ON CRIFFELL HILL
The sun burned down on the heather. Below, in the curving glen where
the heath gave place to white bent-grass, a burn flashed like a silver
riband among the stones; above, the long ridge of Criffell ran up
against the clear blue sky. Grouse were calling as they skimmed the
steep downward slope, and a curlew's wild cry fell sharply from the
summit of the hill. These were sounds that delighted Andrew, for he
loved the fellside almost as he loved the sea; but his lips were set
and his brows knitted as he stood waist-deep in the heather.
Whitney was toiling up the hill beside Elsie a short distance farther
on, and Dick was behind them; but, seeing Andrew stop, they waited
until he came up.
"It's rather steep," said Elsie, giving Andrew a sympathetic glance.
"Here's a nice flat stone; we'll rest for a few minutes."
She sat down on a slab of lichened granite, and Dick found a place
beside her.
"I wonder why Andrew loaded himself up with that heavy ruck-sack on a
day like this?" he said. "I suppose there's a pair of marine glasses
and a chart, and a parallel rule and compass, inside of it. Andrew
thinks he'd get lost if he didn't carry the lot about when he risks
himself ashore."
"They're all there," Andrew replied somewhat grimly. "Still, it wasn't
the bag that stopped me."
"I'm sorry we forced the pace," Elsie said. "You were going well at
the bottom."
"I felt all right; but that's just when my weakness finds me out.
Sometimes it's the damp that brings it on and sometimes the heat; but
one oughtn't to grumble about not being able to climb a hill as fast
as usual." He broke off and resumed after a twinge of pain: "It's
thinking of our boys being rolled back on Cambrai while I loaf about
the Solway shore, that worries me."
When they had rested a while they climbed up the steep face of a
pointed knoll, and then followed a long ridge to the massive cairn on
the top of the hill, where shallow pools gleamed among the green moss
of a bog. Andrew sat down on a stone, but Whitney stood on the highest
hillock, his eyes wandering across the wide landscape that rolled away
beneath him.
To the south the sea glittered like silver, and a bright arm wound
inland up a valley. To the west and north a few lemon-yellow harvest
fields and strips of green pasture checkered the red heath, and the
smoke of a little town hung about a hollow; but the picture's dominant
tone was wild solitude. The plain rose in step-like ridges, the
hillsides that bordered it were washed with shades of delicate gray,
and in the distance lofty rounded summits cut against the sky.
"It looks as lonely as our Western deserts," Whitney remarked.
Andrew was busy with his chart. He had spread it on a flat stone;
then, putting a compass on the middle of it, he moved a notched brass
ring round the instrument. The tide was about half ebb and broad belts
of sand rose among the glistering channels in the firth. Andrew took
sights across them, then penciled notes on the margin of the chart,
but at times he lay still for a minute or two with the marine glasses
at his eyes. The others left him alone until he rolled up the chart
and lighted his pipe.
"I've learned something useful," he said. "These channels change so
fast that a chart's of no use unless you keep it up to date."
"What's the country to the east like?" Whitney asked. "It looks high
and rough, but I seem to make out a deep valley beyond your
Annandale."
"Now you have set him off!" Dick exclaimed. "Andrew's one hobby is
that western road to England!"
Andrew laughed.
"The road is interesting. I will take you over it some day. For one
thing, nature has provided a good route through a rugged country. For
most of the way, the valleys are shut in by high moors, and that made
Eskdale a natural sallyport for the old Border clans."
Elsie and Dick were walking about, picking their way among the shallow
pools; but Whitney sat down beside Andrew and listened with interest
to the history of the old Eskdale road.
"I shall buy a motorcycle," he declared, when Andrew had concluded;
"one of those with a side-car, so that we can travel around these
roads."
Elsie and Dick joined them and for a time they sat talking and looking
about. There was very little wind and the murmur of the Solway tide
came up to them faintly across the purple slopes where the grouse were
calling.
Suddenly, as if he had sprung from the earth, a young man in khaki
uniform appeared, picking his way across the bog. He was hot and
breathless, and seemed surprised when he saw the party, but he came
toward them with a smile.
"So you're back!" he exclaimed to Andrew. "I meant to look you up."
"We'll be glad to see you, Murray," Dick said cordially. "You haven't
been round for a long time. What brings you up Criffell in full
uniform? I must say it's a better fit than some they've been serving
out lately."
Murray laughed.
"We are giving the Terriers a run; but business first. I suppose you
haven't seen any turf that might have been dug over recently, or
stones that seemed to have been pulled up?"
"No. Did you expect to find anything of the sort?"
"To tell the truth, I don't know what I did expect to find. We're
ostensibly practising scouting, but there's a batch of Dumfries
cyclists scouring the Galloway roads, and I imagine the authorities
have some reason for sending us out."
"I suppose if you met a foreigner or anybody with an electric battery,
he'd go into the bag," Dick suggested. "After reading the newspapers,
one must admit that the Terriers are remarkably good shots. In fact,
it's not safe to meet them in the dark."
"You imagine this turnout isn't merely part of the men's training?"
Andrew asked.
Murray looked thoughtful.
"No; I believe there is something going on round here. We've got
orders to search the country as far as Screel of Bengairn--though of
course that can't be done in a day. I heard they mean to organize
scouting parties in the Castle Douglas neighborhood."
"Well, perhaps a wireless installation could be made small enough to
carry about and hide; but a good deal of Galloway's a wilderness of
granite and heath."
"That's why it might prove a suitable place."
"Yes, in a way. There are glens where a man could lurk for a long time
without being seen; but they're hard to reach, and nothing that the
enemy would wish to learn is likely to happen here. Then the sands
protect this shore. The east coast's our vulnerable point: any
important news could best be picked up about Rosyth. If there are
wireless installations working, one would naturally look for them on
the eastern slope of the Lammermuirs and along the seaboard between
Berwick and the Forth."
"Of course," agreed Murray. "And no doubt they've had that district
searched. But you must remember we're dealing with remarkably clever
people, who wouldn't go to work in the obvious way. Now, suppose some
news was gathered about Rosyth, how long would it take a powerful car
to bring it here?"
"Four hours and a half, provided that none of your fellows or the
police interfered."
"That's by the Eskdale road. I'd go the other way--a rough country,
but there's nobody to bother about the speed limit."
"Well," said Andrew, thoughtfully, "I'd prefer the Eskdale. The
obvious way's sometimes safest; it's the unusual thing that excites
suspicion."
"There's only one road for Andrew," Dick laughed.
Murray got up.
"I must be off," he said. "My Terriers are scattered about the mosses,
and khaki has its disadvantages when you're looking for your men."
He turned away and when he went, springing down the western slope of
the hill, Elsie looked at the others.
"It was so serene up here," she said; "and he has broken the charm.
The war cloud looked a long way off, but it seems closer now." She
glanced across the ranges of sunny hills as she added: "What a
beautiful world this might be if men were sensible and just!"
"True," replied Dick; "but then we'd miss some excitement and get fat
and slack. A certain amount of trouble's good for us, and that's why
we make it."
"We didn't make this horrible war."
"No; I suppose we didn't. As a future landowner, I've naturally no
admiration for the Lloyd George gang, but one must admit that they
were forced into the fray. To do them justice, they're not the lot to
fight when they can help it, and they're certainly getting on better
than I expected."
"You were bound by the 'Scrap of paper,'" Whitney remarked.
Dick chuckled.
"Our politicians have left us nothing to say about that; but I'll
admit there's something convenient in the other fellows' theory. I
happen to know a little about scraps of paper and there are one or two
I'd be glad to disown."
"So I thought!" Andrew interposed dryly.
"Oh," Dick laughed; "my frankness is always getting me into trouble."
Soon afterward they went down the hill, talking carelessly, but
Elsie's eyes were grave when she saw in the distance small scattered
figures moving across the heath. There was something ominous about the
soldiers' presence on the quiet moors where the black-faced sheep had
long fed undisturbed.