by John Buchan
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE HORN OF DIARMAID SOUNDS.
We reached the gap, and made slantwise across the farther hill. I didnot dare to go clown Clearwater Glen, and, besides, I was aiming for apoint farther south than the Rappahannock. In my wanderings with ShalahI had got a pretty good idea of the lie of the mountains on theireastern side, and I had remarked a long ridge which flung itself like acape far into the lowlands. If we could leave the hills by this, Ithought we might strike the stream called the North Fork, which wouldbring us in time to the neighbourhood of Frew's dwelling. The ridgeswere our only safe path, for they were thickly overgrown with woods,and the Indian bands were less likely to choose them for a route. Thedanger was in the glens, where the trees were sparser and the broadstretches of meadow made better going for horses.
The movement of my legs made me pluck up heart. I was embarked at anyrate in a venture, and had got rid of my desperate indecision. The twoof us held close together, and chose the duskiest thickets, crawlingbelly-wise over the little clear patches and avoiding the crown of theridge like the plague. The weather helped us, for the skies hung greyand low, with wisps of vapour curling among the trees. The glens werepits of mist, and my only guide was my recollection of what I had seen,and the easterly course of the streams.
By midday we had mounted to the crest of a long scarp which fell awayin a narrow and broken promontory towards the plains. So far we hadseen nothing to give us pause, and the only risk lay in some Indianfinding and following our trail. We lay close in a scrubby wood, andrested for a little, while we ate some food. Everything around usdripped with moisture, and I could have wrung pints from my coat andbreeches.
"Oh for the Dry Tortugas!" Ringan sighed. "What I would give for a hotsun and the kindly winds o' the sea! I thought I pined for the hills,Andrew, but I would not give a clean beach and a warm sou'-wester forall the mountains on earth."
Then again: "Yon's a fine lass," he would say.
I did not reply, for I had no heart to speak of what I had left behind.
"Cheer up, young one," he cried. "There was more lost at Flodden. Agentleman-adventurer must live by the hour, and it's surprising howFortune favours them that trust her. There was a man I mind, inBreadalbane...." And here he would tell some tale of how light came outof black darkness for the trusting heart.
"Man, Ringan," I said, "I see your kindly purpose. But tell me, didever you hear of such a tangle as ours being straightened out?
"Why, yes," he said. "I've been in worse myself, and here I am. I havebeen in a cell at Cartagena, chained to a man that had died of theplague, with the gallows preparing for me at cock-crow. But in thenight some friends o' mine came into the bay, and I had the solemn joyof stepping out of yon cell over the corp of the Almirante. I've beenmad with fever, and jumped into the Palmas River among the alligators,and not one of them touched me, though I was swimming about crying thatthe water was burning oil. And then a lad in a boat gave me a clout onthe head that knocked the daftness out of me, and in a week I wasmarching on my own deck, with my bonnet cocked like a king's captain.I've been set by my unfriends on a rock in the Florida Keys, with a kegof dirty water and a bunch of figs, and the sun like to melt my brains,and two bullet holes in my thigh. But I came out of the pickle, andlived to make the men that put me there sorry they had been born. Ay,and I've seen my grave dug, and my dead clothes ready, and in a week Iwas making napkins out of them. There's a wonderful kindness inProvidence to mettled folk."
"Ay, Ringan, but that was only the risk of your own neck. I think Icould endure that. But was there ever another you liked far better thanyourself, that you had to see in deadly peril?"
"No. I'll be honest with you, there never was. I grant you that's thehardest thing to thole. But you'll keep a stiff lip even to that,seeing you are the braver of the two of us."
At that I cried out in expostulation, but Ringan was firm.
"Ay, the braver by far, and I'll say it again. I'm a man of the dancingblood, with a rare appetite for frays and forays. You are the sedatesoul that would be happier at home in the chimney corner. And yet youare the most determined of the lot of us, though you have no pleasurein it. Why? Just because you are the bravest. You can force yourself toa job when flesh and spirit cry out against it. I let no man alive crydown my courage, but I say freely that it's not to be evened withyours."
I was not feeling very courageous. As we sped along the ridge in theafternoon I seemed to myself like a midge lost in a monstrous net. Thedank, dripping trees and the misty hills seemed to muffle and deadenthe world. I could not believe that they ever would end; that anywherethere was a clear sky and open country. And I had always the feelingthat in those banks of vapour lurked deadly enemies who any momentmight steal out and encompass us.
But about four o'clock the weather lightened, and from the cock's-combon which we moved we looked down into the lower glens. I saw that wehad left the main flanks of the range behind us, and were now fairly ona cape which jutted out beyond the other ridges. It behoved us now togo warily, and where the thickets grew thin we moved like hunters, inevery hollow and crack that could shelter a man. Ringan led, and ledwell, for he had not stalked the red deer on the braes of Breadalbanefor nothing. But no sign of life appeared in the green hollows oneither hand, neither in the meadow spaces nor by the creeks of thegrowing streams. The world was dead silent; not even a bird showed inthe whole firmament.
Lower and lower we went, till the end of the ridge was before us, aslope which melted into the river plains. A single shaft of brightsunshine broke from the clouds behind us, and showed the tumbledcountry of low downs and shallow vales which stretched to the Tidewaterborder. I had a momentary gleam of hope, as sudden and transient asthat ray of light. We were almost out of the hills, and, thataccomplished, we were most likely free of the Indian forces thatgathered there. I had come to share the Rappahannock men's opinionabout the Cherokees. If we could escape the strange tribes from thewest, I looked for no trouble at the hands of those common raiders.
The thicket ended with the ridge, and there was a quarter-mile ofbroken meadow before the forest began. It was a queer place, that patchof green grass set like an arena for an audience on the mountain side.A fine stream ran through it, coming down the glen on our right, andfalling afterwards into a dark, woody ravine. I mistrusted the look ofit, for there was no cover, and 'twas in full view of the whole flanksof the hills.
Ringan, too, was disturbed. "Twould be wiser like to wait for darknessbefore trying that bit," he said. "We'll be terrible kenspeckle to thegentry we ken of."
But I would not hear of delay. Now that we were all but out of thehills I was mad to get forward. I thought foolishly that every minutewe delayed there we increased our peril, and I longed for the coveringof the lowland forest. Besides, I thought that by using some of thecrinkles in the meadow we could be sheltered from any eyes on theslopes.
Ringan poked his head out of the covert and took a long gaze. "Theplace seems empty enough, but I cannot like it. Have you your pistolshandy, Andrew? I see what looks like an Indian track, and if we were tomeet a brave or two, it would be a pity to let them betray us."
I looked at my pistols to see if the damp woods had spoiled thepriming.
"Well, here's for fortune," said Ringan, and we scrambled off theridge, and plunged into the lush grasses of the meadow.
Had we kept our heads and crossed as prudently as we had made themorning's journey, all might have been well. But a madcap haste seemedto possess us. We tore through the herbage as if we had been running arace in the yard of a peaceful manor. The stream stayed us a little,for it could not be forded without a wetting, and I went in up to thewaist. As we scrambled up the far bank some impulse made me turn myhead.
There, coming down the water, was a band of Indians.
They were still some distance off, but they saw us, and put theirhorses to the gallop. I cried to Ringan to run for the shelter of thewoods, for in the open we were at their mercy. He cast
one glance overhis shoulder, and set a pace which came near to foundering me.
We got what we wanted earlier than we had hoped. The woods in frontrose in a high bluff, and down a little ravine a burn trickled. Thesides were too steep and matted for horses to travel, and he who stoodin the ravine had his back and flanks defended.
"Now for a fight, Andrew lad," cried Ringan, his eyes dancing. "Stickyou to the pistols, and I'll show them something in the way ofsword-play."
The Indians wheeled up to the edge of the ravine, and I saw to my joythat they did not carry bows.
One had a musket, but it looked as if he had no powder left, for itswung idly on his back. They had tomahawks at their belts and longshining knives with deerhorn handles. I only got a glimpse of them, but'twas enough to show me they were of that Western nation that Idreaded.
They were gone in an instant.
"That looks bad for us, Andrew," Ringan said. "If they had come down onus yelling for our scalps, we would have had a merry meeting. Butthey're either gone to bring their friends or they're trying to take usin the back. I'll guard the front, and you keep your eyes on the hinderparts, though a jackdaw could scarcely win over these craigs."
A sudden burst of sun came out, while Ringan and I waited uneasily. Thegreat blue roll of mountain we had left was lit below the mist with aglory of emerald and gold. Ringan was whistling softly through histeeth, while I scanned the half moon of rock and matted vines whichmade our shelter. There was no sound in the air but the tap of awoodpecker and the trickling of the little runlets from the wet sides.
The mind in a close watch falls under a spell, so that while the sensesare alert the thoughts are apt to wander. As I have said before, I havethe sharpest sight, and as I watched a point of rock it seemed to moveever so slightly. I rubbed my eyes and thought it fancy, and a suddennoise above made me turn my head. It was only a bird, and as I lookedagain at the rock it seemed as if a spray of vine had blown athwart it,which was not there before. I gazed intently, and, following the sprayinto the shadow, I saw something liquid and mottled like a toad's skin.As I stared it flickered and shimmered. 'Twas only the light on a wetleaf, I told myself; but surely it had not been there before. A suddensuspicion seized me, and I lifted my pistol and fired.
There was a shudder in the thicket, and an Indian, shot through thehead, rolled into the burn.
At the sound I heard Ringan cry out, and there came a great war-whoopfrom the mouth of the ravine. I gave one look, and then turned to myown business, for as the dead man fell another leaped from the mattedcliffs.
My second pistol missed fire. In crossing the stream I must have dampedthe priming.
What happened next is all confusion in my mind. I dodged the fall ofthe knife, and struck hard with my pistol butt at the uplifted arm. Ifelt no fear, only intense anger at my folly in not having lookedbetter to my priming. But the shock of the man's charge upset me, andthe next I knew of it we were wrestling on the ground.
I had his right arm by the wrist, but I was no match for him insuppleness, and in the position in which we lay I could not use theweight of my shoulders. The most I could do was to keep him fromstriking, and to effect that my strength was stretched to itsuttermost. My eyes filmed with weariness, and my breath came in gasps,for, remember, I had been up all night, and that day had alreadytravelled many miles. I remember yet the sickly smell of his greasyskin and the red hate of his eyes. As we struggled I could see Ringanholding the mouth of the ravine with his sword. One of his foes he hadshot, and the best blade in the Five Seas was now engaged with threeIndian knives. I heard his happy whistling, and a grunt now and thenfrom a wounded foe. He had enough to do, and could give me no aid. Andas I realized this I felt the grip of my arms growing slacker, and knewthat in a second or two I should feel that long Indian steel.
I made a desperate effort, and swung round so that I got my leftshoulder on his knife arm. That brought my right shoulder close to hismouth, and he bit me to the bone. The wound did me good, for itmaddened me, and I got a knee loose, and forced it into his loins. Fora moment I dreamed of victory, but I had not counted on the wiles of asavage. He lay quite limp for a second, and, as I relaxed my effort alittle, seized the occasion to slip from beneath me and let me rollinto the burn. The next instant he was above me, and I saw the knifeagainst the sky.
I thought that all was over. He pushed back his hair from his eyes, andthe steel quivered. And then something thrust between me and the point,there was a leap and a shudder, and I was gazing at emptiness.
I lay gazing, for I seemed bereft of wits. Then a voice cried, "Are youhurt, Andrew?" and I got to my feet.
My enemy lay in the pool of the burn, with a hole through his throatfrom Ringan's sword. A little farther off lay the savage I had shot. Atthe mouth of the ravine lay three dead Indians. The last of the sixmust have fled.
Ringan had sheathed his blade, and was looking at me with a queer smileon his face.
"Yon was a merry bout, Andrew," he said, and his voice sounded very faraway. Then he swayed into my arms, and I saw that his vest was darkwith blood.
"What is it?" I cried in wild fear. "Are you hurt, Ringan?" I laid himon a bed of moss, and opened his shirt. In his breast was a gapingwound from which the bright blood was welling.
He lay with his eyes closed while I strove to stanch the flow. Then hechoked, and as I raised his head there came a gush of blood from hislips.
"That man of yours...." he whispered. "I got his knife before he got mysword.... I doubt it went deep...."
"O Ringan," I cried, "it's me that's to blame. You got it trying tosave me. You're not going to leave me, Ringan?"
He was easier now, and the first torrent of blood had subsided. But hisbreath laboured, and there was pain in his eyes.
"I've got my call," he said faintly. "Who would have thought thatNinian Campbell would meet his death from an Indian shabble? They'll nobelieve it at Tortuga. Still and on...."
I brought him water in my hat, and for a moment he breathed freely. Hemotioned me to put my ear close.
"You'll send word to the folk in Breadalbane.... Just say that I cameby an honest end.... Cheer up, lad. You'll live to see happy daysyet.... But keep mind of me, Andrew.... Man, I liked you well, andwould have been blithe to keep you company a bit longer...."
I was crying like a child. There was a little gold charm on a cordround his neck, now dyed with his blood. He motioned me to look at it.
"Give it to the lass," he whispered. "I had once a lass like yon, and Iaye wore it for her sake. I've had a roving life, with many ill deedsin it, but doubtless the Almighty will make allowances. Can you say abit prayer, Andrew?"
As well as I could, I repeated that Psalm I had said over the graves bythe Rapidan. He looked at me with eyes as clear and honest as achild's.
"'In death's dark vale I will fear no ill,'" he repeated after me."That minds me of lang syne. I never feared muckle on earth, and I'llnot begin now."
I saw that the end was very near. The pain had gone, and there was aqueer innocence in his lean face. His eyes shut and opened again, andeach time the light was dimmer.
Suddenly he lifted himself. "The Horn of Diarmaid has sounded," hecried, and dropped back in my arms.
That was the last word he spoke.
I watched by him till the dark fell, and long after. Then as the moonrose I bestirred myself, and looked for a place of burial. I would nothave him lie in that narrow ravine, so I carried him into the meadow,and found a hole which some wild beast had deserted. Painfully andslowly with my knife I made it into a shallow grave, where I laid him,with some boulders above. Then I think I flung myself on the earth andwept my fill. I had lost my best of friends, and the ache of regret andloneliness was too bitter to bear. I asked for nothing better than tojoin him soon on the other side.
After a while I forced myself to rise. He had praised my courage thatvery day, and if I was to be true to him I must be true to my trust. Itold myself that Ringan would never have countenanc
ed this idle grief.I girt on his sword, and hung the gold charm round my neck. Then I tookmy bearings as well as I could, re-loaded my pistols, and marched intothe woods, keeping to the course of the little river.
As I went I remember that always a little ahead I seemed to hear themerry lilt of Ringan's whistling.