THE GIBBET RING
Ghastly behind the High Stile, just as you cross over into Raincy
property, rose the three tall trees of the Gibbet Ring. Once the Raincys
had jurisdiction to hang men and drown women, and it was on this
"moot-hill" that they dispensed their feudal laws as seemed to them
good. There was something grim about the place even now, and as Julian
approached, the High Stile stood up against the last flare of red in the
evening sky not yet blotted out by the mist, gaunt and sinister as a
guillotine.
And the dark silhouette of Adam Ferris, waiting for them, might well
have been that of the executioner himself. Stair saluted Adam Ferris,
who held out his hand frankly enough to his tenant's son.
"So, Stair," he said, "you have been missing for a long time from your
father's table. I had the honour of dining with Diarmid Garland
yesterday, and heard nothing of you. Ah, Julian! So this Captain of the
Coast has been taking care of you."
He turned to his brother-in-law, who had come more slowly up out of the
darkness of the glen, following Stair as closely as might be in the
uncertain dusk, for the eyes of the ex-ambassador were not habituated to
night duty like those of his guide.
Stair Garland drew back a little after he had seen that the two men were
safe in the shelter of the great Raincy ash trees. He would let them
talk the matter out. But his mind followed their argument, such as it
would doubtless be. He knew the end--that Julian would persuade Adam
Ferris to go to London to arrange the future of his daughter. Adam would
not be so easy to persuade. Not only would he dislike returning all the
way to London, but he would be far more doubtful than his kinsman as to
the power he could exercise over Patsy's choice.
Julian Wemyss naturally thought that no position could be better or more
fortunate for any girl than that which the Prince Eitel was offering his
niece. But Adam was constitutionally unable to imagine that any dignity
could add to the position she already held as heiress of four hundred
years of Ferrises of Cairn Ferris.
Stair wandered away up the slope towards the Gibbet Knoll, Whitefoot
stealing along at his heels, walking almost in his tracks, but with his
ears cocked to catch the slightest unexplained noise. As he arrived
under the scant foliage of the few remaining gaunt trees, tall
branchless trunks with a mere plume at the top of each, bent permanently
away from the south-west by the sea-winds, he walked to the small stone
platform on which the Baron had issued his decree. From that point of
outlook it was possible to see the towers of Castle Raincy looming over
the grey sea of vapour, which filled all the lower ground and now and
then flung out an arm that momentarily snatched at and submerged the
Gibbet Knoll.
Stair had not gone far when something large and dark darted across the
path between the trees where the snow had been blown a little bare.
Stair was instantly in pursuit. It was not a time when he could afford
to overlook anything. A man it was, certainly, for the moment the
thicker underbrush was reached he rose half erect and went plunging head
foremost into it.
But Whitefoot was before him, and had him by the throat before he could
run ten yards. Stair, immediately behind, saw the man's hand go to his
belt, and comprehended that Whitefoot's life was in danger.
With a spring he was upon him. One hand gripped the fugitive's wrist.
With a pull backward he had him on the ground. His foot pushed aside the
eager jaws of Whitefoot and saved the man's life. Then he knelt stolidly
on one arm, holding the other extended while he searched the man for
arms in a swift professional manner. A knife and a pair of pistols were
his booty. These he tossed aside and bade the dog keep guard over them.
"Now who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded in a hoarse
whisper in the fellow's ear. "Speak, man, if you have any wish to live."
The man kept silence, though he had given up struggling. But it was
evident that he was not anxious to be recognized.
"This way, then," growled Stair, "and the worse for you if you have been
out after any mischief."
He dragged the man roughly enough out upon the open surface of the snow,
and knelt upon him, bringing his face close to that of his captive.
"Good God," he cried, forgetting his danger in his astonishment, "Eben
the Spy!"
* * * * *
But the man lay limp in Stair's grasp. He appeared to have fainted.
However, Stair knew a cure for that. He took a handful of the harsh
half-melted sugar-loaf snow and rubbed the spy's face hard. Then he
pulled him up into a sitting position.
"Come, Eben," he growled, "no malingering! I have no time to waste on
you. If you do not get ready very quickly to do as I tell you, there is
a chance that you will be found out here in the morning with an extra
hole in your head which none of his Majesty's regimental surgeons will
be able to plug--at least not in time to do you any good!"
"I ... am ... not what you think--indeed I am not," the man gasped, as
he began to get his breath back after Stair's rough handling.
"That's as may be," said his captor, "you are too open-minded a man to
expect me to believe a syllable of what you say, merely on your word."
"No, sir," said Eben, "but I am the more to be pitied--I am outlawed by
the Government, and your people shot at me as I was escaping--"
"Ah," said Stair, "you mean when you fled with the Duke's money and
jewels the night of the little trouble at the White Loch."
"Indeed," said Eben the Spy, "I am altogether on your side, though I
cannot expect you to believe it. But I can bring you a good witness.
Even before what occurred there, I had given up all my work for the
Government. I intended to make a bolt for it anyway. I knew it was only
a question of time when I should be shot. I had been missed already more
than once, and indeed, sir, I carry lead in my body at this moment."
Stair grinned so that the man caught the flash of his teeth in the
uncertain glimmer, and got his first ray of hope that his life might be
spared. He knew very well that nothing he could say would convince Stair
of his good faith, but it might be possible to soften him by taking the
situation with a certain humour.
"Ah, you laugh, sir," he continued, "but it is no light thing to be a
superintendent of recruitment and to belong to the parish of Stonykirk!"
"Say a press-gang spy!" flashed Stair. "That will be the truth."
"A press-gang spy, then," said Eben meekly. "I am not boggling about
words--"
"And your business to betray your own folk!"
"I always endeavoured to temper justice with mercy," said the man,
feeling at his throat with one of his now disengaged hands.
"Come--none of that," said Stair, "at least, have the courage of your
rascality. I shall like you none the worse. Where have you been all this
time?"
"Well," said the man, "that's telling. But I know you, Stair Garland,
and I have confidence in the man I am talking to--"
"If you abuse that confidence you are good enough to profess in me,"
said Stair with biting irony, "I beg you to remember that it will be at
a price!"
"I know--I know, sir," the man from Stonykirk moaned, "I should not
dream of deceiving you."
"Better not," said Stair, "you are on our side, you say. Take care and
do not forget again, or the next time you will not be missed. I shall go
spy-hunting myself."
"I swear to you--" he began, gasping at the thought.
"Do not swear--I would not believe you if you swore on a pile of Bibles
as high as Criffel!"
"But you would believe my uncle Kennedy on his bare word--"
"What uncle?" queried Stair, sharply. "D'ye mean Kennedy McClure of
Supsorrow?"
"The same, sir--you would believe him if he spoke a good word for me?"
Stair paused a moment before answering. The Laird of Supsorrow had lent
his horses for the carrying off of Patsy, but it was quite certain that
had he known the risks, or the purpose for which they were to be used,
he would have done nothing of the kind. He was too deep in the traffic,
and had used his money to finance too many cargoes.
"Yes," he answered at last, "I would take your uncle's word, if he says
that he will go bail that you mean to be faithful to us. But how can I
get that word--Kennedy McClure is in London."
"I know that," said the spy, "but I have been abiding all the winter at
Supsorrow with my uncle. He gave me shelter and aid when my life was in
danger on every side, when I was hunted like a partridge on the
mountains--"
"You would make an excellent preacher, Eben, and I dare say you are
telling the truth for once. If you have been with us--"
"Will this convince you, sir?" the spy broke in eagerly, seeing his
chance. "I have known all the winter that you and Mr. Wemyss were at the
Bothy. I knew that you met with Joseph from the Burnfoot, and that your
washing was done at Glenanmays. Now there is a reward out for Mr.
Julian, sir, and yet I have never breathed a word!"
"Lucky for you, or you would never have breathed another," growled
Stair, "but there does seem to be something in what you say. That
reward--your uncle must have had something to say against that. It must
have gone hard against the grain with you."
"I beg that you will think of my own position, Mr. Stair--I might have
made my peace!"
"Ah, you mean about the Duke's money and the jewels--no, I do not forget
that part of it, Eben. I shall further confer with you as to what shall
be done with these. In the meantime--do not budge. Here, watch him,
Whitefoot!"
And very calmly Stair picked up the pistols and reprimed them. Then,
having stuck the sheath-dagger into his belt under his coat, he faced
his captive.
"In the meanwhile you are coming back with us to the Bothy. I don't know
what I shall do with you yet. But at any rate I cannot afford to run any
chances. You must stay with us till we get the first ship off. Perhaps
if you behave well, you shall have a passage on her. But in the
meantime--right-about-face ... _march!_"
The spy obeyed, though there were several things for which he would have
wished to stipulate. But Stair had a newly primed pistol pointed midway
between his ears as viewed from behind, and the spy felt keenly the
one-sidedness of any discussion in such a situation. He marched down the
hill, guided now to right and anon to left by a growled order from
Stair. Whitefoot was in front, looking over his shoulder and
occasionally showing his teeth. In this order the three arrived at the
hollow where they had left Adam and Julian. The pair were still in
earnest debate, so the little procession swerved away to the right to
leave them to themselves.
"Evidently," thought Stair, "Patsy's father has been harder to convince
than I had supposed. I'll wager it is the journey to London which sticks
in his gizzard."
In this somewhat inelegant form, Stair expressed what was the truth.
"I do not see," said Adam Ferris, obstinately, "what particle of good I
could do if I were to take up my residence in London for the rest of my
life. I let Patsy go there because you thought it necessary, but I shall
be still more glad to have her home again. She can marry a Prince if she
likes or she can marry the Prince's gentleman. She will neither marry
nor refrain from marrying because of anything you or I can say. I know
Patsy better than you do, Julian. She comes from your side of the house,
and the fact is she is far too like yourself ever to ask or take
advice."
"But think how necessary your presence will be," Julian insisted, "it is
not fair to leave a girl alone at what may prove to be the crisis of her
fate."
"Well, it was none of my doing, Julian," said the Laird of Cairn Ferris,
"I should not have sent her to a princess for the perfecting of her
education. But you insisted upon it. Well, I trust my daughter. I have
trusted her in greater dangers than any which can arrive through this
Austrian young man. Never fear, Patsy will clear her own feet. The
Princess shall have an answer to her letter, and the wooer as well, but
I would not go to London to push the matter, no, not if she were to be
an empress!"
And from this position Adam Ferris, with characteristic doggedness, was
in no wise to be moved.
"You put me in a very awkward position," said Julian, discontentedly, "I
cannot go myself, and even if I did, it would not be the same thing as
the protection and approval of her father--"
A light broke upon Adam, and he smiled grimly.
"I think I remember your telling me, Julian, that in asking for a maid's
hand in these countries, it was the correct etiquette for the nearest
relatives of the bridegroom to come in state to the home of the parents
of the bride, to ask for their daughter's hand. Now at Cairn Ferris I
shall be glad to receive and to entertain to the best of my ability any
of this Prince Eitel's family, or the Prince himself if he likes to make
the journey. But you yourself have made me a strict believer in
etiquette in such matters, and from Cairn Ferris I shall not stir!"
At which Julian Wemyss snorted aloud and broke off the interview.