Patsy Part 28

Stair wandered away up the slope towards the Gibbet Knoll, Whitefoot stealing along at his heels, walking almost in his tracks, but with his ears c.o.c.ked to catch the slightest unexplained noise. As he arrived under the scant foliage of the few remaining gaunt trees, tall branchless trunks with a mere plume at the top of each, bent permanently away from the south-west by the sea-winds, he walked to the small stone platform on which the Baron had issued his decree. From that point of outlook it was possible to see the towers of Castle Raincy looming over the grey sea of vapour, which filled all the lower ground and now and then flung out an arm that momentarily s.n.a.t.c.hed at and submerged the Gibbet Knoll.

Stair had not gone far when something large and dark darted across the path between the trees where the snow had been blown a little bare.

Stair was instantly in pursuit. It was not a time when he could afford to overlook anything. A man it was, certainly, for the moment the thicker underbrush was reached he rose half erect and went plunging head foremost into it.

But Whitefoot was before him, and had him by the throat before he could run ten yards. Stair, immediately behind, saw the man's hand go to his belt, and comprehended that Whitefoot's life was in danger.

With a spring he was upon him. One hand gripped the fugitive's wrist.

With a pull backward he had him on the ground. His foot pushed aside the eager jaws of Whitefoot and saved the man's life. Then he knelt stolidly on one arm, holding the other extended while he searched the man for arms in a swift professional manner. A knife and a pair of pistols were his booty. These he tossed aside and bade the dog keep guard over them.

"Now who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded in a hoa.r.s.e whisper in the fellow's ear. "Speak, man, if you have any wish to live."

The man kept silence, though he had given up struggling. But it was evident that he was not anxious to be recognized.

"This way, then," growled Stair, "and the worse for you if you have been out after any mischief."

He dragged the man roughly enough out upon the open surface of the snow, and knelt upon him, bringing his face close to that of his captive.

"Good G.o.d," he cried, forgetting his danger in his astonishment, "Eben the Spy!"

But the man lay limp in Stair's grasp. He appeared to have fainted.

However, Stair knew a cure for that. He took a handful of the harsh half-melted sugar-loaf snow and rubbed the spy's face hard. Then he pulled him up into a sitting position.

"Come, Eben," he growled, "no malingering! I have no time to waste on you. If you do not get ready very quickly to do as I tell you, there is a chance that you will be found out here in the morning with an extra hole in your head which none of his Majesty's regimental surgeons will be able to plug--at least not in time to do you any good!"

"I ... am ... not what you think--indeed I am not," the man gasped, as he began to get his breath back after Stair's rough handling.

"That's as may be," said his captor, "you are too open-minded a man to expect me to believe a syllable of what you say, merely on your word."

"No, sir," said Eben, "but I am the more to be pitied--I am outlawed by the Government, and your people shot at me as I was escaping--"

"Ah," said Stair, "you mean when you fled with the Duke's money and jewels the night of the little trouble at the White Loch."

"Indeed," said Eben the Spy, "I am altogether on your side, though I cannot expect you to believe it. But I can bring you a good witness.

Even before what occurred there, I had given up all my work for the Government. I intended to make a bolt for it anyway. I knew it was only a question of time when I should be shot. I had been missed already more than once, and indeed, sir, I carry lead in my body at this moment."

Stair grinned so that the man caught the flash of his teeth in the uncertain glimmer, and got his first ray of hope that his life might be spared. He knew very well that nothing he could say would convince Stair of his good faith, but it might be possible to soften him by taking the situation with a certain humour.

"Ah, you laugh, sir," he continued, "but it is no light thing to be a superintendent of recruitment and to belong to the parish of Stonykirk!"

"Say a press-gang spy!" flashed Stair. "That will be the truth."

"A press-gang spy, then," said Eben meekly. "I am not boggling about words--"

"And your business to betray your own folk!"

"I always endeavoured to temper justice with mercy," said the man, feeling at his throat with one of his now disengaged hands.

"Come--none of that," said Stair, "at least, have the courage of your rascality. I shall like you none the worse. Where have you been all this time?"

"Well," said the man, "that's telling. But I know you, Stair Garland, and I have confidence in the man I am talking to--"

"If you abuse that confidence you are good enough to profess in me,"

said Stair with biting irony, "I beg you to remember that it will be at a price!"

"I know--I know, sir," the man from Stonykirk moaned, "I should not dream of deceiving you."

"Better not," said Stair, "you are on our side, you say. Take care and do not forget again, or the next time you will not be missed. I shall go spy-hunting myself."

"I swear to you--" he began, gasping at the thought.

"Do not swear--I would not believe you if you swore on a pile of Bibles as high as Criffel!"

"But you would believe my uncle Kennedy on his bare word--"

"What uncle?" queried Stair, sharply. "D'ye mean Kennedy McClure of Supsorrow?"

"The same, sir--you would believe him if he spoke a good word for me?"

Stair paused a moment before answering. The Laird of Supsorrow had lent his horses for the carrying off of Patsy, but it was quite certain that had he known the risks, or the purpose for which they were to be used, he would have done nothing of the kind. He was too deep in the traffic, and had used his money to finance too many cargoes.

"Yes," he answered at last, "I would take your uncle's word, if he says that he will go bail that you mean to be faithful to us. But how can I get that word--Kennedy McClure is in London."

"I know that," said the spy, "but I have been abiding all the winter at Supsorrow with my uncle. He gave me shelter and aid when my life was in danger on every side, when I was hunted like a partridge on the mountains--"

"You would make an excellent preacher, Eben, and I dare say you are telling the truth for once. If you have been with us--"

"Will this convince you, sir?" the spy broke in eagerly, seeing his chance. "I have known all the winter that you and Mr. Wemyss were at the Bothy. I knew that you met with Joseph from the Burnfoot, and that your was.h.i.+ng was done at Glenanmays. Now there is a reward out for Mr.

Julian, sir, and yet I have never breathed a word!"

"Lucky for you, or you would never have breathed another," growled Stair, "but there does seem to be something in what you say. That reward--your uncle must have had something to say against that. It must have gone hard against the grain with you."

"I beg that you will think of my own position, Mr. Stair--I might have made my peace!"

"Ah, you mean about the Duke's money and the jewels--no, I do not forget that part of it, Eben. I shall further confer with you as to what shall be done with these. In the meantime--do not budge. Here, watch him, Whitefoot!"

And very calmly Stair picked up the pistols and reprimed them. Then, having stuck the sheath-dagger into his belt under his coat, he faced his captive.

"In the meanwhile you are coming back with us to the Bothy. I don't know what I shall do with you yet. But at any rate I cannot afford to run any chances. You must stay with us till we get the first s.h.i.+p off. Perhaps if you behave well, you shall have a pa.s.sage on her. But in the meantime--right-about-face ... _march!_"

The spy obeyed, though there were several things for which he would have wished to stipulate. But Stair had a newly primed pistol pointed midway between his ears as viewed from behind, and the spy felt keenly the one-sidedness of any discussion in such a situation. He marched down the hill, guided now to right and anon to left by a growled order from Stair. Whitefoot was in front, looking over his shoulder and occasionally showing his teeth. In this order the three arrived at the hollow where they had left Adam and Julian. The pair were still in earnest debate, so the little procession swerved away to the right to leave them to themselves.

"Evidently," thought Stair, "Patsy's father has been harder to convince than I had supposed. I'll wager it is the journey to London which sticks in his gizzard."

In this somewhat inelegant form, Stair expressed what was the truth.

"I do not see," said Adam Ferris, obstinately, "what particle of good I could do if I were to take up my residence in London for the rest of my life. I let Patsy go there because you thought it necessary, but I shall be still more glad to have her home again. She can marry a Prince if she likes or she can marry the Prince's gentleman. She will neither marry nor refrain from marrying because of anything you or I can say. I know Patsy better than you do, Julian. She comes from your side of the house, and the fact is she is far too like yourself ever to ask or take advice."