THE POACHER
It was a chilly night when Dane crouched in very damp clover beside a
straggling hedge, waiting for the poachers, and wishing he had been wise
enough to remain at home. Rain had fallen throughout the day, and now
heavy clouds drifted overhead, while a chilly breeze shook an eery
sighing out of the firs behind him. The moon was seldom visible, but a
subdued luminescence filtered through, and he could just see Maxwell
crouching in a neighboring ditch which was not wholly dry.
"What are you meditating upon, Hilton?" Maxwell asked.
"I was just thinking what a fool I was to come at all, and that it is
almost time I went home again. When a man has had tropical fever it is
his own fault if he suffers from indulgence in amusements of this
description."
"I am not entirely comfortable either," Maxwell said dryly. "My boots
are full of water, and my hair is thick with sand; but I dare say both
of us have had worse experiences. If those fellows don't come in the
next ten minutes I'll turn back with you."
Neither said anything further for a space. The firs moaned behind them,
the dampness chilled them through, and the odor of wet clover was in
their nostrils. When, instead of ten minutes, nearly half an hour had
passed, there was a low whistle from a hidden keeper, and Dane could
dimly see several indistinct figures in the adjoining meadow.
"Kevan and the constable should head them off," whispered Maxwell. "I'll
race you for the first prisoner, Hilton!"
It was characteristic of Maxwell that he had worked an opening ready in
the hedge, and slipped through it, while Dane hurled himself crashing
upon the thorns. He broke through them, somehow, and noticed very little
as he raced across the dripping aftermath except that two men strove to
drag something over the opposite hedge. Before he could reach it,
Maxwell had separated from him, and because the moon shone down through
a rift in the clouds, he saw him clear the hedge in a flying bound. The
next moment he had his hand on the collar of one man brought up by the
thorns. Dane saw his face for an instant, and then, when the other
kicked him savagely on the knee, he shifted his hand to his throat, and
was doing his best to choke the fight out of him when he heard footsteps
behind him, and something descended heavily upon his head. He fell with
a violence that shook the remaining senses out of him, and lay vacantly
listening to the sound of running feet and hoarse shouts which grew
fainter in the distance, until Maxwell, returning, shook him by the arm.
It was dark again now, for the moon had vanished, and a thin drizzle was
falling. Dane's head ached intolerably, and a warm trickle ran into one
of his eyes.
"Are you badly hurt, Hilton?" asked Maxwell, stooping and holding out a
flask.
"No," Dane answered dubiously, as, gripping his comrade's hand, he
staggered to his feet. "Mine is a pretty thick cranium, but somebody
did their best to test its solidity with the butt of a gun. Did you get
them?"
"We did not." Maxwell, who seldom showed what he felt, evinced no
chagrin. "The constable managed to stick fast in the one gap in the
second hedge; but we got their net, and, although I don't wish to
trouble you if you are not fit, if you could describe the fellow you
grappled with, we should know where to find him."
Dane did so to the best of his ability.
"It's young Jim Johnstone!" the keeper exclaimed; "an' after this we
should grip him trying to slip off by the night train. I'm minding Mr.
Black told me he'd e'en be sitting up in case yon rascals killed
onybody, an' ye needed authority. He's a pleasant-spoken gentleman, an'
this is a clear case o' unlawful woundin'."
"Start at once with that fool of a policeman!" said Maxwell. "Now,
Hilton, if you can manage to walk as far as the road, I will drive you
home."
He held out his arm, but grew tired long before they reached his trap:
Dane was no featherweight, and he leaned upon him heavily. When Maxwell
helped his comrade down before The Larches there were lights in the
lower windows, though it was very late, and its owner stood upon the
steps awaiting them.
"I could not sleep until I heard whether you had caught the rascals," he
began. "But what's this? Have they hurt you, Hilton?"
"Not much, sir," answered Dane.
Seeing Mrs. Chatterton in the hall, he shook off Maxwell's arm, and
attempted to enter it unassisted to prove his assertion. The attempt,
however, was a distinct failure. He tripped upon a mat, reeled forward
drunkenly, and, clutching at the nearest chair, sank into it, presenting
a sufficiently surprising spectacle, for his collar, as he subsequently
found, was burst, while there were generous rents in his garments, and
the red trickle flowed faster down his face. Then there followed
confusion, for Mrs. Chatterton was a gentle but easily disconcerted
lady, and her husband addicted to over-vigorous action. So, while the
one proceeded in search of bandages, and, not finding them, returned to
ask useless questions and, in spite of his feeble protests, pour cold
water over Dane's injured head, Chatterton smote a gong and hurled
confused orders at the startled servants. This lasted until a dainty
figure came swiftly down the stairway, and chaos was reduced to order
when Lilian took control with a firm hand.
"Don't trouble him with questions, Aunty, but get some brandy, quick!"
she said. "Uncle, please do not make any more useless noise, but ask one
of these foolish women to bring hot water. Annie, bring me the arnica,
and the first piece of clean linen you can find. Now, Hilton, you are
not hurt very badly, are you?"
She bent down, with the light of a big hanging lamp upon her, and,
forgetting the faintness and pain, which was considerable, Dane felt his
heart bound within him. In spite of her swift orderliness, the girl's
eyes were anxious as well as very pitiful, and there was a tension in
her voice.
"No," he replied, as carelessly as he could, for all his pulses were
throbbing. "I am just a little dizzy, and shall be better presently. I
am chiefly ashamed of making such a scene, Lily."
It did the man good to see the relief in his attendant's face. Miss
Chatterton flushed a little under his gaze and became once more strictly
practical.
"The wound is worse than you suppose," she said, with a slight but
perceptible shiver. "Take a mouthful of this brandy, and I will fix a
dressing. Aunty, hold the bandage, and give me the scissors!"
She did all very cleverly, then slipped away; and ten minutes later Dane
was glad to bid Chatterton and his wife good-night. His head still
throbbed painfully--for the trigger-guard which struck his forehead had
bitten deep--and, having seen what pleased him greatly, he desired to be
alone to think.
When he had gone, Mrs. Chatterton looked at her husband.
"Did it strike you as significant that Lily should come down at a few
moments' notice dressed just as she left us?" she asked.
"Am I quite a fool?" said Chatterton, and then added in oracular
fashion: "Hilton Dane will make his mark some day; and it was his
father's roll which started me on the way to prosperity."
As it happened, Lilian Chatterton had also food for reflection, and sat
long by an open window looking out into the night. There was no doubt,
she admitted, that she found Hilton Dane's society congenial. His swift
deference to all her wishes pleased her; and as he had intimated that he
desired nothing more than her friendship, there was no reason why it
should not be granted him. Under different circumstances the girl
fancied that her interest might have carried her farther; but Thomas
Chatterton's thinly veiled command was a fatal barrier. Even then she
frowned, remembering the summary manner in which he had purposed to
dispose of her as though she were a chattel. Nevertheless, she had been
badly startled by the sight of the wounded man; and the fact remained
that when her eyes first rested upon him she grew almost faint with a
sudden and wholly unexplainable fear. Lilian wondered, with a crimsoning
of her face, whether she had betrayed the relief she certainly
experienced on discovering that his injuries were not serious; and then
she closed the window with somewhat unnecessary violence.
The next sun had not long risen when Dane went out shakily into the
freshness of the morning. His brain had refused duty during the
preceding night, and there were questions to be grappled with. Hilton
Dane possessed a long patience, but, although a chivalrous person, he
was not a fool. He shrank from the thought of allowing the iron-master's
ward to be forced into a union with him, even if that were
possible--about which, however, knowing the young lady's character, he
was very doubtful. Also, he was at present a comparatively poor man, and
though he believed there was a moderate fortune in his invention, he saw
that some time must elapse before he could realize it. Abusing his
host's interference fervently, he decided that because the continual
effort to keep silence was wearing his resolution down, it would be well
to avoid further temptation by leaving The Larches.
He had just arrived at this decision when Chatterton came upon him.
"You do not look at all fit, Hilton," said the elder man. "The cut on
your forehead would, of course, account for that; but it has struck me
lately that something is troubling you. I refrain on principle from
prying into other folks' affairs; but, considering the time I have
known you, if you have any difficulty, I think you might confide it to
me."
Dane understood what lay behind this, and he felt that it was the last
thing under the circumstances he would think of doing.
"You have made my stay here so pleasant that if I remain much longer I
shall never be fit for work again," he said. "I have accordingly decided
to run up to London, and, if the railroad builders have not my work cut
out, look round for another foreign commission."
Thomas Chatterton started a little, and tried to hide a frown.
"I thought you had changed your mind after the letter you showed me, and
decided to stay in this country. It strikes me as downright folly to
risk accidents and fevers abroad with such a patent in your hands. Your
pump would beat the best pulsometer ever put into a mine. If you don't
approve of the offers you have received, and my suggestions, why can't
you sell it to the public through a limited company?"
Dane laughed a little.
"As I said before, sir, by the time I paid promoters and directors,
there would be very little left for me. If the pump, which cost years of
thought and experimenting, is to enrich anybody it shall be its
inventor; and another good foreign commission should supply me with the
necessary money."
"Listen to me," said Chatterton. "It is time I spoke plainly. I have
been called a hard man, but I hope I am equally just, and I had to fight
desperately for a foothold at the beginning. Well, I kept a mental
ledger, and no man ever robbed or assisted me but I made against his
name a debit or credit entry. Some of those debts were heavy, but in
due time I paid them back in full."
For a moment Chatterton certainly looked a hard man as he shut his hand
slowly, and with a very grim expression in his heavy-jawed visage,
stared steadily at Dane. Then the grimness vanished as he added:
"There is still a sum standing to the credit of Henry Dane, and I feel
ashamed often that I have let it stand so long. There is still one way
in which you could help me wipe it off, if none of those mentioned
already suits you. My niece will not leave me dowerless--and--for if it
had not been so I should not have spoken--you expressed your admiration
pretty openly some years ago."
Dane had no enviable task before him, but, remembering his compact, he
was determined to accomplish it, even if it should be necessary to use a
little brutality.
"I am afraid I see two somewhat important objections, sir," he answered
quietly. "In the first place, it is not apparent that the lady approves
of me."
"Pshaw!" said Chatterton. "When I was your age I never allowed such
trifles to daunt me. You surely did not expect her to say she had been
patiently waiting for you?"
"I think I mentioned two objections, sir, and the second is of almost
equal importance," Dane responded gravely. "I am at present a poor man,
you see."
Thomas Chatterton faced round on him again with his jaw protruded, and a
deeper hue in his generally sufficiently florid countenance.
"You need not be, unless you are fond of poverty. You mean----"
"That a boy and girl attachment seldom lasts long--on either side."
Chatterton moved a few paces forward, with the dry cough which those who
knew his temper recognized as a danger signal, then wheeled round upon
his heel and strode toward the house; and Dane noticed that he kicked an
unoffending dog he usually fondled.
As luck would have it, the next person Dane met was Lilian, and she
looked very winsome as she stood bareheaded under the morning sunshine
in her thin white dress. Dane's lips set tight as he watched her, then
suddenly his face softened again.
"I am glad to see you recovering, Hilton," she greeted him. "That hat
hides my bandages nicely. Do you feel able to walk slowly over to
Culmeny with me to-day?"
It was a tantalizing question: Dane felt not only able but very willing
to walk across the breadth of Scotland in Lilian Chatterton's company.
He feared however, that his moral strength would prove unequal to the
strain the excursion might impose, for it was growing very difficult to
observe the conditions of the indefinite compact.
"I am very sorry, but I have letters to write," he said.
Lilian Chatterton was a trifle quick-tempered, and though Dane knew it,
and considered it not a fault but a characteristic, he wondered at the
ways of women as she answered:
"I could not, of course, expect you to delay your correspondence, which
is no doubt important. Have you run out of those new powder cartridges?"
Dane felt that, under the circumstances, this was particularly hard on
him, but he smiled dryly.
"The correspondence relates to my departure for London. I want you to
listen, Lilian. I have just had an interview with your uncle, which
makes my absence appear desirable. Perhaps you can guess its purport,
and the gist of what he said."
The clear rose-color deepened a little in the girl's cheeks, but she
answered steadily.
"I will admit the possibility. The most important question is what you
said to him."
Now Dane had not only subdued mutinous alien laborers, and held them to
their task, but he had even been complimented by a South American
Spaniard upon the incisive vocabulary which helped him to accomplish it.
Nevertheless, at that moment he felt almost abject, and found speech of
any kind very difficult.
"Are you ashamed of your answer?" asked the girl.
"I am," Dane admitted. "There was, however, only one way in which I
could satisfy Mr. Chatterton without running the risk of allowing him to
apply considerable misdirected energy to the task of convincing a second
person. Therefore, though I did not like it, I took that way. He was not
pleased with me."
"You told him----" Lilian began, coloring still more.
"I did," said Dane grimly. "Horribly unflattering, wasn't it; but it was
the best I could do for you."
The girl first experienced a wholly illogical desire to humiliate the
speaker; but, recognizing the unreasonableness of this, she reflected a
moment, and then laughed mirthlessly.
"It should certainly prove effective. Still, a woman would have found a
neater way out of the difficulty!"
Lilian left him, and when the man passed out of earshot into the
shrubbery, he used a few pointed and forbidden adjectives in connection
with what he termed his luck.
He was leaning moodily upon a gate, looking down on a sunlit
stubble-field the following afternoon, when the next link was forged in
the chain of circumstances which, beginning with Chatterton's fishing,
would drag him through strange adventures. There was late honeysuckle on
the hedges, and festoons of warm-tinted straw. Running water sang
soothingly beneath the pine branches overhanging a neighboring hollow;
while all the wide vista of river, moor, and fell was mellowed by the
golden autumn haze. Dane, however, was far from happy. He was in no way
jealous of Carsluith Maxwell, which was perhaps surprising; but, in
addition to his other troubles, it did not please him that the latter
should have accompanied Miss Chatterton home on foot from Culmeny. They
had also been an inordinate time over the journey.
Presently, a little brown-faced child came pattering barefooted down the
lane, and stopping, glanced at him shyly, as though half afraid. She was
a pretty, elfish little thing, though her well-mended garments betokened
industrious poverty. She apparently gathered courage when the man smiled
at her.
"Whom are you staring so hard at, my little maid?" said he.
The child fished out a strip of folded paper from somewhere about her
diminutive person, and held it up to him.
"Ye will be the Mr. Dane who's staying at The Larches?"
Dane nodded, and the girl glanced up and down the lane suspiciously.
"Then Sis telt me to give ye this when there was naebody to see."
"And who is your sister, and what's it all about?" asked Dane; and the
little thing smiled roguishly.
"Just Mary Johnstone. Maybe it would tell ye gin ye lookit inside it,
sir."
She vanished the next moment, with a patter of bare feet, leaving Dane
to stare blankly at the folded paper.
"Now, who is Mary Johnstone, and what can she want with me?" he
wondered, as he prepared to follow the child's advice and read the
missive. When this had been done, however, he was not greatly
enlightened.
"_I'm taking a great liberty_," it ran. "_I am in great trouble, and you
are the one person who can help me. If you would not have two little
children go hungry all winter, you will meet me by the planting at
Hallows Brig in the gloaming to-morrow. I saw you at The Larches, and
thought I could trust you._"
"Very confiding of Miss Johnstone, whoever she is, but I'm thankful my
conscience is clear," thought Dane. It was unfortunate that he did not
obey the first impulse which prompted him to destroy the note. Instead
of this, he lighted another cigar, and sat down to consider the affair.
Just then the local constable, who on an eventful occasion had also
stuck fast in the hedge, came tramping through the stubble with
elephantine gait.
"Grand weather the day, sir," he beamed. "Ye will have heard we grippit
the man who broke yere heid."
"I'm summoned as a witness; but who is Mary Johnstone?" asked Dane. "You
should know everybody about here."
"Old Rab Johnstone's daughter; and that's no great credit to the lass.
Rab's overfond of the whisky, and never does nothing when he can help
it, which is gey often, I'm thinking. The daughter's a hard working
lass--sews for the gentlefolks; and she and her brither between them
keep the two mitherless bairns fed. It's him we've got in the lock-up
for breaking yere heid."
"Oh," said Dane, as a light dawned upon him. "Then Mary Johnstone would
be the pretty, light-haired girl I saw sewing for Miss Chatterton?"
"That same, sir," answered the constable, with professional alacrity.
"Miss Chatterton has missed nothing, has she?"
"Of course not!" Dane said impatiently. "I was only inquiring out of
curiosity. You need not mention it. Would this coin be of any use to
you?"
The official admitted that it might be; but when he appeared to smother
a bovine chuckle, Dane turned upon him.
"What the deuce is amusing you so?"
"Naething, sir," the man answered sheepishly. "I'm taken that way whiles
in hot weather."
The constable furnished further particulars about the poacher's family
before he departed; and Dane, reflecting that his must be the most
damaging testimony against the prisoner, understood why Mary Johnstone
had sent for him. It was perhaps foolish, but the child's face had
attracted him; and deciding that the lot of the pretty seamstress,
struggling to bring up her sisters under the conditions mentioned, must
be a hard one at the best, he resolved at least to hear what she had to
say.