FLIGHT
Fear of the night, the unknown prowlers in the heather, the escape of
the schoolmaster, and above all the danger to his paper, held Rob in
a breathless silence.
And all the time Muckle John was walking towards him, whistling
softly as he came. Passing a few yards to the left of the fallen
tree behind which Rob was crouching he halted suddenly, and then in a
leisurely fashion seated himself on the trunk of it, with the tails
of his coat almost touching Rob's cheek.
For long enough he remained with his elbows upon his knees staring
out upon the loch, and yet Rob never stirred, biding his time. At
last with a profound sigh Muckle John began to speak to himself in a
low, musing voice, like a man troubled about something and doubtful
about the course he should take.
"Poor Rob," he said, "where has he got to now?" Upon which he sighed
again and shook his head. "I doubt," he murmured, "that they've
taken him--for he no answered my bit whistle. He would have answered
had he heard, for he promised me, and Rob's no the lad to go back
upon his word--oh no, you'd never suspect Rob of that," and he paused
in a heart-breaking manner as though emotion had fairly overcome him.
As for Rob, it was all he could do not to spring up and catch him by
the hands; but he lay like a stone, utterly miserable, hating the
paper and his wretched suspicions.
"Besides," continued Muckle John more briskly, "I saved the laddie's
life, and glad to do it. Oh, no, no; dinna tell me that Rob heard
the whistle and ran his neck into the noose I was calling him from.
Poor Rob," said he again, "I doubt but he's laid by the heels by this
time."
Then he stirred a little and began to button his coat.
"I must save Rob," said he in a mighty determined tone, and at that
the boy touched him softly on the coat.
"Muckle John," he whispered.
The man beside him started violently, and came near to falling off
the log altogether, so great appeared to be his astonishment. But
with an effort at recovery he pushed Rob back.
"Down," he whispered, in Gaelic, "down for your life," and he began
to stretch himself as though he had fallen to sleep. "Rob," he
murmured at last, "I hope ye did na hear my vapourings."
"I fear I did," replied Rob.
"Well, well, there's no harm where no ill was spoken. But I was
hurt, ye ken, that you did not heed my whistle. Speak low, Rob, for
there's been a man behind yon tuft o' heather for the last half-hour."
"I was feared," said Rob, "Ephraim Macaulay was loosed and oh--Muckle
John, I..."
"No suspected me, surely?" he gasped.
"I was feared, ye see, and..."
But Muckle John shook his head, and fell into a soliloquy in Lowland
Scots.
"Oh, Rob, Rob," he said, "this is no pleasant hearing. It makes
things difficult. I'm minded to leave ye, Rob, though I shrink frae
doing so, for the country is fair hotching with spies and sic' like,
and at this present moment, there's a wheen men with eyes fair glued
to this spot, and all o' them just hungering for the dawn. It's a
dangerous ploy ye're engaged upon, Rob, and one beside which Culloden
was as snug as snaring rabbits," and he sighed again with his eyes up
on the loch.
"Rob," he broke out suddenly, "it's enough to mak' me die with shame
when I say it, but it's Macaulay ye think I loosed. Come then, Rob,
and follow me, and I swear on the naked dirk I'll show ye Macaulay,"
and sliding through the undergrowth, he beckoned back to him. In
this manner taking advantage of every scrap of cover, they reached
the wood where the mist was rising before the dawn.
At this point Muckle John advanced very cautiously upon his hands and
feet, and Rob marvelled at so large a man moving as softly as a cat.
Of a sudden, however, he dropped upon his stomach and waggled his
foot as a warning. For men's voices in muttered Gaelic came from
behind a rock immediately to their right.
"He cannot have left the shore, Angus," said one, "for Neil is
watching the brae and we will close in on him at sunrise. Besides,
he is only a boy."
"There is a great man with him, Donald; who will he be?"
"I am not knowing for sure, Angus, but belike he has taken to the
heather like many another pretty fellow, though he looked like one ye
know of, whose name I will not be mentioning. Whoever he is--he will
not be meddling with us, Angus."
"But where can the Captain have got to--he was watching Archie
Cameron and then he disappeared, and Cameron too."
With a backward look Muckle John stole on, and Rob and he passed into
the heart of the wood and up to the hollow place where Macaulay had
disappeared. There Muckle John straightened himself, and pushing
aside the bracken at the lower end of the hollow he beckoned to Rob.
"There," he said, "is your prisoner," and sure enough there lay the
bound and silent form of Ephraim Macaulay.
"But how did he get here?" asked Rob. "He could not have rolled."
"Rob," replied Muckle John, "I will be franker with you than you have
been with me. I brought him here mysel'."
"You?"
"And who else? But let that be. I have a notion that we must
hurry," and he began to unloose the ropes about the prisoner's hands.
Rob watched him without a word, too perplexed to speak.
"Muckle John," he whispered at last, "could we no mak' use of his
clothes?"
"Tuts," he replied, "it's evident ye were much impressed with
Culloden day; but I would scorn to use an auld trick like that twice
in one week. There are folk, Rob, would send the word round that
Muckle John was no what he was," and he turned again to Macaulay and
loosed his feet. But the gag he left in his mouth, only removing the
bandage from his eyes. "Now, sir," he went on, addressing Macaulay
in a low voice, "I have here a dirk which does its work secretly and
yet with dispatch. Ye take my meaning? I have also a loaded pistol
in my pocket, and I flatter myself you are acquainted with my
marksmanship. Before we start upon our jaunt there are one or two
questions I would ask ye. Just nod your head and I'll excuse a civil
answer. I take it that we are surrounded here?"
A violent nod could just be discerned in the gloom.
"Thank ye. In which quarter are your people gathered? Point with
your hand."
After a momentary hesitation the prisoner pointed towards the west.
"Brawly done, sir, I knew I could trust you to lie. So we will gang
to the left just to spite ye. Now walk between us, and mind, my dirk
is itching for a dig into your ribs. If we are challenged say it is
only twa o' your friends, and at the first word o' treachery I'll
stick you like a pig." With this caution, he drew the gag out of
Macaulay's mouth.
"Hark ye, Rob," he went on in a low tone. "There are a score of men
around this place, and they're after something with which you are no
unacquainted. Should we win through there will be no rest for us
till we are well out of the Cameron country--but I doubt the length
and breadth of the Highlands will hardly be large enough."
All this he said in a very grave voice, and then taking Macaulay by
the arm, he led him towards the hill-front with Rob upon his other
side.
The dawn was near at hand and the driving mist fell cold as ice upon
their faces. Down below them they could see the cold sheen of the
loch, and hear the wild fowl crying in the reeds. After a full
quarter of a mile Muckle John halted.
"Now, Rob," said he, "we have reached their line of watchers. As we
pass up the brae, we will be scanned by many an unseen eye. Dinna
speak, but nod to me when I address ye, and tak' the upper side, for
you are nane the waur for a bit heightening," and with that they left
the shelter of the trees. In the dim, grey light, the hillside
looked very wan and desolate. A whaup was crying mournfully over a
lonely pool of hill water. Like a shadow a dog-fox, homeward bound,
slipped over the path and was swallowed up amongst the crags.
No other sound reached their ears.
Suddenly from the heather at their very feet a man leapt up--a squat,
red-headed fellow with a naked dirk in his hand. Something in
Macaulay's dim face seemed to have aroused his suspicions.
"Who are you?" he cried in Gaelic.
"Answer him," growled Muckle John in Macaulay's ear, but before he
could say a word, the Highlander had scanned Rob's face, and with a
shrill warning scream he leaped backward into the heather. It was
his last mortal word. With a whistle of flying steel Muckle John
whipped his claymore free, and lunging as it swung from the scabbard,
drove the blade in to the hilt.
With a terrible cry the man slithered backwards and coughed, and Rob
turned sick at the manner in which he writhed in the heather.
Through the mist half a dozen forms came running in their direction.
There was not a moment to lose. Hastily disengaging his sword,
Muckle John flung his great-coat about the head of the schoolmaster,
and hurling him down the hillside dragged Rob to his knees with a
hand upon his mouth.
The clatter of Macaulay's flying form and his muffled cries drew the
newcomers past the place where they lay, and then springing to his
hands and feet Muckle John made off in the opposite direction into
the heart of the swirling mist. There was a brief silence and then
far away, came a shrill yell taken up again and again until every
crag seemed alive with voices, and the faint glow of the rising sun
made their escape seem impossible.
"They've found him," cried Muckle John, mounting the hillside at a
great pace with Rob at his heels, "so it's save your breath and
follow me."
There was little cover on that part of the hill, and it was evident
from the frenzied shouts rising from below, that their pursuers had
seen them crossing an open space.
"Quicker, Rob!" cried Muckle John, darting away like a hare, his head
bent below his shoulders as he ran.
At last, when they had reached a mass of crags and loose stones, he
dropped behind the first, dodging back along the upper part of the
slope, while Rob scrambled behind him. They halted for a moment,
about five hundred yards higher than the way they had passed a few
minutes before, and Muckle John peeped round a boulder and scanned
the misty slope beneath.
"Look," said he at last. Far below, by stretching his head forward,
Rob saw many forms moving like dots amongst the heather. Foremost of
all came Ephraim Macaulay, waving them on; then, in a rude half-moon,
swept some thirty ragged Highlanders, shock-headed, bearded, fierce
looking caterans, racing like dogs upon the trail.
"Broken men," said Muckle John grimly, watching them as keenly as a
fox watches the hounds. "Cameron rogues and nameless cattle. Would
we were out of this country."
The sun was rising over the glen, and even in that hour of deadly
peril Rob must needs admire the gold light upon the blue loch, and
the fresh greenness of the spring in the trees far below.
Their pursuers had now reached the point where they had doubled back
along the hill, and here they were put out, searching the rocks, and
spying along the other slope and making closer search.
"It was that last burst did it, Rob," whispered Muckle John, in a
glow at his cleverness; "but I must admit I'm no liking the position.
They're anxious to lay hands on ye, Rob, and that's the truth. I'm
thinking it must be grand information ye carry, but I'm no the man to
question onybody about what best concerns himsel'." Shaking his head
he took to watching the movements of their pursuers again.
"I wish I could tell you, Muckle John," replied Rob unhappily.
"Och," said he with a great show of indifference, "I was only daffing
ye. It's maybe only because ye were seen wi' Archie Cameron. He's
no good company for folk just now."
"He's a brave gentleman, Muckle John."
"Oh, maybe; but there's aye some one to bring up stories against a
man. Some say he is faithful to the Prince, but others whose names
I'm not knowing will tell you he has an eye to his own affairs."
Rob listened with a flush of indignation upon his face.
"You do him wrong," he blurted out. "The Prince has need to thank
him for last night's work, and I'm bound to carry word of it."
He paused abruptly, fearing he had said too much. But Muckle John
was apparently intent upon the hillside.
"Look," said he, "they're coming straight for us. Now, Rob, it will
be touch and go, and do what I tell you without question, for I know
this country like my ain hand; and I tell ye at once that if we are
not twenty mile on the other side of them before nightfall, we might
as well cut our ain throats. And, Rob, mind it's you they're after,
no me. Should you care to hand anything over for safe keeping, just
in case--ye ken--" and he paused, looking over Rob's head.
"That I cannot," said Rob firmly.
"Then follow me," was all the answer Muckle John gave, and putting a
huge rock between them and their enemies, they ran swiftly slant-wise
up the slope until they reached the summit, where for a moment Muckle
John looked back. The great half-moon formation of the ascending
Highlanders was moving quickly upwards.
"This is no red-coat work," he gasped, "but tartan against tartan,
and fox hunting fox," and away they went along the opposite side of
the hill, just low enough to miss the sky-line.
As luck would have it that part of the hill was very bare and empty
of cover, and ere they had gone half a mile a distant shout warned
them that they were seen, and that the whole force of their pursuers
was now upon their line of flight.
Rob saw a sudden tightening of Muckle John's mouth, and now it ceased
to be a game of hide and seek, but a race for dear life. The pace
was terrible. Rob's lungs were bursting with the straining, so that
red flashes of light swam before his eyes.
"Quicker!" cried Muckle John, "they are gaining! Oh, can ye no mak'
a sprint, Rob--only a hundred yards?"
For a while Rob struggled on, stumbling and gasping, until at last
his foot caught in a tuft of heather, and he fell heavily to the
ground. Without a word or pause, Muckle John, who was leading by
some ten feet, turned swiftly, and picking him up, continued his wild
race for the broken rocks that lay before them.
Two hundred yards behind came the foremost Highlanders, leaping over
the ground in bounds, their claymores ready in their hands. A
minute, and Muckle John had passed among the rocks, then doubling
right and left, he sped towards a monstrous boulder, and scrambling
up, pulled Rob on top. Now on the back of this boulder lay another
great stone poised upon it, and carrying Rob over his shoulder, he
clambered up and so to a cleft in the side of the precipice which
fronted the hill.
Rob had been too blinded by exhaustion to notice that before them lay
what was apparently a cul-de-sac with bare crag on every side, and
had he done so he would have realized why the Highlanders had bared
their swords. For they were to all appearances in a death-trap.
But Muckle John, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat, seemed
well enough content, and placing Rob upon the barren cleft, he turned
about and looked down upon the scene below. His assailants were
gathered about the rock on which he had first sprung, and were
debating what course to take. Far behind came the main body, and
still farther away, Ephraim Macaulay.
"Rob," said Muckle John, "have you your wind yet?"
The boy groaned in reply, but struggled to his feet.
"Now," said Muckle John, "I am not the daft fool ye no doubt take me
for--there is a way up this cliff only known to me and one other.
You see this cleft? It runs for fifty yards in a slanting direction,
and there's little enough foothold. There is a break at the corner
there and a bit jump of maybe two feet, but no easy, with just a bare
rock and six inches to land on. But dinna waver or lose heart, for
there's no return and it's certain death to bide here. After that,
climb straight up, but leaning to the left, and when ye reach a small
tree-stump wait for me, for then it becomes no easy matter."
For a moment Rob hesitated, but Muckle John pushed him gently on the
shoulder.
"It's death here," said he again, "for they can go back and reach the
top in two hours." Then in a leisurely manner he drew his claymore to
hold the rock against assault.
Knowing that if he hesitated he was lost, Rob set foot upon the
narrow path that ran along the smooth edge of rock, and never looking
down for fear of turning giddy, he wormed his way upwards, feeling
every foot of the slippery surface.
A sudden silence fell upon the onlookers below, and then a harsh
noise of voices reached him, and a moment later a stone crashed on
the rock within a foot of his head.
"Haud tight, Rob," shouted Muckle John; "dinna mind them!" and
whipping out his pistol he fired, shattering the arm of another man
who was poised for his aim.
Had any one of them there carried a musket, Rob would have been shot
like a crow, but as Muckle John shrewdly guessed, no one of that
ragged crew had more than cold steel, though that was ready should
the boy falter and fall.
But creeping onward he reached the place where the empty space lay,
and without a pause he stepped across, regained his balance and
disappeared round the corner. At that a great yell of anger broke
out, and a sudden rush was made for the lowest rock, upon which half
a dozen men climbed and thence swarmed up within three feet of where
Muckle John stood, awaiting them.
At that he swung down upon them, and laying about him with his
claymore, cleared the stone and stood looking upon the crowd of his
enemies with great good-humour. Growling sullen threats, they fell
back out of reach of his deadly sword, and so, setting his back
against the crag, he drew out his whistle and, placing the hilt of
his claymore between his legs, he broke into a Highland rant.
Now the story of that tune was one peculiarly obnoxious to the men
below, for it was written to commemorate a great clan battle, in
which the people of the West had not covered their name with glory.
He played it with grim relish, giving it such a sprightly measure,
that every note seemed a jeer and a bitter gibe at their kith and kin.
Indeed, so engrossed did he grow with his melody, that he did not
notice a man to his left pick up a great stone, and launch it like a
flash upon him. Moreover, it was aimed with a deadly purpose, for it
took the claymore on the blade and sent it spinning over the edge
upon the earth below.
With a cry Muckle John leaped for the cleft. The men below, with a
wild shout, swarmed up like hungry wolves upon the place he had
abandoned.
And then drawing his pistol and dirk, he fell upon his knees like a
wild-cat defending its lair with tooth and claw, and sent the first
man hurtling backwards with a bullet in his brain.
"Lochaber pig," he taunted, "it takes a dirk to make you squeal."
"Man without a tartan," they screamed back in Gaelic,
"landless--nameless one..."
"No name is better than a Lochaber name," he cried with a laugh,
driving them back for the third time.
But his position was desperate, for the long blades of his assailants
could reach him before he could reload, and his dirk was useless
except at close quarters.
Now beside him there was a rugged boulder of about three feet in
diameter, and no sooner had his eye rested on that, than he bent his
long arms around it, and pushing it to the edge rolled it over upon
the jeering faces within a few feet of his own, and without watching
the panic that it caused, he sprang upon the narrow cleft and began
to pass along the road that Rob had gone before.
But now things were very different. Below him, a dozen men had
stones in their hands--behind him, those who had the courage were
already mounting the dead-strewn rock to follow him.
There was for all that a mocking twinkle in Muckle John's eyes, and
he whistled a bar of the tune he had played, and so, walking steadily
onward, reached the empty space. It was that critical moment that
they had selected for their volley of stones, and indeed it would
have gone ill with anyone knocked off his balance at such a time.
But this Muckle John realized as much as they, and out of the corner
of his eye he had gauged their scheme to a nicety. He made a step
forward, therefore, and a very quick fling back, which few could do
where there was not room for the feet to stand, ankle to ankle. And
as the stones rattled upon the face of the rock instead of his own,
he crossed very coolly and passed on.
Foiled in that plan, they took to aiming at him indiscriminately, and
the dull thud upon his side and legs reached Rob up above. Soon a
stone cut his face, and he must needs wipe the blood out of his eyes
to see his way, which delayed him and brought his pursuers (the few
who dared) the nearer.
But he crept on, nevertheless, and at last reached Rob, and supported
himself by the little broken tree.
"Oh, Rob, Rob," he gasped, "I nearly spoilt all. Follow me, for
they'll turn the corner in a minute. Once let us get back to the
top, Rob, and there's no going back," and he looked down upon the
heads of their pursuers with a meaning smile.
The last five yards were as hazardous as the rest, and more than once
Rob gave himself up for lost. But each time Muckle John steadied him
and jested, and whistled a snatch of tune.
At last they scrambled upon level ground, and lay with bleeding
fingers and knees and all the strength gone out of them.
Some minutes passed, and from below came the faint shuffling of
footsteps. With a groan Rob struggled up and peered over. A
dreadful sight faced him. About twenty yards beneath, where one man
was forced to climb upon the other's shoulders, the foothold had
failed, and after a momentary, fluttering grasp at the thin grass
that grew in patches here and there, a mournful cry went up, and the
two bodies slid and tumbled and sped out of sight.
"They're killed!" cried Rob.
Muckle John rose stiffly to his feet.
"I said there were but two who knew the way," he replied, "and one is
mysel'," and he stretched himself and began to walk up the slope of
the hill.
"Come, Rob," said he, over his shoulder, "they'll be after us now,
but we have two hours' start, which, saving the English, should prove
sufficient."
Then quite suddenly he stopped in his tracks, and stared with a frown
upon the glen below. Drawing Rob forward, he pointed downwards,
saying no word.
And Rob said nothing either; there was nothing to say.
All along the valley and up into the hills beyond were scattered tiny
white tents, and little figures in red coats moved hither and thither
like ants in an open space amongst the heather, while the sun shone
and glinted on white flickers of steel.