BURIED TREASURE
A faint cry of dismay fell from Rob's lips as he met the evil glare
in the schoolmaster's eyes. Cameron, too, seemed more than a little
shaken at the encounter, though he said nothing, but appeared plunged
in thought about the future.
In the hollow place where they stood, it was impossible for their
prisoner to see anything save the open sky, and a thousand twinkling
stars.
After a moment Cameron stepped gingerly beside him, and pulled at his
bonds. Then, tearing a strip of cloth from off Macaulay's shirt, he
bound it round his eyes as though to hide their gleaming malice from
sight.
"Come, Rob," he said, in a whisper, "there's work for you and me this
night. When we have ended we will set him free," and he led the way
back to the shore.
It was very still and lonesome there with only the soft wash of the
loch and the sighing of the wind amongst the trees, and Rob wished
the matter well over, and himself back in the comparative security of
Lovat's company.
"While I dig them up you roll them along the right bank," whispered
Cameron, warning him to keep in the depths of the heather, "and lay
them down in the shadow of the burn that joins the loch yonder.
Should you hear a sound come back and warn me. Och!" he concluded,
stepping into the moonlight, "but these are strange times." Then
bending his back he sent the spade deep into the sand.
"It's fortunate for you that I caught him watching," whispered Rob,
full of pride at his discovery.
"Man," said Cameron, "do I look sic a gomeral? I knew he was there
from the moment I hitched the pony to the tree. Had he gone it would
have fallen out just as I planned."
And so began the flight of the treasure--Rob creeping through the
darkness of the trees, rolling a cask, stealing noiseless as a shadow
over the wet leaves and bracken, and all the time seeing in the black
night the terrible eyes of Ephraim Macaulay marking his every step.
Backwards and forwards until his back ached, and the moisture stood
heavy upon his brow. In the passive stillness of the night there was
no breath of danger, no whisper of heather alive with fugitives, and
spies, and nameless wanderers.
As he made for the slope with the last cask he saw Cameron smoothing
over the place with cunning hands, and patting the marks of his
footsteps about the sand. Then he too followed, and together they
knelt by the stream.
"Now, Rob," said Cameron, "first there'll be a score of Highland
caterans scanning this shore, and after that there'll be the
red-coats, who are sure to get wind of it; and so it's our business,
ye ken, to mak' siccar* of this. Maybe ye hae never hidden treasure,
Rob, so let us have a crack about it. Come ye nearer. Now, when our
friend in the hollow there gets his freedom he'll show a clear pair
o' heels to those who sent him, an' I'm uncommon interested to ken
just who they are."
* Certain.
"No, no," said Rob, with a touch of importance; "he is after me. He
is a school-master of Inverness...."
"Oh! Maybe, maybe," broke in Cameron. "He is capable of being all
that. But it's mair than you, Rob--though I hate to seem to
undervalue your importance, laddie."
"Then he is not..."
"Whisht! What does it matter who he is? So ye understand, Rob.
Follow him, and see whether he makes north or south, and then when ye
know that I will send you on a journey, for I am travelling east
mysel'."
"But Lord Lovat."
The man beside him started.
"What of him, Rob?" he asked quickly.
"Maybe he will require me."
Cameron laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Rob," said he very gravely, "Lord Lovat will require mair than you
to save his auld neck, and for mercy's sake dinna breathe a word of
this night's wark to him--nor to onybody but the one ye ken of."
"No," said Rob, "to nobody but the Prince."
"Come then, for time passes. When the search for this treasure
commences--for mark you a score of eyes must have been watching me
just as closely as your own--what will they do when they dig on the
sand and find an empty huddle o' stanes? They will examine the
neighbourhood for traces of spade work and footsteps. They know a
single man like mysel' could not carry those casks mair than a
hundred yards. They'd come straight here, Rob, like a pack of hounds
on the trail."
"What can we do?" asked Rob, fearing his work was thrown away.
"There is just one thing to do, Rob, and that maybe will sound mighty
ludicrous; but it is always the foolish tricks that are the hardest
to unravel. When I asked you to show yoursel' upon the lochside,
where it is mair light than I had looked for, it was because I had a
thought, Rob, and it's just this: there are one or two gentry in this
neighbourhood uncommon anxious to watch my doings this night, and,
being a modest man, Rob, I'm no overpleased at the notion," and he
brought his head a little nearer. "Supposing, Rob," he whispered,
"you were to take my place upon the lochside for a wee half an hour,
or maybe a little over?"
"Take your place?"
"Aye; put on my wig and coat (the hat I shall require), and when the
moon is hid by a cloud, just scrunch upon the pebbles, and sit ye
doon so that your kilt is hid. It would tak' the eyes o' an owl to
see anything amiss in this dim light, Rob. Will ye do it, lad?
Would ye? It is for the Prince, bless him."
"Give me your wig and coat," said Rob for answer.
With a sigh of relief and no further word, Cameron set the wig upon
his head, and wrapped the long great-coat about him, turning up the
collar. Then they remained in silence gazing at the cold grey sky.
"Quick," said he, at last, "there's a cloud coming," and he pushed
Rob gently from the gloom of the trees. At the same time he sang a
line of a song for any who might doubt him, and fell back out of
sight.
When the moon swam out of the fleeting patch of cloud it fell upon
the figure of a man who was sitting on a low piece of rock, with his
elbows on his knees, and his back to the shore, and in the dead
stillness of the night who could guess how many watched that black,
crouching form, wondering why he never rose or walked about, but only
sat with his chin in his hand, staring out across the loch.
Meanwhile Cameron passed noiselessly back to the place where the
casks lay. Forewarned is forearmed, and he was not foolish enough to
suppose that the hiding of treasure in the Cameron country would be
an easy matter.
His clan had much love for him, but they also had an uncommon respect
for gold, and times were hard. So a week before the frigate had
flashed into Loch-na-nuagh he had dug a hole under a rock in the
stream which ran into Loch Arkaig, and inside the hole had hidden a
small barrel for holding half the contents of the casks (which
contained bags of louis d'or). The other half, for safety, he had
resolved to conceal elsewhere, while the casks, empty of gold, he had
decided to bury in a hasty fashion just where Rob had placed them.
And in this manner the stiff work began, for only two hours of
darkness remained.
Happily the wind had risen, and the sound of his preparations were
unheard. That Cameron was nervous and anxious to be done one could
have told by his frenzied haste. First he walked upstream for fifty
yards with a bag upon his shoulders. Then he slid a large boulder
across the waterfall to divert the current, and dropped his burden
under the bed of the stream, where the open barrel was ready to
receive them. Then he returned, never putting foot upon dry land,
and so, with an aching back and bleeding fingers, he toiled on until
at last the barrel was full and the lid on, and the stone rolled back
so that the water rushed over the spot under which the treasure lay.
The digging of a hole for the casks down the stream then commenced,
and that ready, Cameron set off towards the mouth of the burn in the
opposite direction from where the first portion of the gold lay
buried; and still wading in the current, he began to approach the
shore. About a score of yards from the loch a great rock rose by the
side of the burn, and some six feet above it a single branch of a
tree swayed stiffly in the night breeze, extending in a straight line
from the trunk, for near the shore the hill-side was woody and thick
with undergrowth.
Now the hardest part of the work began. He first of all slipped a
piece of rope through the loop of the remaining bags holding the end
of it in his hand. For a moment he rested, then leaping upon the
rock, he crouched an instant, and sprang straight for the thick
branch above him. Grasping it tightly, he swung himself cross-legged
upon it, and leaning over began to haul the bags up beside him,
slinging the rope securely about the tree.
Having detached the first bag, he conveyed it along the branch, and,
smoothing aside the leaves, there was revealed a hole in the trunk of
the tree about the size of a saucer, into which he squeezed it. This
he did many times, until the contents of the second half of the casks
were inside the hollow trunk, and then rearranging the leaves, he
took a bird's nest very gravely from inside his hat, and laying it
over the hole, slipped a couple of eggs from a little bag round his
neck inside it, and let himself down again upon the rock.
Then burying the casks as he had planned, and that but carelessly, so
that the top of one of them even stuck a little through the turf, he
threw a few gold pieces upon the ground. The work was finished.
Stealing back, he gave a low call to Rob, who, waiting a moment,
slipped back to his side.
Cameron without a word slipped on the great-coat and his wig again,
and patting Rob upon the shoulder, led him down upon the beach, where
the bright moonlight made the loch gleam like beaten silver. The
spade he had concealed in a secret place.
"Let us have a crack together for a moment," said he in a low voice.
"That we will be seen is probable, but I think none watched just now.
Ye might wonder why I," he continued, speaking more loudly, and with
his head turned a little towards the trees, "who have exercised such
care, have trusted you, Rob, who are a stranger to me. Then I just
canna tell you, for I do not know, and that's the sober truth.
Anyway here is a plan o' the places and other things; and dinna let
this out of your hands, Rob, and if ye are taken, swallow it, or
destroy it in some way. In case we are watched take it from my hand
as though we were saying good-bye. Now!" and extending his right
hand, Cameron cried, "Good-bye, Rob," in a very clear voice. and
made to pass the paper; but with a flustered movement he bungled it,
dropping it upon the ground.
"Tuts!" said he, and stooping quickly made a great business of
thrusting it into Rob's hands. "Follow that spy to-night," he said,
"and then haste ye on the footsteps of the Prince, and tell him that
I wait his instructions in Lochaber. Should ye need me send word
that 'there's a muir-fowl snared.' Mind the words, laddie, for I'll
ken by that ye are taken."
At that moment there was a small noise like a sigh behind them, and
Cameron started and peered into the darkness.
"Speak lower," he said, "you understand?"
"I do," Rob replied.
"Then come. Let us set the fellow loose, and after that the less we
see of Arkaig the better." So saying he led the way to the hollow
place.
The moonlight shone smoothly down between the swaying tree-tops, but
it fell upon empty greensward and bristling heather. No man lay
there. Not even his ropes remained. It was as though he had been
spirited away. Without a word, Cameron drew Rob swiftly back.
"Separate and run," he whispered in an agitated voice, "for we must
be surrounded," and bending his body he darted amongst the trees
towards the open hill-side. At that Rob overtaken by a sudden fear
of the unknown, and a great dread of Ephraim Macaulay, took to his
heels, and running in a direction at right angles to that in which
Cameron had gone, he doubled on his tracks, and dropped down under a
bank of heather.
Fortunate it was he had done so, for swift flying footsteps sounded
close above his head, and two men sped past him into the wood. Then,
crawling on hands and feet, he made for the head of the loch. But he
had travelled a bare five hundred yards before the clear soft note
like the sound of a chanter drifted towards him. And the bar that it
played was the fantastic, ghostly tune of Muckle John, the same
twisted melody that had so shaken the school-master in Miss
Macpherson's house.
Nearer it came, and he lay flat upon the ground with a fallen tree
before him. Suddenly on to the moonlit shore stepped a figure he
could not mistake--the huge shoulders and chest, the massive head of
Muckle John himself. And as he played he peered this way and that,
as though he were in search of some one.
Rob was about to run forward, then as quickly he sank lower in the
shadow. Something held him back.
Presently Muckle John laid aside the instrument, and whistled the
haunting catch of tune in the moonlight.