DONE BENEATH THE STARS.
The delight of Nadia and her brother at the appearance of Dick and his
companions was great. Buckhart’s face was crimson as he pressed the
girl’s hand, and she seemed somewhat confused. Dick she met with perfect
frankness.
When the greetings were over and they had warmed themselves at the fire,
the old professor went out and gazed long at Lochleven, over the
wind-ruffled bosom of which the night was creeping.
“To-morrow,” he said, “I will feast my eyes on Queen Mary’s prison. What
a grand thing to be here on this romantic spot! Ah, those old days when
men fought and bled and died for their country!”
In spite of the appearance of Miguel Bunol, it was a jolly party that
gathered about Widow Myles’ table that night at supper time. Nadia had
recovered her high spirits and was gay and vivacious, while her brother
forgot for the time being the struggle against appetite that he had been
making for the last few days and was the smiling, courtly, jolly young
gentleman nature intended him to be.
Widow Myles herself sat at the head of the table, beaming on her guests.
She had a face like a withered russet apple, and one knew at a glance
that a generous, kindly old heart beat in her bosom. Naturally affable,
the presence of so many guests at that season made her doubly so.
Brad had been placed in a chair opposite Nadia, much to his
satisfaction, as it gave him an opportunity to watch her mobile,
changing features. It seemed that each passing minute revealed for him
some new and fresh attractiveness in the charming Chicago girl. He had
been badly smitten before, but during that supper at the Ben Cleuch he
fell head-over-heels in love with her. Boy love it was, perhaps, but
none the less sincere. It might not last, but even though time brought a
change, it would ever be a pleasant memory.
Aaron waited on the table. At this he was very deft, seeming to know
precisely what was wanted at the lifting of the widow’s finger.
“A peculiar servant you have, Mrs. Myles,” observed Dick, at a time when
Aaron was absent from the room.
“Ay,” nodded the widow, her cap ruffles dancing. “Aaron is alwa’
faithful.”
“Has he been with you long?”
“Five year this snowfall, poor lad. He came trudgin’ to my door,
barefoot, near dead wi’ cauld, near perisht wi’ hunger. I took him i’
th’ house an’ gied him bread an’ clauthes. I warmed his bones, an’ sin’
that day he has been wi’ me.”
“Is he trustworthy?”
“I wad trust him wi’ my life,” was her answer. “Th’ poor lad is not over
bright, an’ yet he’s na fool. Have na fear he will molest your
valuables. He is th’ watchdog o’ Ben Cleuch.”
Aaron returning at this minute, the conversation turned into another
channel.
The old professor could not get over his enthusiasm at being there in
that quaint little Scottish country inn.
“To-morrow, boys!” he cried—“to-morrow shall be a great day. We’ll visit
Queen Mary’s prison.”
“Let’s all go,” proposed Dick.
“That’s the thing!” exclaimed Brad eagerly. “We’ll make a grand
excursion to the old castle. Will you do it, Nad—er—ah—Miss Budthorne?”
“I think it would be fine,” she answered. “What do you say, Dunbar?”
“I’m agreeable,” said Budthorne, sipping at his tea. “I’ve been keeping
too close in the house. Perhaps if I get out I’ll feel much better.”
Out of the corner of one small eye Aaron watched Budthorne drink the
tea.
“Then it’s settled,” said Dick. “I suppose we can get a boat near here.
I don’t fancy there are any of the old-time Scottish outlaws around here
now, Mrs. Myles?”
“Na, unless ye ma’ ca’ Rob MacLane one,” was her answer.
“Who is Rob MacLane?”
“He i’ th’ Auld Nick’s own!” was the answer. “A bad egg, if e’er there
were one. I’ these law-abidin’ times he minds na law, an’ he fears
nane—man nor de’il. It’s a’ things he has done but murder, an’ I think
soon to hear he has done that.”
“Well, well! this is interesting, indeed!” cried the professor. “Why
don’t they arrest him and put him in jail?”
“Arrist Rob MacLane!” cried the widow. “It’s richt plain ye ha’ na heard
o’ him! He i’ strang as twenty men, an’ na officer daurs to go take him.
Twa o’ them tried it once, an’ wi’ his bare hands he near beat them both
to death. One didna get over that beatin’ till the day he died.”
“He would have made a fine outlaw in the old days,” laughed Dick. “Where
does this ruffian live?”
“Na man kens. Mayhap to-day he be here, to-morrow he is i’ th’ mountains
far awa’.”
“How does he live?”
“He takes a’ he wants, an’ no man says him nay. Were he to come here the
nicht, I’d gi’ him a’ he asked an’ be thankit for my life when he left.”
“Well, I’m getting some interested in Mr. MacLane!” exclaimed Buckhart.
“I don’t suppose he is around here now?”
“I canna tell. He comes an’ goes like the wind. He may be outside th’
door this minute, or he may be i’ Sutherland.”
Dunbar Budthorne was doing his best to repress a peculiar sensation that
was creeping over him. He wanted something, but for the time he could
not imagine what it was. Of a sudden he knew, and he turned pale as the
truth dawned upon him. He was ready to give anything or do anything for
a drink of liquor.
While the others chatted on this restlessness and craving grew on
Budthorne. Finally, politely asking to be excused and saying he was
going to his room, he rose from the table.
His sister gave him a glance of questioning apprehension, but he smiled
on her reassuringly.
“You’re not ill, Dunbar?” she asked.
“Never felt better in my life,” he answered, and her mind was relieved.
Outside the dining-room door he encountered Aaron, who had left the room
ahead of him.
“I’ there a’thing I could gi’ ye, sir?” inquired Aaron, with the utmost
deference and solicitude.
“No, nothing,” answered Budthorne, and started to pass on.
Suddenly he paused and looked over his shoulder at Aaron, dimly seen by
the faint light in the hall.
“Wait,” he said in a low tone. “Come here a moment, Aaron.”
The serving man stepped noiselessly toward him.
“Aaron, I’m not feeling quite right.”
“Ay, sir; I thought ye lookt a wee disturbed. I hope ye are na ill?”
“I’m afraid I shall be unless I can get something to ward off the
attack. Do you know if there is whisky or liquor of any sort in the
place?”
Aaron seemed alarmed.
“I no hae anything to do wi’ it,” he hastily declared. “The widow alwa’
keeps a wee bit i’ a bottle, but I hae na richt to touch it, sir.”
Eagerly, almost fiercely, Budthorne grasped the little man by his bony
wrist.
“I must have something of the sort!” he breathed, huskily. “Aaron, you
must get me some of the contents of that bottle!”
“I canna do it,” declared the serving man, as if in great alarm. “Were I
to touch it th’ widow wud be sair mad wi’ me.”
“You need not let her know it. She’ll never miss a little—enough for one
good drink.”
Still Aaron seemed alarmed.
“I ha’ been wi’ her five year an’ no’ once ha’ I failed to mind her
biddin’,” he said weakly.
“I’ll pay you—I’ll pay you well,” said Budthorne. “See, Aaron, here is
money. Take it. Bring me enough for a drink from that bottle.”
He pressed the money into the hand of the little man, who seemed on the
point of refusing it.
“She wi’ find it out, sir.”
“How? I’ll never tell her.”
“Ye sw’ar it?”
“Yes.”
“Na matter wh’ may hap, ye sw’ar ye willna tell Aaron gi’ ye one drop
from that bottle?”
“I swear it! Hurry up, man, or I’ll explode for the want of a drink.”
“I canna gi’ it to ye here.”
“In my room, then?”
“Na! na!”
“Then where?”
“Ye maun meet me back o’ th’ house.”
“Anywhere, so that I get the drink. How can I do it? Hurry up!”
“Ye maun go out by th’ front dure; I’ll go out by th’ back. Step round
the corner an’ find me at th’ back.”
“All right. But don’t lose time about it.”
“Have na fear.”
“Bring a big drink—a stiff drink. The longer I am without it the more I
want.”
A few moments later Budthorne left the cottage by the front door. There
was no moon, but millions of bright stars gleamed in the dome of heaven.
The wind had fallen with the coming of night, but although it did not
feel as cold, the temperature was much lower. To the east, close at
hand, slumbered Lochleven; to the north, farther removed, rose the
rugged Ochill Hills.
It was a night of peace and repose, with no suggestion of danger lurking
near.
Within the cottage the merry party chatted and laughed about the supper
table. Not until Budthorne had been absent some time did Nadia think of
him again; but at last she began to worry why he did not return.
Finally she rose from the table, saying she would see what was detaining
him.
“He has not been quite well of late,” she explained. “Of course I’m
foolish to worry about him, but I can’t help it. He must be in his room.
I’ll return in a few moments.”
She did return in a few moments, a frightened look on her pale face.
“He’s gone!” she said. “I can’t find him!”
At this moment the door leading to the kitchen was flung open by a heavy
body striking against it, and into the dining room staggered Aaron, his
clothes torn, his face pale, and a streak of blood across one temple.
At sight of him the others sprang up.
“What has happened?” cried Dick.
“I canna tell!” moaned Aaron. “Th’ guid young man asked me to meet him
at th’ back o’ th’ house. When I did so an’ we were speakin’ together a
band o’ men wi’ masks ower their faces sprang out upon us. One o’ them
grappled wi’ me. I tried to tear fra him, an’ thin I saw all th’ stars
o’ heaven fa’ on my haid. Next I found mysel’ strecht on th’ ground an’
th’ stars back i’ their places; but th’ young man were gone an’ th’ men
ha vanished.”
Having made this explanation, Aaron fell heavily to the floor.
Nadia promptly fainted in Brad Buckhart’s arms. The old professor threw
up his thin hands and looked quite helpless. The widow assisted Buckhart
to take the senseless girl into the sitting room and place her on the
couch near the crackling, open fire.
Dick Merriwell lost not a moment in kneeling beside Aaron and examining
his injury. He found a very slight cut in the hair near the temple.
“Stop that groaning!” he sternly commanded. “You’re not even badly hurt;
you’re scarcely scratched.”
“Na! na!” gasped the little man. “I think I maun dee!”
“You won’t die from anything that has happened to you to-night. Get up!
Stop this foolishness! Why, I can’t even find a bump on your head, and
there should be a swelling there if you were hit so frightfully hard.
Sit up!”
Dick’s manner was commanding, and, although he continued to take on,
Aaron sat up.
“Now, see here,” said young Merriwell, “I want you to tell me that story
again, and tell it straight. Just what did happen outside the inn?”
Aaron repeated his tale, without much variation. Practically it was the
same.
“Do you mean to tell me that little scratch rendered you unconscious,
man?” demanded Dick. “Why, it wouldn’t hurt a sick kitten!”
“I were struck on th’ heid wi’ somethin’.”
“Where is the abrasion or the swelling?”
“I ken naething about abreesions, sir. A’ I know, the sky seemed to fa’
on me.”
There was insincerity in Aaron’s tones, and Dick doubted him.
“Get a lantern,” he ordered. “I suppose you have one about the place?”
“Ay.”
“Get up! Bring me that lantern, and lose not a second.”
He assisted the little man to his feet. Aaron professed to be weak and
confused, but Dick placed a heavy hand on him, saying sternly:
“If you cause me delay, I shall suspect that you do it purposely.
Budthorne is rich, and those concerned in any harm to him cannot fail to
be punished severely. If masked men carried him off, a hundred armed
hunters will be engaged to search for them and kill them like dogs when
found. Those who are not killed will be arrested and imprisoned. Work
hard and fast, Aaron, that you are not suspected of having part in this
bad business.”
“Na one who knows poor Aaron will suspect him o’ any wrong,” was the
fellow’s protest.
“You don’t know the manner of Americans. They suspect every one
concerned in an affair until he is found guiltless. Is this the lantern,
Aaron? Light it instantly and lead me to the spot where this struggle
took place.”
Somewhat awed by Dick and feeling the power of the boy’s will, the
serving man tremblingly lighted the lantern, after which he conducted
Merriwell from the house to the spot where the encounter had taken
place.
“Stand still,” ordered Merriwell, taking the lantern from the man’s
hand. “Let me read the signs here.”
There were tracks in the snow and some indications of a struggle. At one
point was an imprint that seemed to indicate a man had fallen there.
Dick picked up something, glanced at it by the light of the lantern and
slipped it into a pocket.
Anxiously Aaron watched the boy, about whose manner there was method
that alarmed the servant. Somehow Aaron began to believe Dick was
reading those imprints and footmarks like the printed words of a book.
He was not far from right.
“What have you found, pard?” It was the voice of Buckhart, who had
issued from the back door of the inn.
“Budthorne was struck down by men who had been concealed behind this
little building,” said Dick. “They stepped out upon him as he stood here
at the corner of the building, with his back turned in their direction.
Aaron stood in front of him. They struck him with a sandbag, or some
muffled weapon that did not cut his head.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Four. Three of them lifted and carried him toward the road, two holding
his arms, while the third had his legs. The fourth chap, who was the
leader, walked in advance. Three of them do not belong hereabouts, but
the fourth, a heavy man with very big feet, belongs in the country.”
“Guid Lord!” whispered Aaron to himself, “how do he ken a’ that?”
Dick’s early training by the old Indian, Joe Crowfoot, was standing him
in good stead now.
Holding the lantern low, Merriwell followed the tracks toward the road.
“It’s likely they carried him off in a carriage, partner,” said the
Texan.
But when the highway was reached, where it seemed that the boy with the
lantern could find nothing to guide him to any conclusions, Dick
continued his search, seeming to pick out the trail amid the many
imprints there.
“There was no carriage here,” said the lad with the lantern. “They still
carried him in the original manner.”
“But they could not contemplate carrying him far in that way.”
“Surely not.”
“Pard, are you armed?”
“No; are you?”
“I’m a-heap sorry to say I’m not.”
Aaron had followed tremblingly at the heels of the boys. Now Professor
Gunn came hastening from the house and joined them.
“It’s awful—perfectly awful!” he fluttered. “I fear the shock will kill
his sister. She’s in a dreadful condition. Boys, we must send to town
right off for the officers. We are in danger of our lives. At this
moment we are in deadly peril. I’m afraid out here where the ruffians
may spring upon us, and I’m afraid in there with no one but a woman and
a girl.”
“Go back to the inn, professor,” directed Dick. “Stay with the widow and
Nadia.”
“What if the ruffians come?”
“You’ll be there to protect the ladies. It will give you an opportunity
to display your heroism and fighting blood.”
“But this isn’t the right kind of an opportunity,” said Zenas. “Boys,
you are recklessly exposing your lives! Come back into the inn at once.
I can’t permit you to be so careless.”
“You’ll have to permit it now,” retorted Merriwell.
“What, do you dare disobey my orders?”
“On an occasion like this, yes. It is necessary, professor.”
Zenas gasped and hesitated.
“Do come in!” he urged. “What can I tell your brother if anything
serious happens to you?”
“Tell him the truth, and he will be satisfied. I am doing what my
brother would wish me to do.”
“Dear! dear!” muttered Gunn. “I regret that we ever came here. I fear
we’ll all be murdered before we get away.”
Mumbling to himself, he hastened tremblingly back to the inn.
“His courage has all oozed out,” said Dick.
“Waugh! I should say it had!” growled Brad, in disgust.
Aaron now attempted to frighten the boys by telling them how fierce the
masked men were and how thoroughly armed.
“Singular you saw so much of them,” observed Dick. “Never mind if they
are armed thus and ready to commit murder at the drop of a hat; we’ll do
our best to trail them, just the same.”
“Right, partner!” cried Buckhart. “It’s up to us to do everything we can
for the sake of Nadia. It hurt me a heap to see her heartbroken over her
brother, and I couldn’t stay with her any longer. I told her we’d find
him.”
Down the road went Dick and Brad, with Aaron following them like a dog.
They entered the woods, where the bare trees stood silent and grim,
coming at length to the path that turned off toward the lake. This Dick
took.
Reaching the shore, Merriwell quickly announced that Budthorne had been
placed in a boat and taken away.
“That lad ha’ th’ power o’ a witch!” whispered Aaron to himself. Then he
shook as he beheld Dick’s eyes fastened on him.
“Come,” said the boy grimly, “we can’t follow them on water, for that
leaves no trail. We’ll return to the inn.”
As they entered the inn Nadia rushed at them, asking if they had learned
where her brother was and what had happened to him.
“Not yet,” answered Merriwell; “but we’ll know all about it in a
minute.”
“How—how will you learn the truth?”
“From Aaron,” was the quiet answer that made the little man gasp.
“Aaron? He——”
“He knows much more than he has seen fit to tell.”
“Guidness kens I ha’ told ye everything!” protested the alarmed man.
Dick’s dark eyes were fastened on Aaron, and to the latter they seemed
to bore into his very soul.
“Sit there,” commanded the boy, pointing toward a chair.
Aaron felt that he was compelled to do so.
Dick drew another chair before the man, sitting where he could look him
straight in the eyes.
“Aaron,” he said, “who is your best friend?”
“Mrs. Myles, sir.”
“Do you wish to ruin her?”
“Na, na; not for th’ world!”
“Do you know that what has happened here to-night will ruin her unless
you tell the whole truth and thus enable us to follow Budthorne’s
captors and rescue him?”
“Na, na!”
“But it will. The story will travel far and wide. Every one will hear
how a young American, a guest at this inn, was captured by ruffians and
carried off. Travelers will shun the place. Mrs. Myles will find her
business gone. With no income, she’ll soon come to want and suffering.
Without money she’ll be unable to buy flour, and meat, and fuel. There
will be no warm fire on her hearth in the bleak winter, and she’ll
suffer from hunger. You will be responsible—you, the one she took in
when you were in wretchedness, the one she has fed, and housed, and
trusted.”
Aaron held up his hands.
“I canna be to blame for it!” he cried.
“You will be. You met Budthorne out there by understanding. You knew
those men were hidden behind the little building. You knew they meant to
carry him away. You were not injured or struck down. You even cut that
tiny gash on your own head with a common knife. Here it is. I picked it
up where in your excitement you dropped it in the snow.”
Dick produced and held up the knife.
Aaron’s face was ghastly, and a terrible fear was in his eyes. This boy
with the searching eyes knew just what had happened, and it was useless
to lie.
“I canna tell!” moaned the little man. “Do na look a’ me wi’ them eyes!
I canna tell! I canna tell!”
“My poor lad!” exclaimed the widow. “Do na fear, but speak out th’
truth.”
“He wi’ kill me if I do!” whispered Aaron.
“No one shall harm you,” promised Dick.
“You canna tell that, for you do na ken him.”
“Whom do you mean, Aaron?” asked the widow.
“Rob MacLane,” he breathed, shuddering with fear.
“Rob MacLane?” cried the landlady, in consternation: “Do na tell me he
had hand i’ this black work!”
The shivering little man nodded.
“Then,” said the widow, “th’ poor young man is lost forever an’ there is
na hope for him.”
“You may as well confess everything now,” said Dick, once more fixing
Aaron with his piercing eyes. “It can do no further harm to you. Make a
clean breast of it—for the widow’s sake, for the one who has warmed, and
fed, and trusted you.”
“I will!” said the little man; and in shaking tones he hurried through
the confession.
When Dick heard that Budthorne was to be taken to the old castle on the
island and held a captive there he sprang up, turning to Nadia.
“We will find a way to save him, Miss Budthorne,” he promised. “Trust
us.”
“How can you—how can you against Miguel Bunol and this terrible ruffian,
MacLane?” she cried. “Then Aaron says there were more than two of them
who attacked Dunbar at the door and struck him down.”
“The other two were Marsh and Durbin. Marsh is a pitiful coward, at
best, so that practically reduces their fighting force to three. There
are two of us, Brad and myself.”
“And I sure allow we’ll make it a whole lot hot for those three fine
gents,” said the Texan, whose fighting blood was beginning to course
hotly in his veins. “We know Bunol and Durbin. MacLane may not be half
as dangerous as he is pictured. Nadia, we propose to bring your brother
safe back to you before morning. You hear me chirp!”