by John Buchan
CHAPTER IV
HOW MICHAEL VEITCH MET HIS END
"When you had gone oot," began Nicol, "I just waited till I heard yourfootsteps gang oot o' the yaird. Syne I gaed dounstairs to the landlord,whae is a decent, comfortable kind o' man wi' no muckle ill aboot him.I telled him that my maister was terrible unweel, and on no accoont maunbe disturbit, but that he maun hae the room to himsel' for the nicht.The man was verra vexed to hear aboot ye. 'Sae young a chiel,' says he,'it's awfu'.' So I got my will, and I kenned I wad be troubled by naefolk comin' and speirin' aboot the place. There was nae reason why Ishouldna gang awa' and leave the lawin', but I had a kind o' irkin' toget anither glisk o' the sodgers, so I e'en gaed into the room asidethem.
"They were noo mair uproarious than afore. Nane were drunk, for 'faith,the Captain wasna the man to let his men dae that, but a' were geyanwild and carin' little aboot their language. The Captain sits at theheid o' the table sippin' his toddy wi' that dour stieve face o' histhat naething could move, and that ye think wad be ashamed to sae muckleas lauch. But Maister Veitch wasna like him. He was singin' and roarin'wi' the loudest, and takin' great wauchts frae the bowl, far mair thanwas guid for him.
"By and by he gets up on his feet.
"'A health to the Captain,' he says. 'Drink, lads, to the welfare o'that most valiant soldier and gentleman, Captain Gilbert Burnet. Ye a'ken the errand ye're come on, to lay hands on a rebel and take him tohis proper place, and I drink to your guid success in the matter.' Andhe lifts up his glass and spills some o' it ower the table.
"At this there was a great uproar, and they a' rose wi' their glassesand cried on the Captain. He sat a' the while wi' a sort o' scornfu'smile on his face, as if he were half-pleased, but thocht little o' thefolk that pleased him.
"'I thank you,' he says at last. 'I thank you all, my men, for yourgood will. We have done well together in the past, and we'll do betterin time to come. I will prove to the rebel folk o' this land thatGilbert Burnet will make them obey.'
"'Faith, Gilbert,' says Maister Veitch, 'hae ye no the grace to speak o'your verra guid friend? I think ye're beholden to me for a hantle o'your success.'
"The Captain looks at him wi' a glint o' guid humour. 'No more,Michael,' says he, 'than the cook owes to the scullion. You do my dirtywork.'
"'Dirty work, quotha,' cried Maister Veitch, who was hot and flusteredwith wine. 'I wouldna tak that from any other than yoursel', Gilbert,and maybe no from you.'
"'Take it or not, just as you please,' said the Captain, scornfully.'It's no concern o' mine.'
"This angered the other, and he spoke up fiercely:
"I am of as guid blood as yoursel', Gilbert Burnet. Is a Tweeddalegentleman no as guid as a bit westland lairdie?"
"'Faith, that is too much,' says the Captain. 'Michael, I'll make youanswer for this yet.' So he sat with lowered brows, while MaisterVeitch, to a' appearance, had forgotten the words he had spoken.
"In a little the Captain dismisses the men to their sleeping-quarters,and the pair were left alone, save for mysel', whae being in the darkshadows near the door escaped the sicht o' a'. The two gentlemen sat atthe board eyeing each other with little love. By and by Gilbert speaks.
"Ye called me a bit westland lairdie no long syne, Maister Veitch, ifye'll be remembering.'
"The ither looks up. 'And what if I did?' says he. 'Is't no the fact?'
"'That it's no the fact I have a damned good mind to let you see,' saysthe ither.
"Michael looks at him askance. 'This is a gey queer way to treat yourfriends. I've done a' in my power to aid you in a' your pliskies. I'veturned clean against the Laird o' Barns, who never did me ony ill, a'for the sake o' you. And forbye that, I've done what I could to furtheryour cause wi' my sister, who is none so well inclined to you. And thisis a' the thanks I get for it, Gilbert?'
"I saw by the dour face o' the Captain that he was mortal thrawn.
"'And a' the thanks ye are likely to get,' says he. 'Is't no enoughthat a man o' my birth and fame should be willing to mate wi' one o'your paltry house, a set o' thieves and reivers wi' no claim to honoursave the exaltation o' the gallows-rope? Gad, I think it's a mightyfavour that I should be so keen to take the lass from among you.'
"'By Heaven, that is too much to swallow!' said Maister Michael, as somesparks o' proper feeling rose in him at last; and he struggled to hisfeet.
"The Captain also rose and looked at him disdainfully.
"'What would you do?' said he.
"'This,' said the other, clean carried wi' anger; and he struck him aringing lick on the face.
"Gilbert went back a step, and (for his honour I say it) kept his wrathdoun.
"'That's a pity,' says he; 'that was a bad action o' yours, Michael, asye'll soon ken. I'll trouble ye to draw.'
"I hae felt vexed for mony folk in my life, but never for yin sae muckleas puir Maister Veitch. He reddened and stumbled and plucked his swordfrom its sheath. He was dazed wi' wine and drowsiness, but his enemymade nocht o' that.
"They crossed swirds and I watched them fall to. I was terrible feared,for I saw fine that the yin was as angry as a bull, the ither ashelpless as a sheep. It was against a' decency to let sic a thing gangon, so I ran forrit and cried on them to stop. 'D'ye no see the man'sfair helpless?' I cried out; but they never seemed to hear me, but wentat it as hard as ever.
"At first baith fought nane sae bad, for baith were braw swordsmen, andeven in sic a plight Michael's skill didna desert him. Gilbert, too,was quieter than was to be expectit. But of a sudden a wild fury seizedhim. 'I'll teach ye to speak ill o' me and my house,' he cried in avoice like thunder, and cam on like a storm o' hail.
"Michael fell back and tried to defend himsel'. But the puir lad was saedazed and foundered that frae the first he had nae chance. His bladewabbled at every guaird, and he never risked a cut. It was just like aladdie gettin' his paiks frae a maister and keepin' off the clouts wi'yae airm.
"And then he let his sword drop, whether wi' weariness or no I cannatell, and stood glowrin' afore him. The Captain never stopped. I dinnathink he ettled it, for when he began I think he didna mean mair than topunish him for his words. But now he lunged clean and true. Nae swordkept it aff, nae coat o' mail wardit it, but deep into Michael's breastit sank. Wi' yae groan he fell back, and the breath gaed frae his body.
"I could hardly contain mysel wi' rage and sorrow. At first I was forrinnin' forrit and throttlin' the man, but I got a glimpse o' his face,and that keepit me. It was dark as a thunder-clud, and regret andunquenched anger lookit oot o' his een.
"'This is a black business,' he says to himsel', 'a black damnablebusiness. God knows I never meant to kill the fool.' And he began towalk up and down wi' his heid on his breast.
"I felt that I had seen eneuch. My whole hert was sick wi' the peety o'the thing, and forbye it was time for me to be going if I was ever towin to Tweedside. So I slips frae the house, which was still quiet, fornaebody kenned o' the deed, and far away somewhere I heard the lilt o' asodger's song. I sped doun the Harbour Walk and syne into Embro', asthough the deil were ahint me. When I won to Auchendinny it was abootthree in the mornin', and I made a' the haste I could. I think I maunhae run a' the road frae there to Leidburn. Then I took ower the Clochhills and doun by Harehope and the Meldons. I crossed Lyne abune theBrig, and came doun Stobo burn, and here I am. I never met a soul forgood or ill, so the land's quieter thereaways than folk make it oot.But doun by the Eddleston Water there's a geyan nest o' sodgers, soye've nae time to lose, Laird, if ye wad win to the hills."
When I turned to Marjory at the close of this tale she was weepingsilently; yet there was little bitterness in her tears. Her brotherhad, after all, made a better end than one could have guessed from hislife. Indeed, I had small cause to feel kindness to him, for he hadbetrayed his trust, and had been the author of all the ills which hadcome upon my mistress. But for her sake I
was sad.
"Marjory," I said, "I have many scores to settle with my cousin, for allhis life he has done me ill, and the time will come when I shall paythem. I will add this to the others. Be assured, dear, that yourbrother shall not be unavenged."
And Marjory dried her tears, and from that hour spake never a word ofMichael. But I knew well that deep in her heart remained an abidingsorrow which chastened the gaiety of her spirits.