AT THE ELBOW POOL
While waiting for his foreign commission, Dane found the summer days
slip by almost too rapidly, though there were occasions when, after a
long afternoon spent in Lilian's company, he fancied he could understand
the feelings of Tantallus. The girl appeared completely reassured, and
treated him with sisterly cordiality, while Chatterton, who knew nothing
of their compact, nodded sapiently as he observed their growing
friendship. Dane sometimes wondered if he were not heaping up future
sorrow for himself; but, with infrequent exceptions, he found the
present very good, and, being a sanguine man who could wait, he made the
most of it.
Lilian was troubled by no misgivings. Once, when her aunt asked a
diplomatic question, she smiled frankly as she said: "Yes. I am in one
way very fond of Hilton; you will remember that I always was. We
understand each other thoroughly; and he is so assured and solid that
one feels a restful sense of security in his company. You will remember
the Highland chieftain's candlesticks--the men with the claymores and
torches, Aunty. Well, I fancy that worthy gentleman must have felt the
same thing when he dined in state with them about him. He had but to
lift his finger and they would disappear, you know."
Mrs. Chatterton looked slightly grave as she answered: "Don't forget
that they were also men with passions, and very terrible men,
sometimes--for instance, at Killiecrankie. It would not surprise me if
you discovered that there is a good deal of very vigorous human nature
in Hilton Dane."
Thomas Chatterton still went fishing, generally with indifferent
success, but once Lilian caught Dane examining his creel, which was
surprisingly well filled.
"I am puzzled, Hilton," she said. "I made a wager with Uncle that he
would not catch a dozen good trout in a month, and now I fancy that he
will win it."
"Well?"
"Men are deceivers ever--especially when it is a question of catching
fish. I have noticed that when your host goes fishing by daylight he
rarely catches anything but eels, which, as everybody knows, do not rise
to a fly, while when he rises early or returns in the dusk he brings a
really fine trout or two. I cannot, however, believe that this one died
only two hours ago. Can you suggest an explanation?"
"Charity," said Dane gravely, "suspecteth nothing. Don't you know that
trout rise most freely just before the dusk?"
Lilian shook her head.
"You are not sufficiently clever to set your wits against a woman's,"
she declared.
Dane laughed, a trifle grimly; and the girl, momentarily startled by
something in his merriment, decided that she must have been mistaken;
but she abandoned the subject with some abruptness.
That very evening, perhaps sent forth by fate, because much depended
upon his fishing, Thomas Chatterton took up his rod and landing net,
and, as he did not return by nightfall, his wife once more despatched
Dane in search of him.
"I think you know where to find him; and I wish I did, for he has only
to take two more trout to win," Lilian added significantly.
Dane proceeded by the shortest way to the big elbow pool, but it was
almost dark when he reached it. There had been heavy rain, and all the
firs which loomed through thin white mist were dripping. The water came
down beneath them thick with the peat of the moorlands in incipient
flood. Dane could hear its hoarse growl about the boulders studding the
tail rapid, and surmised that there ought to be several trout on the
poacher's line. Having, nevertheless, no desire to surprise his host
red-handed, he did not immediately proceed toward it, but sat upon the
driest stone he could find, listening for his coming. There was no sound
but the clamor of the river and the heavy splashing of moisture from the
boughs above, some of which trickled down his neck, until he heard a
rattle of falling stones, and a shadowy figure, which he guessed was
Chatterton's, crawled down toward the alder roots.
A splash was followed by a hoarse exclamation as the man slipped into
the water up to the knee; then Dane heard the thud of a flung out fish,
and sat very still, for it would clearly be injudicious to present
himself just then. He noticed a minute twinkle of brightness among the
boulders across the pool which puzzled him. It was too small for the
light of a lantern, and he remembered nothing that shone in just the
same fashion. While he wondered what it could be, another dark object
rose beside the alder, gripping what looked like a heavy stick.
"I'm thinking I have ye noo!" a gruff voice exclaimed. "Ye sorrowful
wastrel, stealing a puir man's fish!"
Thomas Chatterton stood upright, knee-deep in the river, with an
exclamation; and Dane, knowing there was much deeper water close behind
him, sprang to his feet. That the irascible iron-master would show fight
if necessary, he felt certain, and equally so that a portly elderly
gentleman would make a poor match for a brawny laborer. Hardly had he
got to his feet, however, than the keeper, sliding down the bank,
dropped silently into the river, and disappeared as if by magic, while,
as Dane wondered what had startled him, another voice rang out.
"Run straight in on the alder while I head him off from the firs!" it
directed; and a whistle was followed by the sound of trampling feet.
Somebody came smashing through the undergrowth, and Dane was never quite
certain as to the cause for what happened next, though he surmised that
Chatterton's dread of becoming a laughing-stock to his enemy proved
momentarily stronger than his reason. In any case, he must have
endeavored to follow the keeper's lead, and lost his footing, for a side
swing of the stream swept him out from shore, while Dane, realizing that
an elderly gentleman in heavy boots and leggings was hardly likely to
make much head against a flooded river, plunged from the bank in the
flattest dive he could compass, though horribly afraid that he might
strike his head against a submerged stone. It was a good plunge, for he
rose almost in mid-stream, and heard a great splashing and panting
close before him. A few moments later, he had Chatterton by the
shoulder, and braced himself for a struggle.
Chatterton, though driving sideways down the stream, could apparently
swim a little, and did not appear unduly alarmed. Indeed, Dane had cause
for believing he feared nothing except ridicule; but he was very heavy,
and panted stentoriously, while muddy froth beat into the younger man's
eyes and nostrils, and the rebound, which surged in a whirling eddy from
a central rock, swept them down together toward the white race between
the boulders at the tail of the pool. Dane had no intention of being
hammered against them if it could be avoided, and did his utmost,
thrusting with one hand on Chatterton's shoulder and swimming on his
side. Still, the boulders swept up-stream past them, the larches flitted
by, and though they drew clear of the fastest rush, it seemed impossible
that they could make a landing in time to escape the rapid. Chatterton
was apparently swallowing water, and choking badly now.
"For heaven's sake, make a last effort, sir!" spluttered Dane; and the
iron-master splashed furiously.
A strip of shingle grew nearer, but they would hardly have reached it
had not a man floundered in almost shoulder-deep and clutched them as
they passed. All three went down together, Chatterton undermost; but
when Dane's head broke the surface, a hand was twined in his hair, and a
half-choked voice said:
"You are in wading distance, man. Get up and walk!"
Dane felt sliding shingle beneath him, and tightening his grip on
Chatterton he struggled for a foothold; and finally they reeled,
breathless, dazed, and dripping, out among the boulders. Then somebody
turned back the slide of a darkened lantern, and the half-drowned
Chatterton gasped, for it was evident that his rescuer was Carsluith
Maxwell, the son of his enemy. Maxwell stared at Chatterton, and the
iron-master gaped at him; but while blank astonishment was stamped on
both their faces, it was Maxwell who recovered his senses first.
"Robertson, hail Jim to run over to The Larches, and say that Mr.
Chatterton, who fell into the river trying to capture a poacher, is
coming home with me to change his clothes," he ordered, and then turned
toward the dripping pair. "It was very plucky of you, sir, and you were
only a few seconds too late. I thought you would secure the depredator.
It is two miles round by the footbridge, and you hardly look fit for the
walk, so you are coming to Culmeny with me. There is really no use
protesting."
Thomas Chatterton did not look capable of much exertion, but he
hesitated.
"It is very kind of you, but your father and I, unfortunately--"
Maxwell laughed.
"I believe you had some trifling difference; but this is a Christian
country, and the reason given quite insufficient for letting you freeze
to death. Mr. Dane, I presume? You will help me to persuade your host."
Chatterton, although exhausted, yielded dubiously, and it was not long
before the pair shed their dripping garments beside a blazing fire in
Culmeny, and struggled into the dry ones provided, both sets being of
average size. Dane, however, was tall and long of limb; Chatterton was
short and broad, and when his toilet was finished, he stood up
half-choked, with every button straining about him.
"This is worse than a strait waistcoat, Hilton," he fumed; "and I'd
rather forfeit five pounds than go down and meet them as I am. By the
way, I believe I never thanked you; but I will not forget our swim. But
tell me how you came to turn up so opportunely."
Chatterton betrayed some anxiety in the last words, but Dane managed to
frame an answer which reassured him as he surveyed himself in a glass
and hoped the Misses Maxwell would not put in an appearance. The wet
hair plastered down his forehead showed a washed-out straw color against
the darkened skin. His brown wrists and ankles projected ridiculously
from the borrowed garments, and somebody's slippers would not cover more
than a portion of his feet.
"We are neither of us particularly prepossessing at first sight, but I
suppose we must make the best of it; Maxwell asked us to come down when
we were ready," he said.
They went down, Chatterton fuming, Dane struggling with a desire to
laugh; and two men rose to meet them when they entered a long,
low-ceilinged room. That meeting was fraught with far-reaching
consequences, and Dane could afterward recall it vividly. The old place
of Culmeny was an ancient and somewhat decrepit edifice, owned for many
generations by the Maxwells, and the wainscot of the room was dark with
age. Quaintly embroidered curtains were drawn across one end of it;
there were few pictures, and these old; while the whole place wore a
somber air, almost intensified by the light of the wax candles on the
great uncovered table, which supported a steaming bowl. This, Dane
noticed, was of oak hooped with tarnished silver. It was, however, the
two men who fixed his attention. The elder, a spare gray-haired man with
a white moustache, came forward holding out his hand.
"I must congratulate you upon your escape, Mr. Chatterton," he said. "I
am glad that Carsluith had sense enough to bring you home with him; and
I can recommend a ladleful of this mixture as a preventative against a
chill, while regretting that, because the fires were low, we could not
send you a dose earlier. The customs of Culmeny are not altogether what
they used to be."
The pair formed a striking contrast when Chatterton turned toward his
host, glass in hand. The one was softly spoken, spare to gauntness, and
characterized by a subtle air of distinction; the other, short, florid,
abrupt in speech, and more often aggressive than dignified in manner.
Then, because Chatterton was also a man of impulse, who cared for
neither place nor tradition when anything stirred him, as his host's
welcome evidently did, he bowed to Brandram Maxwell with more grace than
Dane deemed him capable of.
"Here's to our better acquaintance, sir; and my best thanks," he said.
"I'm a plain, self-taught man, and may have blundered in enforcing what
I thought my rights. If so, I regret it."
What Brandram Maxwell answered Dane did not remember, but he expressed
it very neatly; and while the feud was patched up, his son smiled
curiously at the younger man. He was like his father, but taller in
stature, dark in color of eyes and hair, and slightly olive-tinted in
complexion, while his movements suggested a wiry suppleness. Dane
surmised that he was of reserved, if not slightly sardonic, disposition.
The bowl of punch was emptied with every sign of amity; and when it was
finished Thomas Chatterton, who had absorbed the major portion and
declared that he had never tasted anything better, said: "I hope we
shall see much more of each other in future, and, as an earnest of the
wish, I will expect you shortly at The Larches, where Mrs. Chatterton
will thank you for your kindness better than I can."
While Brandram Maxwell started some topic of conversation with his elder
guest, his son, to whom Dane had mentioned the affair of the Englishman
in South America, drew him aside.
"Hyslop and I were once good friends, and I consider myself your debtor
for what you did for him," he said. "Did he tell you much about his
wanderings, or that he and I came near successfully exploiting a Mexican
mine?"
"No," said Dane. "He told me very little. What went wrong with the
mine?"
Maxwell laughed.
"The unexpected happened. It generally does when one awaits the
consummation of an ingenious scheme. I am especially sorry Hyslop has
gone."
Dane longed to ascertain whether his new friend suspected any other
explanation than the one he had seized upon for Chatterton's plunge into
the river, and endeavored to do so, without success; for even when he
afterward learned to know and trust him well, he never found it easy to
glean more from Carsluith Maxwell than he wished to tell. An accident,
however, favored him, and he thought more of the man for his reticence
when, as the master of Culmeny was exhibiting some new artificial
minnows in his gun-room, he heard his son, who had slipped away, say to
somebody in the darkness beneath the open window:
"You remember the pheasants' eggs incident, Kevan? You need not repeat
your explanations, because I have no intention of raking it up, and
merely wish to suggest that you find means of preventing your comrades
from talking too much about what happened to-night. When a gentleman of
Mr. Chatterton's years allows his excitement to overcome him to such an
extent that he follows a poacher into a flooded river, he naturally
would not like his adventures made public property."
"I'm a wee bit puzzled, sir," answered an invisible person; and
Maxwell's voice rose faintly through the sound of retreating footsteps:
"I am not puzzled in the least; and that ought to be sufficient. You are
sure you understand my wishes?"
He came in a few moments later to inform his guests that the dog-cart
was waiting.
As they drove home, Chatterton said sententiously:
"We all make mistakes at times, Hilton; and that was most excellent
punch. For instance, when one comes to know him, Maxwell is what might
be termed a very good fellow. Hard up like the rest of them, of course;
land and buildings, as everybody knows, burdened to the hilt, but--I
suppose it was born in him--he bears the stamp, and his son wears it
too. You and I are different, you know, though travel has done a good
deal for you. I have handled a good many men in my time, and I like that
fellow's looks. He would be a very bad kind to tackle when the devil
that smiles through his black eyes wakes up; and I think he'd stand by
the man who played him fair through the damnedest kind of luck."
Dane, who fully endorsed this opinion, was afterward to discover that
Thomas Chatterton was no bad judge of his fellow-men.
"They are neither of the type one associates with this part of the
country," he commented.
"No," said Chatterton. "They were, I understand, always an adventurous
family, and some of them who took part in the wars there in the old days
intermarried with the Spaniards then holding the Low Countries. A strain
of that kind takes a long time to work out, you know."
Chatterton's fishing was not without results, for in spite of, or
perhaps because of, their different character and experience, it was the
commencement of a friendship between himself and Maxwell of Culmeny. The
iron-master had hewn his own way to fortune, and, being troubled by no
petty diffidence, was, if anything, overfond of recounting has earlier
struggles. The wild blood of the old moss-troopers still pulsed in the
veins of the Maxwells, and the impoverished gentleman, who listened with
interest, sighed as he remembered the sordid monotony of his own career,
during which he had, by dint of painful economy, somewhat lightened the
burden with which his inheritance had been saddled by the recklessness
of his forbears.
Carsluith Maxwell took even more kindly to his new acquaintances; and
there sprang up between himself and Dane a comradeship which was to
stand a bitter test, while, as summer merged into autumn, he would
sometimes wonder at himself. He said nothing about his African venture,
and spent much time considering old rent books and the cost of moss-land
reclamation schemes. The rest he spent shooting with Dane, or lounging
at The Larches, if possible in Lilian Chatterton's vicinity; but,
although he could rouse himself to temporary brilliancy, Maxwell was
usually oversilent in feminine society, and Dane felt no jealousy. The
latter rested content in the meantime with the knowledge that Lilian
found a mild pleasure in his company; and only Mrs. Chatterton felt any
misgivings respecting future possibilities. Being a wise woman, she kept
her suspicions to herself until they became certainties, when one day
Miss Margaret Maxwell, perhaps not wholly by accident, gave her a
significant hint.
"I hear that your brother has undertaken an extensive drainage scheme,"
said the elder lady.
"We are hopeful that he will settle down at last," responded Margaret
Maxwell. "My father's health is failing, and he has long desired his
son's company; but Carsluith was always ambitious, and used to say he
would never vegetate in poverty at Culmeny. Of late, however, we have
been pleased to see that he is taking an almost suspicious interest in
the improvement of the estate, and is now investing the money he made in
Mexico in the reclamation of Langside Moss. As Carsluith seldom does
anything without a reason, his sudden change of program puzzles us."
Mrs. Chatterton fancied she could supply the reason, but she made no
comment. Lilian, she decided, had a right to choose for herself, and
might make a worse selection than a Maxwell of Culmeny.
In the meantime, Dane still awaited his foreign commission, and might
have waited indefinitely, but that once again a poacher played a part in
the shaping of his destiny. There were plenty of them in that
neighborhood; while rogue, and clown, and commonplace individual of
average honesty usually outnumber either the saints or heroes in life's
comedy. The poachers were netting the Culmeny partridges, and Dane
promised to assist his comrade in an attempt to capture them.