Music in the Hills (Drumberley Book 2)

by D. E. Stevenson

  ‘You know how to look after yourself,’ remarked James.

  ‘All the comforts of the Salt Market!’ said Daniel, chuckling. ‘But maybe you’re not acquainted with Bailie Nicol Jarvie?’

  ‘It’s some time since I met him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Och, it’s a grand book, Rob Roy, and Bailie’s one of my best friends. He’s so natural and true to life. He’s so pawky. Well, that same gentleman liked his comforts and so do I when I can get them. Mind you, I can thole discomfort, nobody better, when I have to.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed James. He had ‘tholed’ a good deal of discomfort in his time.

  ‘I daren’t kindle the fire,’ said Daniel regretfully. ‘They might see the lowe from the road. It’s a pity, but there it is.’

  They each had a large sandwich and a cup of coffee out of the thermos and while they were thus engaged Daniel was prevailed upon to reveal his plan of action. James knew most of it already but he wanted to have it clear in his mind. They would wait in the cottage until they saw a car stop at the turning and go up the track to the quarry, then they would leave the cottage and follow the burn up the hill. The burn ran out of the pool near the quarry where the sheep came to drink. It was the habit of hill sheep to spend the night high up on the hill and come down in the early morning; the sheep-lifters, knowing this, would lie in wait for them.

  Daniel was strangely reluctant to give James all this information, and it was only by searching questions that James obtained it.

  ‘It’s better for me to know the plan in case we get separated,’ James pointed out.

  ‘But we’ll not get separated,’ declared Daniel, and he reminded James of his promise to obey orders and to stick closely to his superior officer during the campaign. ‘Now, mind, Mr. James, there’s to be no rushing on and leaving me behind.’

  ‘All right, keep your hair on,’ said James, smiling.

  Several cars and lorries passed while they were talking; the headlights flared through the aperture, which had once been a window, and wheeled round the ruined walls. None of the vehicles stopped, but their passage showed the strategical value of the cottage for the task in hand. James said so and Daniel agreed, adding that he wished there were fewer vehicles upon the road at night. He had slept here more times than he liked to remember and had been awakened by everything that passed.

  ‘They’ll come to-night,’ said James with conviction.

  ‘I’ve been saying the same thing every night,’ Daniel told him. ‘The fact is I’ll be so surprised when they come, if ever they do come, that I’ll not know where I am or what I’m doing.’

  ‘I’ll show you how to deal with them!’ laughed James.

  ‘Now, mind, Mr. James. We’re here to watch what’s doing, that’s all.’

  ‘But if we see them taking a sheep! Good Lord, there’s two of us! We could knock out four of them easily if we took them by surprise.’

  ‘And be had up for manslaughter?’

  ‘Not kill them of course. I don’t mean,’ he stopped. Another car was passing and this one seemed to be slowing down.

  James had risen. ‘There they are!’ he cried. ‘The car has stopped. It’s turning up the track.’

  ‘Gosh, I can hardly believe it!’ exclaimed Daniel. He seized his torch and his waterproof and followed James out of the cottage.

  James was in front this time; he was tense with excitement – much too excited to wait while Daniel collected his belongings. He leapt over the stones and set off up the burn as quickly as he could; but before he had gone far he remembered his promise to stick to his leader. He had given his word not to ‘rush on’, and that was exactly what he was doing. He stopped and waited. There was no sign of Daniel, no sound but the tinkling of the burn. He would have to go back. It was the last thing he wanted to do, every instinct urged him to go on, but a promise was a promise. Reluctantly James retraced his steps.

  He found Daniel sitting on a large stone not far from the cottage door.

  ‘Hallo, what’s up?’ he inquired.

  ‘I’ve hurt my foot,’ growled Daniel. ‘I’ve waited for this night for weeks and now it’s come I must go and get crocked up through carelessness, just danged carelessness, not looking where I was going. I tripped over yon piece of barbed wire and measured my length on the ground. Did you ever hear the like? Och, it’s sickening! It’s too sickening for words.’ And he proceeded to explain to James just how sickening it was in very un-parliamentary language.

  ‘Have you hurt it badly?’ asked James anxiously.

  ‘I’ve twisted my ankle, that’s what I’ve done. I’ve done the same thing before once or twice. It’s not that bad, but it’s bad enough to spoil our plans. I could no more climb the hill than I could fly, and that’s the truth.’

  ‘No, of course you couldn’t.’

  ‘It’s sickening, Mr. James. I’m afraid there’s only one thing for it, you’ll need to go back to Mureth and fetch my bike.’

  ‘Your bike!’

  ‘For me to get home,’ Daniel explained.

  ‘I will, later,’ said James. ‘Not now, old chap. I’ve got a job of work to do first. I’m going up to the quarry, myself.’

  ‘Mr. James, you’ll do no such thing!’ cried Daniel.

  ‘I’ll go and see what they’re doing and come back to you’

  ‘You’ll get lost! As sure as I’m here you’ll get lost in the mist. Now listen, Mr. James, you promised to obey orders. I wouldn’t have brought you with me if I’d thought you’d go back on your word.’

  James agreed that he had promised, but asserted that this unforeseen accident had changed everything; it absolved him from his promise. He was absolutely determined to go up to the quarry and see what was happening there. He would not tackle the sheep stealers single-handed, that would be foolish. He would just watch. He would see what the men were like and take the number of the car. Nothing that Daniel could say would stop him. He left Daniel sitting upon the stone, still protesting, raging, pleading, threatening all manner of disasters, and once more took the path up the side of the burn.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  July nights are short and when James reached the quarry a greyness had become visible in the air, the first faint glimmer of dawn, but this advantage was offset by the thickening of the mist which seemed to rise from the ground. James went carefully, for the ground was rough and he had no desire to sprain his ankle, and it took him some time for he did not know the terrain; but presently he saw lights, like faint glow-worms in the mist, and knew that he had reached his objective. James knew a bit about stalking, so he made a detour and found a place at the side of the quarry, between the quarry and the pool. It took more time to find a position that satisfied him, but at last he found an admirable hiding-place amongst some loose boulders. This would do.

  The mist was his friend now, but not a very trustworthy friend for there were little eddies in it, made by the faint morning breeze. Every now and then the blanket of mist was stirred so that it cleared for a moment and closed down again. But James was near enough to see the car with its sidelights standing in the quarry, and to see three men beside the car, clad in waterproofs. Two of the men were big and burly, and the third was small and thin. It struck James that his third man was of much the same build as Daniel. Unfortunately James was not near enough to hear all they were saying, but he heard a few words here and there and saw them pointing to the hill. Obviously the small man was the leader of the expedition and was explaining to his two companions what he intended to do. They were objecting that the mist was too thick, but the small man was determined to carry on.

  ‘We’ll wait for you here, then!’ exclaimed one of the big men who had a louder voice than the others. ‘You can go up to the pool yourself. I’m not wanting to get lost in this mist. If you get one you can give us a whistle and we’ll help you to carry it down.’

  The small man turned on his heel and came directly towards James; he passed within a few yards of James and James cro
uched low as he passed. The man had a cloth cap pulled over his eyes and the collar of his waterproof was turned up. He had some sort of weapon in his hand, it looked like a short thick club. The sight of the club reminded James that he had no weapon – not even the loaded stick – he had put down the stick during his argument with Daniel and forgotten it. But he had two strong hands and he would see to it that he had the advantage of surprise.

  The man passed and went on up the hill, and James emerged from his hiding-place and followed. It was not easy to follow without being seen or heard for they were on a stony path, a sheep-track presumably, and the mist was playing strange tricks. James could see quite clearly for about five yards and beyond that he could see nothing but a thick white blanket. It was as if he were walking in a bubble of clear air which moved with him up the slope. Fortunately the man had taken an electric torch out of his pocket and was using it to find his way.

  James had decided to watch and see what happened, but he had forgotten that. His blood was up and he intended to catch this man and hand him over to justice. He could catch him now, of course. Nothing would be easier than to take him unawares, to spring upon him and lay him out, but it would be wiser to follow and watch him. It he could be caught in the very act of killing a Mureth sheep, how much better that would be!

  If only Daniel were here! Daniel knew the hills, he knew the habits of sheep. Daniel was very angry with him thought James, smiling to himself at the recollection of Daniel’s rage and fury, but if James managed to catch the ‘sheep-lifter’ Daniel would change his tune; he would realise that James had been fully justified in breaking his promise.

  The glimmer of light moved on and James followed, keeping as far behind as he could without allowing it to disappear from view. Soon they came to a little pool and skirted it, and climbed farther up the hill upon another sheep-track.

  Until now it had been very quiet on the hill; James could hear nothing at all but the occasional rattle of a stone, dislodged by his feet or by the feet of the man in front of him, but now the silence was broken by the sound of a distant baaing. The sheep were coming down.

  Suddenly the glimmer of the torch disappeared and there was nothing all round but the white blanket of mist. James paused, undecided, and then he realised that he should have expected this to happen. The right way to hunt a man was to put yourself in his place and to think what you would do in like circumstances. I should crouch by the side of the track, thought James. I should hide behind a rock and wait for the sheep to pass, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

  Having decided this, James crept on quietly. He left the track and trod upon the thick, wet heather, making for the place where he had last seen the light. The sound of baaing was much louder now and the sheep began to pass along the track on the way down to the pool. James could smell the strong odour of their wet wool; he could almost have touched them but they took no notice of him at all. It was a curious sight. It was like a dream. They passed in single file, one after another like beads on a string, grey and pearly in the morning mist. They moved down the track, jumping from rock to rock.

  Here were the sheep, but where was the man? James began to think he had lost him. Perhaps he had come too far. He crept on slowly, straining his eyes, peering through the mist.

  The plan of action was clear in his mind. He wanted to find the man and watch him. He wanted to take him red-handed. This meant that a sheep must be sacrificed, but it was worth the sacrifice of a sheep. A dead sheep would be absolute proof of guilt – a dead sheep and the club which had killed it.

  There was a big black boulder beside the track: James skirted the boulder and suddenly came upon his man. He came upon the man unexpectedly so that he had no time for thought, no time to withdraw and wait as he had intended, he had only time to leap upon him and seize hold of him. The attack was violent and so utterly unforeseen that the victim was taken off his guard and offered no resistance. James managed to wrench the club from his grasp, to get two hands round his neck and roll him over. His cap had fallen off during the struggle, so now James saw his face – a thin brown face with a big nose and bushy eyebrows and eyes that gazed up at James with a terrified stare – the sight of this face was such a shock to James that he loosened his hold on his prisoner. The man wriggled sideways, like an eel, rolled over and over amongst the heather and was gone in a flash.

  ‘Daniel!’ exclaimed James. He was so amazed and astonished that he made no attempt to get up and follow. He sat quite still in the wet heather absolutely petrified with astonishment. ‘Daniel!’ he said again.

  He could not believe it was Daniel – and yet he had seen the man’s face with his own eyes; Daniel’s face, brown and weather-beaten, with the big nose and the bushy eyebrows. There was no mistaking Daniel’s face. What on earth was the meaning of it? He had left Daniel at the cottage with a twisted ankle. How could Daniel be here, racing about on the hill?

  There was only one explanation of the mystery and at first James shirked it, for he simply could not believe ill of his friend… but what else was he to believe? He had seen Daniel in the quarry with the men and had followed him up the hill; had Daniel been bribed to kill one of his own sheep?

  ‘Oh, no!’ cried James, burying his face in his hands. ‘No, it can’t be true, not Daniel. I won’t believe it.’

  James had become very fond of Daniel; he admired Daniel and trusted him absolutely. He would have trusted Daniel with his life. He had not believed Uncle Jock’s story about seeing Daniel at the Show with two shifty-looking strangers, Uncle Jock had made a mistake, that was all, but now James saw that the story might well be true. The strangers were probably the two men with the big black car which was standing in the quarry at this very moment. These two had got hold of Daniel and persuaded him to come in with them, had offered him a good rake-off, or perhaps they had some hold over him. That was possible.

  But no, thought James. No, it simply couldn’t be true; there must be some other explanation. If Daniel were in league with those men, and had arranged to meet them in the quarry, why had he brought James with him? James looked back over the events of the evening and tried to make sense of them… and sense began to appear. Indeed, the more he thought about it the more everything hung together and the case against Daniel became more circumstantial. Daniel’s reluctance to bring James with him, his reluctance to explain his plan, his insistence that James must obey orders implicitly and, last but not least, his rage and fury when James declared his promise null and void and went up the hill himself; all these things could now be explained quite easily. The twisted ankle was a ruse to get rid of James. James was to be sent back to Mureth for the bike so that while he was away Daniel could climb the hill and join his friends and carry out his project. Yes, thought James miserably, yes, it does make sense. That must have been his plan, there’s no other possible explanation.

  The only bright spot in the whole wretched business was the fact that Daniel’s plan had gone awry; there would be no Mureth mutton in the Black Market this week. That was something, thought James. It wasn’t much, but it was something on the credit side. Uncle Jock would be pleased that the mystery of the disappearing sheep had been solved.

  The sun was rising now and a little breeze was clearing the mist. James got up and groped about in the heather for the club, which he had wrenched out of his captive’s hand during the struggle. He picked it up and examined it with interest. Quite obviously the club had been made for the purpose, designed by the man who intended to use it. The thing consisted of a thin steel bar about three feet long with a heavy knob at the end of it – a deadly weapon, simple and well balanced – you could kill a sheep with it pretty easily if you knew the exact place to strike. Nobody knew better than Daniel the exact place to strike.

  James sighed heavily and began to walk home across the hills, and as he went he thought it all over. What would happen next? Would Daniel be brought up for trial and imprisoned? James had no idea what the punishment for an offence of th
is nature was likely to be… but Uncle Jock would know. The first thing to do was to get hold of Uncle Jock and tell him the whole story from beginning to end. Uncle Jock would do whatever was to be done. Perhaps nothing much could be done except to sack Daniel, for no sheep had been taken, and James had no witness to back up his story; there was no evidence of the night’s adventure except the steel club and, of course, the wheel marks in the quarry where the car had turned.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It was nearly dinner-time and little Charlie Wilson was playing in the garden of his father’s cottage. He had a wooden horse which his fond mother had bought for him in Drumburly. Charlie was thrashing his horse severely. ‘Gee-up, all my five horses!’ cried Charlie. He was intent upon his game, but suddenly he heard the sound of footsteps on the stony path which led down from the sheep stell, and he saw a familiar figure passing the fence which surrounded the garden.

  ‘Hallo?’ cried Charlie, abandoning his horse and running to the gate. ‘Hallo, Big Klaus! Are ye coming in?’

  Big Klaus walked on. He took no notice at all of Charlie, he did not even wave his hand and call out the usual greeting. Most certainly he was not coming in.

  ‘Are ye going home to your denner, Big Klaus?’ shouted Charlie.

  There was no answer. The small thin figure in the waterproof walked on down the path.

  Charlie opened his mouth to shout again, louder than before, and then he stopped suddenly with his mouth wide open. He was uncertain. It was Big Klaus, of course… or perhaps it wasn’t… he looked different. Charlie could not have told you how he looked different; it was just that somehow or other he didn’t look like himself.

  The man went on down the hill at a good pace and when he reached the door of Well Cottage he opened it and went in.

  There was nobody in the room, but it had the appearance of recent occupation, as if its owner had just got up and gone out of it for a few minutes. A fire was burning in the grate with a bright glow, and a black kettle was sitting on the ledge at the fireside, singing cheerfully. The table was laid for dinner with a clean red-and-white check cloth, a knife and fork and spoon, a cup and saucer and plate and other paraphernalia for a lonely meal.