COLIN McLEOD
Next morning as soon as I had finished my breakfast I put on my hat and
went down to McLeod's selection, resolved to find out once and for all
in what sort of light I stood with Sheilah. In my own inmost heart I
knew that I deserved to be shown the door on presenting myself, but
somehow I had a sort of conviction that my fate would not be quite as
hard as that. Reaching the gate, I let myself in, and walked down the
path, under the little avenue of pepper-trees, that entwined overhead,
to the house. Everything was just as I had left it, but, oh, how
different were my own feelings!
I found old McLeod on his knees in the verandah fastening up some
creepers that had fallen out of place. When he saw me he rose and
without a second thought came forward and shook me warmly by the hand.
'Welcome home, James, my lad,' said he, looking me full and square in
the face, 'I'm glad ye've come back to us, and so will Sheilah be, ye
may depend. Ye've been a long time away.'
This kindly reception was more than I had bargained for, and like the
big baby I was I felt the hot tears rise and flood my eyes. There was
that in my heart then which would have made me lay down my life for old
McLeod if need have been. That was always the way with me, I could be
brought to do anything by kindness, when force could not make me budge
an inch. For the self-same reason old Betty at home had always been able
to manage me--my father never.
'Mr McLeod,' said I, as I returned the pressure of the hand he held out
to me, a hand that was as knotted and gnarled as any ti-tree in the
scrub, 'after all that has happened this is a generous way for you to
receive me. Do you know that only one soul in the township up yonder has
spoken to me since my return.'
'I'm sorry to hear that, James,' said he, seating himself in a chair
near by, and mopping his forehead with his red pocket-handkerchief. 'No
young man can afford to lose his friends in that extravagant fashion.'
'Do you know the charge they bring against me?'
'I have heard it,' he answered, looking straight at me. 'But I think it
only right to ye to say that I do not believe it all the same.'
'It is not true, so help me, God,' I burst out impetuously. 'If I had
dreamt that the horse had been stolen I would no more have ridden him in
that race than I would have shot him. I hope you know me well enough to
believe that, Mr McLeod.'
'I think I do,' he answered; 'at any rate, this has been a lesson that
should last you all your life.'
'It has,' I answered bitterly; 'but all the same I don't think I have
been at all fairly treated over it. Whispering Pete was generous to me,
and when he asked me to do him the favour of riding his horse I could
not refuse. Then I was told by my father that he would turn me out of
doors if I did not obey him. But having given my promise to Pete, how
could I be expected to break it again?'
'James, James,' the old man said, when I had finished, 'the devil had
ye in a tight place just then, and ye ought to thank God right down on
your bended knees that He has permitted ye to come out of it as well as
ye have. I shall say a word for ye next Sunday, and if ye'll mind what's
right ye'll be there to hear it.'
'That I will,' I answered, completely carried away by the good old man's
earnestness. 'Mr McLeod, you've treated me as I did not expect I should
be treated, and I'll never forget it as long as I live. Now, may I see
Sheilah?'
'And why not, laddie? Of course ye may, and right glad the lassie will
be to have ye back again, I'll warrant. She's out with her chickens just
now, I fancy, for I saw her going down the path with her egg basket on
her arm but a wee bit since. Go and find her, and hear for yourself what
she has to say to ye.'
I went round the verandah, passed Sheilah's own window, with its little
cluster of pot plants on the sill, and then down the path towards the
fowl-yard. True enough, there she was, dressed all in white, with her
pretty face looking out from the large blue sun-bonnet she always wore
on summer mornings. At first she did not see me, so I stood still
watching her. One thing I can always assert, and that is that I have
seen many pretty girls in my time, but never one to equal Sheilah. There
was a softness and natural grace about her that was beyond the power of
other girls to imitate; a grace which could never have been taught in
any school or dancing academy. And as I watched my heart rose in love to
her, then I suppose I must have made some noise among the bushes, for
she suddenly turned round and stood face to face with me. As she saw me
a glad smile leapt into her face, and she ran towards me with hands
outstretched in welcome.
'Jim, dear old Jim,' she cried, 'I knew you would come back to us before
long. Oh, I have missed you so dreadfully! Remember, you have been away
nearly two months.'
'Don't, Sheilah!' I cried, 'don't speak so kindly to me. Scold me a
little or I shall make a fool of myself, I know.'
'Scold you!' she cried, with her little hands in mine. 'Scold you, old
Jim, when you're only just come back to us. Oh no, no! This is, indeed,
a happy day. Have you seen my father? He was talking of you only this
morning.'
'I left him to come to you. His welcome was as warm as yours. Oh,
Sheilah, I feel that I have been such a brute to you. And it hurts me
the more because I know you will so freely forgive me.'
'Hush, we will not talk of that. All that part of your life is done with
and put away. It was a miserable time for all of us, but thank goodness
it's over.'
Just at that moment a young man appeared from the fowl-house and came
towards us with some eggs in his hand.
'I can find no more,' he said to Sheilah. Then he looked at me with a
searching glance, and did not seem altogether pleased.
'Jim,' said Sheilah, noticing my surprise, 'this is my cousin, Colin
McLeod, who has come up to be our new trooper in Barranda. He has only
been eighteen months in the Colonies, and was sent out from Brisbane
last week. Colin, this is my old playfellow of whom you have so often
heard me speak, Jim Heggarstone.'
We nodded to each other, and when I saw that he was going to make the
eggs he held an excuse for not shaking hands with me, I put my own in
my pockets, and stared hard at him. He was a fine, well-set-up young
fellow of about my own age, with blue eyes and peculiar sandy-coloured
hair.
'Now,' said Sheilah, who must have noticed that it was not all plain
sailing with us, 'suppose we go inside and see what my father is doing.
He intended to brand some colts this morning, and if he does I expect
you'd like to help him in the yard, Jim?'
'Of course I should,' I answered readily enough. 'I'm pining to get to
work again.'
'You have not been doing much work lately, then,' says Mr Colin, with a
shadow of a sneer.
'I've just returned from taking a mob of cattle down to Bourke,' I
answered.
'Ah!' was his sole reply, and then we went into the house.
Half-an-hour later I was with old McLeod in the yards, had the fire for
heating the branding-irons lighted, and was running the green hide lasso
through my hands to see that it was supple and ready for use. I don't
want to boast, seeing that, all things considered, I'd far better be
holding my tongue, but lassoing was a thing I could challenge any man
in the country at. However, I was not so successful on this occasion.
Whether it was Colin McLeod sitting on the rails watching me, or whether
it was that I was out of practice, I cannot say; I only know that time
after time I missed, and on each occasion, as the noose fell to the
ground, I saw the sneer spread out on Colin's face, and once I could
have sworn I heard him chuckle. But I managed to keep my temper under
control. Then my old skill suddenly returned, and after a while I could
not miss a beast. But here I must do Colin justice. For a new chum he
was as good a man in the yard as ever I've met, being quiet and gentle
with the beasts, and, what is still more to the point, always ready to
do what he was told. He only wanted practice to make a really good hand.
I found occasion to tell him so when the work was finished, and I could
have bitten my tongue out with vexation when he replied with his long
Scotch drawl, still with the same diabolical sneer on his face,--
'Ye see, I've not had so much experience with horses as ye've had, Mr
Heggarstone.'
It was plain to what he referred, and it took me all my time, I can
assure you, to prevent my tongue from replying something sharp.
However, I had no desire to celebrate my return to the selection by
thrashing the owner's nephew, so I did manage to control myself, and
side by side we returned to the house. At first, seeing how things
stood, I was for going back to the township for lunch, but of this
neither Sheilah nor her father would hear. So I was forced to stay where
I was and endure the other man's treatment as best I could. One thing
was very plain, and that was that Colin was madly in love with Sheilah.
He could hardly take his eyes off her, almost trembled when he addressed
her, lost no opportunity of doing her little services, and glared madly
at me whenever I spoke to her or attempted to do anything for her. It
was a queer sight, and one that was not calculated to fill me with
pleasure, you may be sure. At last, after the mid-day meal was over, his
conduct became so outrageous that I made the first excuse that suggested
itself and said good-bye, promising to come down again next day. As I
shook hands with her, Sheilah looked at me with rather a wistful
expression on her face, I thought; while even old McLeod seemed to
wonder that my first visit should terminate so abruptly. To tell the
truth, however, I could not have bottled up my feelings another minute;
so rather than make an exhibition of myself I preferred to go away.
Back I went to the hotel, my whole being raging against the man. In the
face of this rivalry I learned what Sheilah really was to me, and for
the first time I understood how I should feel if any man were to win her
from me.
Next day, according to promise, I went down to the selection again, to
find Sheilah sitting in the verandah. She was alone and received me very
sweetly. I sat beside her talking of old days, and firmly resolved not
to let her imagine that I had been in any way put out by her cousin's
curious behaviour on the preceding day.
'We must celebrate your return in some way, Jim,' she said after a
little while. 'It is a lovely morning, so what do you say to a ride?'
'The very thing!' I answered, only too thankful to do anything that
would take me away from the house, and prevent my seeing the irate Colin
again.
With that we went out to the back, and borrowing the milkboy's pony, I
ran up two horses from the paddock for our use. After I had rubbed them
down a bit I saddled them, and by the time I had done this Sheilah was
dressed and ready. With a thrill running through me such as I had never
known before, I swung her up into the saddle, and then mounted my own
beast; after that, when the boy had let down the slip rails, away we
went across the plains towards the hills. It was as lovely a morning as
any man could wish to be out in. The soft breeze rustled among the trees
and high grass, the clouds chased each other across the blue vault of
heaven, the air was musical with birds, and now and again we would put
up a kangaroo and send him hopping away from us as if his very life
depended upon it. Sheilah was in the best of spirits and looked
incomparably sweet and graceful. Just swaying to the motion of her horse
as he covered the ground in a gentle canter, her body well balanced and
her head thrown back, the wind nodding the feather in her pretty hat,
and just a suspicion of a neat little boot showing beneath her habit,
she made a picture pretty enough for a king. And now that Colin McLeod
had come to make me understand how much I really loved her, I was
induced to notice her beauties even more closely than before.
For nearly an hour we rode on, all the past forgotten, living only in
the keen enjoyment of the present. Then, like a flash, the memory of my
ride to the Blackfellow's Well--part of the very route we were now
pursuing--rose before me. I saw again the dark night, the flashing tree
trunks, the horses galloping on either side of me, and that horrible
burden swaying on The Unknown's back. Then I saw the Blackfellow's Well,
pictured myself digging that lonely grave among the rocks, and seemed
again to hear the curlews crying from the pool below. I suppose
something of the horror of the memory must have been reflected on my
face, for Sheilah looked at me and then said,--
'Jim, what is the matter? You're as pale as death.'
'Nothing,' I answered hoarsely. 'A twinge of an old pain, that is all.'
'It must have been a bad one,' she answered quietly. 'Your face looked
really ghastly.'
'It has passed,' I cried, giving myself a vigorous shake. 'I don't know
what brought it on. However, we'll have no more dismal thoughts to-day,
Sheilah, by your leave.'
'That's right,' she answered. 'I do not like to see such an expression
upon your face. Now let's turn round and go back by the Pelican
Waterhole. See here's a nice piece of turf, we can give our horses a
gallop.'
The words were hardly out of her mouth before she had shaken up her
horse and we were off like the wind. Good as my animal was, Sheilah's
was better, and, when we reached the fringe of timber on the opposite
side of the little plain, she was leading by a good five lengths. Then,
seeing that the ground did not look very safe ahead, I was about to call
to her to pull up, when her horse crossed his legs, and went down with a
crash, throwing Sheilah, and rolling completely over her.
For a second my heart seemed to stand still, then to the ground I sprang
and ran swiftly to her side. Her horse by this time had risen, and was
shaking himself, but Sheilah lay just as she had fallen, horribly white
and still.
'Sheilah!' I cried, as I knelt by her side, 'for pity's sake speak to
me!'
But not a word came from her pallid lips, and seeing this I picked up my
heels and ran to the creek for water. Filling my cabbage-tree hat I
hurried back to her, but by the time I reached her she was conscious
once more.
'Jim,' she said, with a fine show of bravery, 'this is a very bad
business. I'm dreadfully afraid I've broken my leg. What am I to do? I
can't get up.'
'Oh, Sheilah, you don't mean that!' I cried in agony. 'It's all my
fault, I should not have brought you for this ride.'
'Don't be silly, Jim,' she answered stoutly. 'It was not your fault at
all. But what am I to do? We are at least four miles from home?'
I considered for a moment before I answered.
'If you can't move, the best thing for me to do would be to make you as
comfortable as possible here, and then ride off as fast as I can go for
the tray buggy and a mattress. We could bring you in in that way better
than any other.'
'That's it, Jim. Now go as fast as you can. My poor father will be in a
terrible state when he hears the news.'
'First let me make you as comfortable as possible,' I replied. 'I think
it would be better for you to lie just where you are.'
Taking off my coat, I rolled it into a pad. Next I caught her horse and
removed her saddle. This I placed flaps upward, beneath her head, with
my coat upon it, and so made a fairly comfortable pillow.
'Do you feel easier now?' I asked, looking down at her.
'Much easier,' she answered; 'but don't be any longer than you can help,
Jim.'
'Not a second,' I replied, and ran towards my own horse and climbed into
the saddle. Then with a last call of encouragement I set off, and within
half-an-hour was at the stable slip panels. Then without waiting to let
them down I sprang off and ran into the house. Old Mrs Beazley, the
cook, was standing at her kitchen door.
'Where is Mr McLeod?' I asked, almost trembling with excitement.
'Gone up to the township,' she answered. 'What is the matter? Has
anything happened?'
'Miss Sheilah has met with an accident out by Pelican Creek,' I
answered. 'She thinks she has broken her leg. You had better send for
the doctor and her father at once. In the meantime, I'll take the buggy
and a mattress, if you will give me one, and go out and bring her in?'
At this moment Colin McLeod, with a face the colour of zinc, appeared
from the house and stood staring at me.
'What's that you say?'
'Sheilah has broken her leg out yonder. I'm going with the buggy to
bring her in. If you like you can come and help me lift her,' I
answered, all my former animosity forgotten in this new and greater
trouble.
'Come on,' he cried in a voice I hardly recognised. 'Are you going to
stand talking all day?'
He ran into the yard as he spoke, and after giving a final instruction
to Mrs Beazley, I followed, to find him leading a horse from the stable.
Without a word I went to the coach-house and drew out McLeod's big tray
buggy, took the harness from the peg and threw it down by the horse's
nose, then back into the house again for the mattress Mrs Beazley was
stripping off a bed for me. This I placed on the tray, and by the time I
had done so the horse was harnessed and ready for putting in. Colin held
up the shafts while I backed him to his place. By the time this was done
the slip rails were down and I drove through. Then Colin sprang up
beside me, and off we went across the plain towards the place where I
had left Sheilah.
When we reached it we found her lying exactly as I had left her. Colin
jumped down, ran to her side, and said something in a low voice that I
did not catch. Without losing a second, I lifted the seat from its place
and lowered it overboard; then I, too, jumped down and went towards the
sufferer.
'How can we lift you, do you think, with the least likelihood of hurting
you?' I asked.
'I don't know,' she answered. 'I think you had better put the mattress
down here beside me, and then lift me on to it.'
I saw the wisdom of this idea, and forthwith dragged the mattress out
and laid it on the ground by her side. Then, with all the tenderness of
which we were capable, Colin and I lifted her and placed her on it. She
paled a little while we were doing it, but did not let a sound escape
her. After that I brought the buggy as close as possible, helped Colin
to lift the mattress on to the tray, and then climbed aboard and placed
her in such a position that her head lay against the splashboard. Having
done this, I signed to Colin to hand me the saddle and my coat, with
which I once more constructed a pillow for her. The seat was then
refixed without touching her, and her own horse having been fastened on
behind, I chose the straightest and least rutty track, and set off
slowly for the homestead. It took us nearly an hour to reach it, and
when we did old McLeod met us at the slip rails. He looked very
nervous, but bore up bravely for Sheilah's sake.
Pulling the buggy up at the kitchen door, we withdrew the seat again,
removed the pillows, and then lifted our precious burden down. Just as
we did so the doctor rode up to the door, and, having tied his horse to
the fence, gave us a hand to carry Sheilah to her room. Then leaving her
to his care, with Mrs Beazley to assist him, we went into the verandah,
where Mr McLeod asked me to tell him how it had happened.
I gave him a full description of it, but though it appeared to satisfy
him it was more than it did for Colin, who listened with the same
expression on his face that was always there when I was present. How it
was that I had aroused such antagonistic feelings in him I could not
imagine. Whether he would have been the same with any other rival I
could not tell, but that he hated me with all the strength of his
powerful nature was plain to the least observant. After I had finished
my narrative, and had discovered that I could do no more good by
remaining, I rose to say good-bye.
'Good-bye, James, my lad,' said the old man, giving me his hand. 'I
know that what has happened has given you as much pain as it has me.
But, remember, you must not reproach yourself. It was in no way your
fault. And are you going too, Colin, my lad?'
'I'm on duty this afternoon,' Colin said, putting on his hat, 'and I
must get back and prepare for it. Good-bye, uncle!'
'Good-bye, my lad.'
Old McLeod retired into the house, and we went up the garden path
together. When we got into the road outside, Colin McLeod turned to me
and said, 'Have you any objection to my walking a little way with you?
I've got something I want to say to you.'
'Come along, then,' I answered, 'and say it for mercy's sake. I'm sick
of all these black looks and sarcastic speeches. What is it? Out with
it!'
'It's this,' he said. 'First and foremost, I'll have no more of you down
yonder.' He nodded his head in the direction of his uncle's house.
'Indeed! and, pray, what right have you to say you will, or you won't?'
'If you don't know, I'll tell you,' he answered; 'but I think you do!'
'I don't,' I answered, stopping and facing him, 'and I'll be glad if you
will tell me.'
'Well, in the first place, I won't have you there because of that
business with the man they call Whispering Pete, and, in the second,
because, in my official capacity, I know more about you than my uncle
and cousin do--and I tell you I won't let you mix with them.'
'Colin McLeod,' I said, looking him straight in the face, and speaking
very slowly, 'you're either a plucky man or a most extraordinary fool.
Remember this once and for all--neither you nor the whole police force
of Australia know anything that would keep me away from my old friends
the McLeods. And if you say you do, well, I tell you you're a liar to
your face. So there now!'
'Fair and softly,' he said in reply. 'Listen to what I have to say
before you talk so big. I tell you we know a good deal more than you
think we do, and when we lay our hands on Whispering Pete we shall know
still more. In the meantime, I'm not going to trade on my official
knowledge against you. I'll meet you as man to man, and chance the
consequences. I tell you that I love my cousin to desperation, and I'm
not going to have a man like you hanging round her. Keep away from her,
and I'll do no more than my duty demands. Continue to visit them, and,
I warn you, you'll have to take the consequences.'
'And what are the consequences, pray?' I said, wishing he would come to
the point.
'That you'll have to deal with me,' he answered, as if he were
threatening me with death.
'That's rather big talking on your part, isn't it?' I asked. 'I don't
know that I'm altogether afraid of dealing with you.'
'I'm glad to hear you say that! Now, will you fight me for her?'
He stopped in his walk and, turning round, clutched me by the arm.
'No, I will not,' I replied firmly, at the same time feeling that I
would have given anything in the world to have been able to answer
'Yes.'
'I thought not,' he continued, with a sigh. 'You're a coward, and I knew
it.'
'Steady! steady!' I said. 'One more remark like that and you'll get into
trouble.'
'Then let me see if this will help you,' he cried, and at the same time
he lifted his arm and hit me a hard blow across the mouth with the back
of his left hand. I was about to strike back, when I suddenly changed my
mind.
'You have raised your hand to me,' I said quietly. 'And a blow dealt in
anger I'll take from no man on God's earth, much less you, Colin
McLeod. I refused to fight you just now--for the simple reason that you
are Sheilah's kith and kin. But since you've struck me, I'd do it if you
were her own blood brother. One thing first, however. Be so good as to
do me the justice to remember that you yourself have forced the quarrel
on me.'
'I will remember,' he said sullenly. 'And where is it to be?'
'Down in the bit of scrub by the Big Gum at the creek bend,' I answered.
'We're not likely to be disturbed there.'
'At eight to-night. I am on patrol duty and can't get away before.'
I nodded, and then we separated; he went up the hill to the police
station, while I continued my walk towards the township. As I went I
thought over my position; here was another pretty fix I had got myself
into. My old luck had certainly deserted me, for what would Sheilah say,
if by any chance she should come to hear of it. When all was said and
done, however, was it my fault? I didn't want to fight the man, I would
far rather not have done so, but since he had struck the first blow I
could not very well get out of it. Any man who knows me will tell you
that I haven't the reputation of being a coward. Ruminating in this
fashion I went on up the street to my hotel, and arrived there as the
lodgers were sitting down to lunch. While I was eating, a curious notion
seized me. What if I went up to the old home and interviewed my father?
I had quite lived down my animosity, and if he proved willing to forgive
I was quite ready to do the same.
As soon, therefore, as I rose from the table I went to my room, tidied
myself up a bit, and set off. It seemed an eternity since I had forded
the creek and trod that familiar path. I recalled with a shudder that
horrible night when I had sneaked home to change my things prior to
going off to bury Jarman. It was like a part of another life to look
back on now--a nightmare, the remembrance of which always seized me in
my happiest moments--like the skeleton at the Egyptian feast. And all
the time I had to remember that the horrible secret lay hidden under
those rocks only waiting for some chance passer-by to discover it.
At last I reached the verandah and paused upon the threshold like a
stranger, not knowing quite what to do. My doubts, however, were soon
set at rest by the appearance of my father in the passage. A great
change had come over him. He looked years older, and was evidently a
much feebler man than when I had left him last. So different was he that
the shock almost unnerved me. But I soon saw that his disposition had
not changed very much.
'Good morning,' he said, just as if he were greeting a total stranger.
'Pray what can I do for you?'
'Father, I have come up to see if I can't induce you to forgive me, and
let us patch this quarrel up!'
'I beg your pardon,' he answered slowly, but still with the same
exquisite politeness; 'I don't know that I understand you. Did I
understand you to address me by the title of father?'
'I am your son!'
He seated himself in one of the verandah chairs, and I noticed that his
hand trembled on the arm as he laid it there.
'I have forgotten that I ever had a son,' he said, after a moment's
pause, 'and I have no desire to be reminded of the disagreeable fact.'
'Then you will not forgive me,' I cried bitterly, amazed at his
obstinacy.
'My son was a horse coper and a blackguard,' he continued, 'and even if
I were to admit him to my house I should certainly not forgive him!'
'Thank you,' I said, moving towards the steps to go away again. 'You
wronged me before--and now you do so again. I will trouble you no more.'
'One moment before you go,' he cried, tapping on the floor with his
stick. 'You have not come up here to work upon my feelings without
having some object in view, I suppose. I hear you are living in the
township at the principal hotel, doing nothing for your living. Your
presence here means, I presume, that you want money. If that is so, I
will give you five hundred pounds to enable you to start afresh in the
world, provided you leave this place within twenty-four hours, and do
not let me ever see you or hear of you again.'
'And you refuse me your forgiveness for the wrong you have done me?'
'I am not aware that I have done you any wrong,' he answered. 'I only
believe what everybody in the township down yonder knows to be a fact.
To-morrow morning you shall have that money if you wish it. After that I
will not give you a halfpenny to save you from starving.'
Then, as if to justify himself, he continued, 'I do it on principle.'
'Very good--then, on principle, I refuse to receive even a penny from
you.'
He looked at me in surprise.
'You won't take the five hundred pounds?'
'Not one halfpenny,' I answered; 'I would not if I were dying. Good
day.'
'You are very foolish. But you will change your mind in a few hours; so
may I. Good day.'
Without more ado I left him and strode angrily back to the township.
Surely no man ever had a more pig-headed, unnatural father?
That evening, a few minutes before eight o'clock, I left the hotel and
strode off down the path by the creek to the place where I had arranged
to meet Colin. Bitterly as I hated him, and angry as I was over the blow
he had dealt me, I was not at all reconciled to the notion of fighting
him. My position was already sufficiently precarious without my
endeavouring to make it more so.
The moon was up, and it was a glorious night. In the little open space
where I sat down to wait, it was almost as bright as day. In a gum to
the back of me a mopoke was hooting dolefully, and to my right, among
the bracken, the river ran sluggishly along, the moonlight touching it
like silver. It was the beginning of summer, and there was still
sufficient water coming down from the hills to make a decent stream.
Almost punctually at eight o'clock Colin put in an appearance, and came
across the open towards me.
'I was half afraid I might keep you waiting,' he said, as he took off
his coat and threw it on the ground.
'You're punctual, I think,' I answered, rising. 'But look here, McLeod,
I'm not going to fight you after all. I can't do it!'
'Turning cocktail again, are you?' he said coldly. 'Do you want me to
find your courage for you in the same fashion as this morning?'
'Don't push me too far,' I said, 'or God alone knows what I may not do.
I'm a bad man to cross, as you may have heard.'
'Your reputation is only too well known to me,' he answered. 'Are you
going to stand up or not?'
'Since you wish it so much,' I said wearily, seeing that further
argument was useless.
'I thought you would hear reason,' he said, and took up his position.
We faced each other, and he led off with a blow that caught me on the
chin. That roused my blood, and there and then I let him have it. He was
not a bad boxer, and by no means deficient in courage, but he was like a
baby in my hands. I can say that safely without fear of bragging. Three
times in succession I sent him down to measure his length upon the
ground. And each time he got up and faced me again. At last I could
stand it no longer.
'That's enough,' I cried. 'Good God, man, you don't know what you're
doing! If I go on I shall murder you.'
'We'll go on then till you do,' he said, getting up for the fourth time
and preparing to renew the battle. But just as he did so a loud voice
behind us called 'Stop!'
It was old McLeod.
'And pray what does this mean?' he cried, as he came between us. 'James
Heggarstone, I am ashamed of ye. Colin, surely ye must have taken leave
of your senses.'
Then Colin gave me another sample of his curious character.
'You must not blame Heggarstone,' says he. 'I assure you it was all my
fault. I challenged him, and when he refused to fight I struck him.'
I could not let him take all the blame in this fashion, so I was just
going to chip in when old McLeod stopped me by holding up his hand.
'I don't care whose fault it is. Ye are both to blame. I've seen it
coming on day by day, and I can tell ye both it has distressed me beyond
measure. I'll have no more of it, remember. Ye'll shake hands, lads,
here now, and be good friends for the future, or ye'll both quarrel with
me.'
'I've no objection at all,' I said, holding out my hand.
'Nor I,' says Colin, doing the same.
And then and there we shook hands, and that was the last of my enmity
with Colin McLeod.