Some three weeks after Teresa’s loss Eli found his brother in the yard
fitting a fork-head to a new haft.
“Saw William John Prowse up to Church-town,” said he. “He told me to
tell you that you must take the two horses over to once because he’s got
to go away.”
Ortho frowned. Under his breath he consigned William John Prowse to
eternal discomfort. Then his face cleared.
“I’ve been buying a horse or two for Pyramus,” he remarked casually.
“He’ll be down along next week.”
Eli gave him a curious glance. Ortho looked up and their eyes met.
“What’s the matter?”
“It was you stole that hundred pounds from mother, I suppose.”
Ortho started and then stared. “Me! My Lord, what next! Me steal that
. . . well, I be damned! Think I’d turn toby and rob my own family, do
you? Pick my right pocket to fill my left? God’s wrath, you’re a sweet
brother!”
“I do think so, anyhow,” said Eli doggedly.
“How? Why?”
“’Cos King Herne can do his own buying and because on the night mother
was robbed you were out.”
Ortho laughed again. “Smart as a gauger, aren’t you? Well, now I’ll tell
you. William John let me have the horses on trust, and as for being out,
I’m out most every night. I’d been to Churchtown. I’ve got a sweetheart
there, if you must know. So now, young clever!”
Eli shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“Don’t you believe me?” Ortho called.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“’Cos ’tis well known William John Prowse wouldn’t trust his father with
a turnip, and that Polly mare hadn’t brought you two miles from
Gwithian. She’d come three times that distance and hard. She was as wet
as an eel; I felt her.”
Ortho bit his lip. “So ho, steady!” he called softly. “Come round here a
minute.”
He led the way round the corner of the barn and Eli followed. Ortho
leaned against the wall, all smiles again.
“See here, old son,” said he in a whisper, “you’re right. I did it. But
I did it for you, for your sake, mind that.”
“Me!”
Ortho nodded. “Surely. Look you, in less than two years Tregors and this
here place fall to me, don’t they?”
“Yes,” said Eli.
Ortho tapped him on the chest. “Well, the minute I get possession I’m
going to give you Tregors, lock, stock and barrel. That’s the way father
meant it, I take it—only he didn’t have time to put it in writing. But
now Tregors is in the bag, and how are we going to get it out if mother
will play chuck-guinea like she does?”
“So that’s why you stole the money?”
“That’s why—and, harkee, don’t shout ‘stole’ so loud. It ain’t stealing
to take your own, is it?” Ortho whistled. “My Lord, I sweated, Eli! I
thought some one would have it before I did. The whole of Penzance knew
she’d been about town all day with a bag of money, squaring her debts
and lashing it about. To finish up she was in a room at the ‘Star’ with
a dozen of bucks, all of ’em three sheets in the wind and roaring. I
seen them through a chink in the shutters and I tell you I sweated
blood. But she’s cunning. When she sat down she sat on the wallet and
stopped there. It would have taken a block and tackle to pull her off. I
went into the ‘Star’ passage all muffled up about the face like as if I
had jaw-ache. The pot boy came along with a round of drinks for the
crowd inside. ‘Here, drop those a minute and fetch me a dash of brandy
for God Almighty’s sake,’ says I, mumbling and talking like an
up-countryman. ‘I’m torn to pieces with this tooth. Here’s a silver
shilling and you can keep the change if you’re quick. Oh, whew! Ouch!’
“I tossed him the shilling—the last I’d got—and he dropped the pots
there and then and dived after the brandy. I gave the pots a good
dusting with a powder Pyramus uses on rogue horses to keep ’em quiet
while he’s selling ’em. Then the boy came back. I drank the brandy and
went outside again and kept watch through the shutters. It worked pretty
quick; what with the mixed drinks they’d had and the powder, the whole
crew was stretched snoring in a quarter hour. But not she. She’s as
strong as a yoke of bulls. She yawned a bit, but when the others went
down she got up and went after her horse, taking the wallet along. I
watched her mount from behind the rain barrel in the yard and a pretty
job she made of it. The ostler had to heave her up, and the first time
she went clean over, up one side and down t’other. Second time she saved
herself by clawing the ostler’s hair and near clawed his scalp off; he
screeched like a slit pig.
“I watched that ostler as well, watched in case he might chance his
fingers in the wallet, but he didn’t. She was still half awake and would
have brained him if he’d tried it on. A couple of men—stranded seamen,
I think—came out of an alley by the Abbey and dogged her as far as
Lariggan, closing up all the time, but when they saw me behind they gave
over and hid in under the river bank. She kept awake through Newlyn,
nodding double. I knew she couldn’t last much longer—the wonder was she
had lasted so long. On top of Paul Hill I closed up as near as I dared
and then went round her, across country as hard as I could flog, by
Chyoone and Rosvale.
“A dirty ride, boy; black as pitch and crossed with banks and soft
bottoms. Polly fell down and threw me over her head twice . . . thought
my neck was broke. We came out on the road again at Trevelloe. I tied
Polly to a tree and walked back to meet ’em. They came along at a walk,
the old horse bringing his cargo home like he’s done scores of times.
“I called his name softly and stepped out of the bushes. He stopped,
quiet as a lamb. Mother never moved; she was dead gone, but glued to the
saddle. She’s a wonder. I got the wallet open, put my hand in and had
just grabbed hold of a bag when Prince whinnied; he’d winded his mate,
Polly, down the road. You know how it is when a horse whinnies; he
shakes all through. Hey, but it gave me a start! It was a still night
and the old brute sounded like a squad of trumpets shouting ‘Ha!’ like
they do in the Bible. ‘Ha, ha, ha, he, he, he!’
“I jumped back my own length and mother lolled over towards me and said
soft-like, ‘Pass the can around.’”
“That’s part of a song she sings,” said Eli, “a drinking song.”
Ortho nodded. “I know, but it made me jump when she said it; she said it
so soft-like. I thought the horse had shaken her awake, and I ran for
dear life. Before I’d gone fifty yards I knew I was running for nothing,
but I couldn’t go back. It was the first time I’d sto . . . I’d done
anything like that and I was scared of Prince whinnying again. I ran
down the road with the old horse coming along clop-clop behind me,
jumped on Polly and galloped home without looking back. I wasn’t long in
before her as it was.” He drew a deep breath. “But I kept the bag and
I’ve got it buried where she won’t find it.” He smiled at his own
cleverness.
“What are you going to do with the money?” Eli asked.
“Buy horses cheap and sell ’em dear. I learnt a trick or two when I was
away with Pyramus and I’m going to use ’em. There’s nothing like it.
I’ve seen him buy a nag for a pound and sell it for ten next week. I’m
going to make Pyramus take my horses along with his. They’ll be bought
as his, so that people won’t wonder where I got the money, and they’ll
go up-country and be sold with his—see? I’ve got it all thought out.”
“But will Pyramus do it?”
Ortho clicked his even white teeth. “Aye, I reckon he will . . . if he
wants to winter here again. How many two-pound horses can I buy for a
hundred pounds?”
“Fifty.”
“And fifty sold at ten pounds each, how much is that?”
“Five hundred pounds.”
“How long will it take me to pay off the mortgage at that rate?”
“Two years . . . at that rate. But there’s the interest too, and . . .”
Ortho smote him on the back. “Oh, cheerily, old long-face, all’s well!
The rent’ll pay the interest, as thou thyself sayest, and I’ll fetch in
the money somehow. We’ll harvest a mighty crop next season and the
horses’ll pay bags full. In two years’ time I’ll put my boot under that
fat cheese-weevil Carveth and you shall ride into Tregors like a king.
If only I could have got hold of that second hundred! You don’t know
where mother hides her money, do you?”
“No.”
“No more do I . . . but I will. I’ll sit over her like a puss at a mouse
hole. I’ll have some more of it yet.”
“Leave it alone,” said Eli; “she’s sure to find out and then there’ll be
the devil to pay. Besides, whatever you say about it being our money it
don’t seem right. Leave it be.”
Ortho threw an arm about his neck and laughed at him.
* * * * *
Pyramus Herne arrived on New Year’s Eve and was not best pleased when
Ortho announced his project. He had no wish to be bothered with extra
horses that brought no direct profit to himself, but he speedily
recognized that he had a new host to deal with, that young Penhale had
cut his wisdom teeth and that if he wanted the run of the Upper Keigwin
Valley he’d have to pay for it. So he smiled his flashing smile and
consented, on the understanding that he accepted no responsibility for
any mishap and that Ortho found his own custom. The boy agreed to this
and set about buying.
He picked up a horse here and there, but mainly he bought broken-down
pack mules from the mines round St. Just. He bought wisely. His
purchases were a ragged lot, yet never so ragged but that they could be
patched up. When not out looking for mules he spent practically all his
time in the gypsy camp, firing, blistering, trimming misshapen hoofs,
shotting roarers, filing and bishoping teeth. The farm hardly saw him;
Eli and Bohenna put the seed in.
Pyramus left with February, driving the biggest herd he had ever taken
north. This, of course, included Ortho’s lot, but the boy had not got
fifty beasts for his hundred pounds—he had got thirty-three only—but
he was still certain of making his four hundred per cent, he told Eli;
mules were in demand, being hardy, long-lived and frugal, and his string
were in fine fettle. With a few finishing touches, their blemishes
stained out, a touch of the clippers here and there, a pinch of ginger
to give them life, some grooming and a sleek over with an oil rag, there
would be no holding the public back from them. He would be home for
harvest, his pockets dribbling gold.
He went one morning before dawn without telling Teresa he was going,
jingled out of the yard, dressed in his best, astride one of Pyramus’
showiest colts. His tirade against gypsy life and his eulogy of the
delights of home, delivered to Eli on his return from his first trip
with Pyramus, had been perfectly honest. He had had a rough experience
and was played out.
But he was tired no longer. He rode to join Pyramus, singing the Helston
Flurry Song:
“Where are those Span-i-ards
That made so brave a boast—O?
They shall eat the gray goose feather
And we will eat the roast—O.”
Eli, leaning over the gate, listened to the gay voice dwindling away up
the valley, and then turned with a sigh.
Dawn was breaking, the mists were rolling up, the hills loomed gigantic
in the half-light, studded with granite escarpments, patchworked with
clumps of gorse, thorn and bracken—his battlefield.
Ortho had gone again, gone singing to try his fortune in the great world
among foreign multitudes. For him the dour grapple with the
wilderness—and he was glad of it. He disliked foreigners, disliked
taking chances. Here was something definite, something to lock his teeth
in, something to be subdued by sheer dogged tenacity. He broke the news
that Ortho had gone gypsying again that evening at supper.
Teresa exploded like a charge of gun-powder. She announced her intention
of starting after her son at once, dragging him home and having Pyramus
arrested for kidnapping. Then she ramped up and down the kitchen,
cursing everybody present for not informing her of Ortho’s intentions.
When they protested that they had been as ignorant as herself, she
damned them for answering her back.
Eli, who came in for most of her abuse, slipped out and over the hill to
Roswarva, had a long farming talk with Penaluna and borrowed a pamphlet
on the prevention of wheat diseases.
The leggy girl Mary sat in a corner sewing by the light of a pilchard
chill and saying never a word. Just before Eli left she brought him a
mug of cider, but beyond drinking the stuff he hardly noticed the act
and even forgot to thank her. He found Teresa sitting up for him. She
had her notched sticks and the two remaining money bags on the table in
front of her. She looked worried.
“Here,” she growled as her younger son entered. “Count this.” Eli
counted. There was a round hundred pounds in the one bag and thirty-one
pounds, ten shillings and fourpence in the other. He told her.
“There was fifty,” said she. “How much have I spent then?”
“Eighteen pounds, ten shillings and eightpence.” Eli made a
demonstration on his fingers.
Teresa’s black eyebrows first rose and then crumpled together ominously.
“Eighteen!” she echoed, and began to tick off items on her own fingers,
mumbling sotto voce. She paused at the ninth finger, racked her brains
for forgotten expenditures and began the count over again.
Eli sat down before the hearth and pulled his boots off. He could feel
his mother’s suspicious eyes on him. Twice she cleared her throat as if
to speak, but thought better of it. He went to bed, leaving her still
bent over the table twiddling her notched stick. Her eyes followed him
up the stairs, perplexed, angry, with a hot gleam in them like a spark
in coal.
So Ortho had found her hiding place after all and had robbed her so
cleverly that she was not perfectly sure she had been robbed. Eli
tumbled into bed wishing his brother were not quite so clever. He fell
asleep and had a dream in which he saw Ortho hanging in chains which
creaked as they swung in the night winds.
Scared by the loss of her money, Teresa had another attack of
extravagant economy during which the Tregors lease fell in. She promptly
put up the rent; the old tenant refused to carry on and a new one had to
be found. An unknown hind from Budock Water, near Falmouth, accepted the
terms.
Teresa congratulated herself on a bright stroke of business and all went
on as before.
Eli and Bohenna worked out early and late; the weather could not have
been bettered and the crops promised wonders. Eli, surveying the
propitious fields, was relieved to think Ortho would be back for
harvest, else he did not know how they would get it home.
No word had come from the wanderer. None was expected, but he was sure
to be back for August; he had sworn to be. Ortho was back on the fourth
of July.
Eli came in from work and, to his surprise, found him sitting in the
kitchen relating the story of his adventures. He had a musical voice, a
Gallic trick of gesticulation and no compunction whatever about laughing
at his own jokes. His recital was most vivacious.
Even Teresa guffawed—in spite of herself. She had intended to haul
Master Ortho over an exceedingly hot bed of coals when he returned, but
for the moment she could not bring herself to it. He had started talking
before she could, and his talk was extremely diverting; she did not want
to interrupt it. Moreover, he looked handsomer than ever—tall,
graceful, darkly sparkling. She was proud of him, her mother sense
stirred. He was very like herself.
From hints dropped here and there she guessed he had met with not a few
gallant episodes on his travels and determined to sit up after the
others had gone to bed and get details out of him. They would make spicy
hearing. Such a boy must be irresistible. The more women he had ruined
the better she would be pleased, the greater the tribute to her
offspring. She was a predatory animal herself and this was her own cub.
As for the wigging, that could wait until they fell out about something
else and she was worked up; fly at him in cold blood she could not, not
for the moment.
Ortho jumped out of his chair when Eli entered and embraced him with
great warmth, commented on his growth, thumped the boy’s deep chest,
pinched his biceps and called to Bohenna to behold the coming champion.
“My Lord, but here’s a chicken that’ll claw the breast feathers out o’
thee before long, old fighting cock—thee or any other in Devon or
Cornwall—eh, then?”
Bohenna grinned and wagged his grizzled poll.
“Stap me, little brother, I’d best keep a civil tongue before thee, seem
me. Well, as I was saying—”
He sat down and continued his narrative.
Eli leaned against the settle, listening and looking at Ortho. He was
evidently in the highest spirits, but he had not the appearance of a man
with five hundred pounds in his possession. He wore the same suit of
clothes in which he had departed and it was in an advanced state of
dilapidation; the braid edging hung in strings, one elbow was
barbarously patched with a square of sail-cloth and the other was out
altogether. His high wool stockings were a mere network and his boots
lamentable. However that was no criterion; gypsying was a rough life and
it would be foolish to spoil good clothes on it. Ortho himself looked
worn and thin; he had a nasty, livid cut running the length of his right
cheek bone and the gesticulating palms were raw with open blisters, but
his gay laugh rang through the kitchen, melodious, inspiring. He bore
the air of success; all was well, doubtless.
Eli fell to making calculations. Ortho had five hundred pounds, Teresa
still had a hundred; that made six. Ortho would require a hundred as
capital for next year, and then, if he could repeat his success, they
would be out of the trap. He felt a rush of affection for his brother,
ragged and worn from his gallant battle with the world—and all for his
sake. Tregors mattered comparatively little to Ortho, since he was
giving it up and was fully provided for with Bosula. Ortho’s generosity
overwhelmed him. There was nobody like Ortho.
The gentleman in question finished an anecdote with a clap of laughter,
sprang to his feet, pinned his temporarily doting mother in her chair
and kissed her, twitched Martha’s bonnet strings loose, punched Bohenna
playfully in the chest, caught Eli by the arm and swung him into the
yard.
“Come across to the stable, my old dear; I’ve got something to show
you.”
“Horse?”
“Lord, no! I’ve got no horse. Walked from Padstow.”
“You!—walked!”
“Yes, heel and toe . . . two days. God, my feet are sore!”
“How did you come to get to Padstow?”
“Collier brig from Cardiff. Had to work my passage at that; my hands are
like raw meat from hauling on those damned braces—look! Slept in a
cow-shed at Illogan last night and milked the cows for breakfast. I’ll
warrant the farmer wondered why they were dry this morning—ha, ha!
Never mind, that’s all over. What do you think of this?”
He reached inside the stable door and brought out a new fowling piece.
“Bought this for you in Gloucester,” said he; “thought of you the minute
I saw it. It’s pounds lighter than father’s old blunderbuss, and look
here . . . this catch holds the priming and keeps it dry; pull the
trigger, down comes the hammer, knocks the catch up and bang! See?
Clever, ain’t it? Take hold.”
Eli took hold of the gun like a man in a dream. Beautiful weapon though
it was, he did not even look at it.
“But why . . . why did you work your passage?” he asked.
“Because they wouldn’t carry me for nothing, wood-head.”
“Were you trying to save money?”
“Eh?—er—ye-es.”
“Have you done as well as you expected, Ortho?”
“N-o, not quite. I’ve had the most damnable luck, old boy.” He took
Eli’s arm. “You never heard of such bad luck in your life—and none of
it my fault. I sold a few mules at first at good prices, but the money
went—a man must eat as he goes, you know—and then there was that gun;
it cost a pretty penny. Then trouble began. I lost three beasts at
Tewkesbury. They got scared in the night. One broke a shoulder and two
went over a quarry. But at Hereford . . . Oh, my God!”
“What happened?”
“Glanders. They went like flies. Pyramus saw what it was right off, and
we ran for it, south, selling horses to the first bid; that is, we tried
to, but they were too sick and word went faster than we. The crowd got
ugly, swore we’d infected the country and they’d hang us; they would
have, too, if we’d waited. They very nearly had me, boy, very nearly.”
“Did they mark your face like that?”
“They did, with a lump of slate. And that isn’t all. I’ve got half a
dozen more like it scattered about.” He laughed. “But no matter; they
didn’t get me and I’m safe home again, thank God!”
“And the horses?”
“They killed every one of ’em to stop the infection.”
“Then you haven’t got any money?”
Ortho shook his head. “Not a penny.”