a rule it took Mamie quite a long time to write a letter; it was difficult for her to put her thoughts on paper and spelling was not her strong point. A dictionary lay upon her desk and she referred to it frequently; she was particularly shaky upon the subject of double letters in the middle of a word. She would spell probable with double letters – probable – and decide it looked queer (which it certainly does) or she would spell possible with two s’s and decide it didn’t look right (a decision with which most people would disagree).
Today, however, Mamie wrote her letter straight off and without any reference to Messrs. Chambers’ admirable lexicon, for she was aware that if she paused a moment for thought or reference the letter would not be written at all. She wrote it at white heat, sealed, addressed and stamped it and, running through to the kitchen, she called Duggie and sent him off on his bicycle to the post.
Duggie had no sooner gone than Mamie regretted her action, and would have given quite a lot to have retrieved the letter and thrown it into the fire.
Chapter Twenty
James was hard at work now and he was enjoying it all thoroughly. His duties were varied, for Jock wanted to give him a bird’s-eye view of farming as an introduction to the life. James helped Willy Bell in the byre and learned to milk a patient cow; he gave a hand in the dairy, took the horses to be reshod and performed a dozen other seasonable tasks. Sometimes when Daniel was raking the sheep James went with him. ‘Raking’, he discovered, consisted in moving the sheep about the hills to new pastures.
‘They go up to bed at night and come down to their breakfasts, just like Christians,’ Daniel told him with a smile.
With the other men James found he had to watch what they were doing and ask questions in order to learn from them; but with Daniel it was different, for Daniel was able to put himself into the position of a learner and explain. He told James all sort of interesting things about his sheep.
It was fascinating to see Gyp at work. A word from Daniel and she would be off like an arrow from a bow to carry out his wishes. She would get behind the sheep and move them slowly and gently without alarming them.
She would run backwards and forwards, until they began to stray in the right direction and then she would crouch in the heather, watching her master with bright eyes and responding to his whistle and the gestures of his arm. Daniel would send her to round up a little group of sheep and bring them down to him. He would wave and whistle and she would single out one sheep from the others and herd it into a pen. This manoeuvre was called ‘shedding’ and James thought it the cleverest thing he had ever seen. When the sheep had been shed and penned Daniel could examine it at leisure; he might find that it was lame, and discover a small lump of hardened mud between its toes and remove it with the knife which he always carried in his pocket. Foot-rot was unknown upon the hirsel of Mureth, for Mureth lay high and the ground was dry and healthy, but Daniel dreaded foot-rot more than any other disease to which sheep are heirs and was always on the watch for it.
The Mureth sheep had black faces and black legs; they looked alike to James, but to Daniel they looked different and already he was getting to know them and to know their characteristics and peculiarities.
‘There’s yon two-shear ewe with the sprained fetlock,’ Daniel would say, wrinkling up his eyes and gazing up the hill. ‘She’s going quite sound this morning, but we’ll have a wee look at her all the same.’ And he would send Gyp streaking off to fetch her.
When James asked him how he could tell the sheep apart, Daniel smiled. ‘How do you tell humans apart?’ he inquired. ‘They’ve all got two eyes and a nose and a mouth, isn’t that so, Mr. James?’
‘Yes, but they are different, Daniel,’ said James. ‘Take you and me, for instance. Even a sheep could tell us apart.’
Daniel laughed delightedly. ‘That’s one up to you,’ he declared.
One particularly fine afternoon James and Daniel went up the hill to take a look at the dyke which separated the hirsel of Mureth from Tassieknowe. The hills were tawny coloured, with here and there a black scree or a patch of heather. The bell-heather was in bloom, it blooms earlier than the true heather, and every patch of it was full of murmuring bees. As one walked through it the yellow pollen rose in clouds and the scent of it was sweet and heady in the sunshine.
‘It’ll be a fine year for honey,’ said Daniel. ‘But it’s bad for sheep. I never saw the hills so dry, and there’s scarce a drop of water in the burns. If it goes on much longer we’ll need to do something about it, and that’s the truth.’
‘What could you do?’ asked James.
‘Bring the sheep down and cart water up to them,’ said Daniel with a sigh. ‘But that’s only half the trouble; there’s little or no grass on the hills. The draw-moss is like tinder. Three days soft rain is what we’re needing and there’s no signs of a break.’
The dyke which they had come to see was a very fine specimen of its kind. It was about four feet high and ran for miles, straight as a bow-shot, over hills and valleys. The building of these dykes is an art which has been handed down for generations from father to son. The stones are fitted together without cement or clay, and wedged so neatly and tightly that the wall can withstand the wind and rain and driving snow of long and boisterous winters.
At one place the land had subsided and the dyke was breached. It was in process of repair. Two dykers were at work upon it when Daniel and James arrived upon the scene – two strong burly men, as they had need to be, for some of the stones were large and heavy.
‘It’s very clever,’ declared James as he watched them. ‘It’s like a jig-saw puzzle on end. I made a crazy path last winter; that was difficult enough, but this is a hundred per cent, more tricky. It has got to stand up.’
‘That’s the idea, Mr. James,’ agreed Daniel with his usual dry humour.
The two men smiled. It was the sort of joke they appreciated.
‘Maybe you’d like to have a try,’ suggested one of the men.
James was always ready to try his hand at anything, so he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and got to work, carrying the stones and helping to wedge them firmly. It was interesting but back-breaking in the extreme. Meanwhile Daniel was prowling about and examining the fallen stones.
‘It’s a biggish gap,’ said Daniel. ‘You’ll not have seen any sheep go through, I suppose.’
‘We’ve not,’ replied the elder man. ‘If there’s any sheep gone through they’ve gone before we were here.’
James climbed upon the wall and looked down the hill towards a little burn in Tassieknowe property. ‘I think I see a Mureth sheep,’ he said. ‘It’s got our red mark on its back. Yes, I’m almost sure.’
‘Good for you,’ said Daniel approvingly. ‘Where there’s one there’ll be others. They’ll have gone down to the water, most likely. I’ll take Gyp and have a cast round.’
James watched them go. It was very hot. The sun poured down upon the bare hillside in a golden flood. There were hills all around, rolling hills and shallow valleys, and there was not a sign of human habitation in sight. The only unnatural feature of the landscape was the wall and even that was so old and grey and weathered that it did not look as if it had been built by men’s hands, but rather if it had always been there from time immemorial. The dykers had knocked off work and were having a well-earned rest, and James offered them cigarettes and lighted one himself. It was peaceful and quiet; the only sounds were the singing of a lark and the far-off whinny of a curlew.
Daniel and Gyp had found some sheep and were rounding them up and James watched them, for there was nothing he liked better than to see Daniel and Gyp at work. Then, quite suddenly, he saw a group of people coming up the little valley by the side of the burn.
The sight was quite startling in this solitary place, and all the more so because the people themselves looked completely out of place in their surroundings. The party consisted of three men and two women all of whom were attired in bright, smartly-tailored tweeds, the sort of garments which might have been seen in a London shop, labelled ‘For Sport’, thought James, smiling to himself at the idea. For a moment he wondered who on earth they were and where they could have come from, and then he remembered the Big-Business Magnate who had bought Tassieknowe. Mr. Heddle was his name, and obviously this was Mr. Heddle, walking in front of his friends and carrying a gun. What did he intend to shoot, James wondered.
Mr. Heddle was a large man, but in spite of his bulk he moved easily and lightly. He was hatless and his black wavy hair gleamed in the sunshine with an oily sheen. His friends looked jaded; they were tagging along behind their host in a dejected manner as if they had had quite enough and wished themselves safely at home.
Mr. Heddle caught sight of Daniel and Gyp. He hastened his steps and waved. ‘What are you doing with those sheep?’ he shouted.
Daniel stopped and looked round, but Gyp knew no law but her master’s; she carried on, herding the sheep up the hill towards James, running backwards and forwards to keep them on the move.
‘Call off that dog!’ shouted Mr. Heddle, advancing upon Daniel with an air of importance.
Daniel said nothing. Perhaps he was too surprised for speech.
‘Are you deaf?’ shouted Mr. Heddle, waving angrily. ‘Call off that dog. Can’t you see it’s chasing my sheep!’
The two dykers had risen to get a better view of the scene. They were chuckling over it, for it was a pretty good joke to hear a shepherd being rebuked in this extraordinary way. James was amused too. It was like a scene in a comedy: the tall commanding figure in the checked plus-fours confronting Daniel in his patched jacket and faded corduroy trousers. And Daniel was so utterly amazed at the insults which were being heaped upon him that he could find no words to refute them.
‘Call off the dog!’ bellowed Mr. Heddle. ‘If you don’t call it off I’ll shoot it.’
James could hardly believe his ears; but all the same he realised that the thing had gone beyond a joke and that it was time he took action. He leapt off the wall and ran down the slope. ‘Wait!’ he shouted. ‘I can explain!’
But Mr. Heddle was far too angry to listen. He raised his gun and fired.
It was a frightful moment and James felt quite sick with horror. He stopped and looked round, expecting to see the dog lying upon the hillside dead, or dying; but Gyp was unharmed, she was not even alarmed, and it was obvious that Mr. Heddle had missed her completely. Perhaps he had not intended to shoot the dog but only to frighten its owner, and James was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. Daniel was not. Daniel was roused to fury. He had turned to rush to Gyp, for she was his first thought, but seeing her unharmed, he wheeled round and advanced upon Mr. Heddle instead.
‘You dirty swine!’ yelled Daniel. ‘I’ll teach you –’
‘Daniel, stop!’ cried James, tearing down the slope as fast as his legs could carry him. ‘Wait! Gyp’s all right. Wait, for Heaven’s sake! Gyp’s all right, I tell you!’ He caught Daniel’s arm and turned to face Mr. Heddle. ‘I can explain everything,’ he declared breathlessly.
‘Let me get at him!’ cried Daniel.
‘Wait — listen!’ cried James, shaking his arm. ‘The whole thing is a mistake. Mr. Heddle doesn’t understand.’
‘I understand the dog is chasing my sheep,’ declared Mr. Heddle furiously. ‘I’m within my rights to shoot a dog when I see it chasing my sheep.’
‘They’re Mureth sheep,’ declared James.
‘That’s nonsense. I bought this place with the sheep on it. All the sheep on this hill belong to me.’
Daniel gasped. ‘Did you ever hear the like!’
‘They’re Mureth sheep,’ repeated James firmly. ‘There’s a gap in the wall and they’ve come through on to your ground.’
‘How can you tell one sheep from another?’
‘Your sheep have blue markings and ours have red.’ Everyone turned to look at the sheep. By this time Gyp had succeeded in getting her charges up to the wall and was herding them carefully through the gap.
‘You see,’ urged James. ‘She isn’t chasing them. She’s a sheep-dog. She’s putting them back through the gap —’
‘That’s damned clever, y’know,’ said one of Mr. Heddle’s friends, a youngish man with a light tweed cap which was tilted at a coy angle upon his sleek black hair. ‘That dog would do for a circus, y’know. And I believe this feller’s right, Nestor. I noticed your sheep have blue dabs on their behinds.’
The rest of the party laughed.
‘It’s a wise farmer that knows his own sheep,’ remarked one of the women sotto voce.
These remarks and the slightly malicious laughter were not calculated to soothe Mr. Heddle, for no man likes to look a fool and Mr. Heddle was used to adulation. James could imagine him in a sumptuous office, giving orders to obsequious secretaries. He looked like that, thought James. There was something rather alarming about the man: one had a feeling he might do anything.
‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ said James, hoping that a soft answer might turn away wrath. ‘The whole thing has been a mistake, but fortunately there’s no harm done.’
‘If he’d harmed Gyp I’d have had him up for it,’ growled Daniel. ‘Folk should stay where they belong – and not come where they’re not wanted.’
‘Mr. Heddle fired in the air,’ declared James. ‘You fired in the air, didn’t you, sir? You never intended to shoot the dog.’
‘The man and the dog were on my property, trespassing.’
‘Trespassing!’ cried Daniel. ‘There’s no such thing in Scotland.’
James wondered what to do. Should he explain who he was and try to smooth things over? But he was so dirty and untidy, he had not thought of his appearance before, but now he suddenly realised what he must look like to Mr. Heddle and his friends. His grey flannel trousers had a jagged tear in the knee; his shirt was dirty from carrying the stones for the dyke; he had no hat and no tie! Gosh, I better get out of this, thought James.
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he repeated. ‘It has been a mistake, a misunderstanding all round. Come on, Daniel.’ He bowed to Mr. Heddle and walked back up the hill, dragging Daniel with him.
Gyp was sitting in the gap, smiling at them. She had done her part in the business and was pleased with herself as she had every right to be. Daniel seized her and began to examine her thoroughly; he was still seething, grumbling like a volcano which is about to erupt.
‘The black-hearted villain!’ growled Daniel. ‘I’ll teach him to shoot at my dog. If there’s so much as a scratch on her I’ll have him up. It’s a scandal! If I find a pellet in her I’ll go straight to the police no matter what you say. A circus!’ exclaimed Daniel in tones of scorn. ‘Did you ever hear the like! Yon ignorant loon said Gyp ought to be in a circus! Gyp in a circus! Standing on her hind legs with a petticoat and a red jacket, I suppose!’
James said nothing. He was incapable of speech for he was trying desperately not to laugh. Perhaps the laughter which he was trying to suppress was slightly hysterical… it was swelling and bubbling within him. He rocked helplessly.
‘Aye, you may laugh,’ said Daniel. ‘But I tell you if Gyp had been hurt it would have been no laughing matter. I’d have gone for yon stuffed owl and laid him out on the hillside and neither you nor any other body would have stopped me.’
‘I know,’ agreed James. ‘And I wouldn’t have blamed you. But Gyp hasn’t been hurt, and honestly, I don’t think he meant to hurt her.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past him. The scum of the earth, that’s what he is, with no sense and no decent feelings.’
‘I wish we hadn’t fallen foul of the man,’ said James, whose desire to laugh had suddenly vanished. ‘He’s a dangerous man, Daniel, there’s something ab
out him.’
‘He’s dangerous all right.’
‘And he’s a near neighbour,’ added James, with a sigh. ‘It’s been a bad afternoon’s work, Daniel.’
Chapter Twenty-One
When Jock was told of the scene upon the hill he agreed that it was a bad afternoon’s work and in spite of all that James could say he was inclined to blame Daniel Reid for the misunderstanding.
‘Reid should have explained to Mr. Heddle,’ declared Jock. ‘He should have gone forward at once and explained the whole thing before the matter got out of hand. I don’t blame Reid for being angry with Mr. Heddle for shooting at his dog, anybody would have been angry, but if he had had the sense to explain at the very beginning instead of standing there like a dummy’
‘He was so surprised at Mr. Heddle’s ignorance.’
‘Oh, I dare say Mr. Heddle made a fool of himself, but that was because he was out of his own place. When I go to London I feel a complete fool. What with revolving doors that bash me on the heels when I try to get through them, and moving staircases that trip me up when I try to get on and off; what with the traffic and the noise and everybody pushing and shoving as if their very lives depended upon getting on to a bus before their neighbour I’m just left gasping. So you see, I can’t blame Mr. Heddle for making a fool of himself here.’
Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2) Page 14