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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 26. "Suit Of Andrew Blande" |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. "SUIT OF ANDREW BLANDE" A shriek of hearty laughter rose as poor Tonal's naive question was heard, and the old man tucked his pipes under his arm, and then took hold of the sheath and raised his claymore to return it to its peaceful state; but, as he raised the glistening basket-hilt to the full length of his stretch, it fell from his grasp with a clang upon the stones; the old man's eyes closed, and he would have fallen, had not Max thrown his arm about his waist. "Oh, Donald, old man!" cried Kenneth piteously; "I wouldn't have laughed if I had known." "Whisht, laddie!" said Tavish. "Lat me tak' him;" and, raising the old man in his arms, he bore him through the gates and into the servants' quarters. Here he was laid upon a bed, and the whisky Grant had brought applied to his lips. "Oh, if we only had Mr Curzon here!" whispered Max. "Nay, laddie, we dinna want him," said Tavish. "There's naething proken but ta pipes--nae banes. He's a bit shakkit i' ta pack. It's a coot way doon." Just then the old man revived and looked round wonderingly, and his eyes flashed directly, as there was a loud barking again from the dogs. "Dinna ye hear?" he cried; "dinna ye hear? Ta enemy of ta Mackhai!" "Tavish! Scoody!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Come on!" "Na," said Scoodrach, grinning; "it's naething but ta togs." "But the gates! the gates!" "She shut 'em up chust noo, and it's ta togs that canna get in." A watch was kept as soon as the old man had been ministered to, and Tavish seemed to be right: Donald had been terribly shaken, but no bones were broken. He displayed a good deal of solicitude at one minute, though, and looked round wildly. "What is it, Tonal'?" said Kenneth, taking his hand. "Gude laddie," he replied,--"gude laddie; but ta pipes--ta pipes!" "You shall have a new set," cried Kenneth. "Yes; I'll buy him a set," cried Max. "Na, na. T'auld pipe is ta best. Lat 'em lay 'em here." "Here?" said Kenneth inquiringly. "Yes, laddie, here." The old man's whim was gratified, and he dropped off to sleep with his arm round his instrument, cuddling it up to him on the pillow as if it had been a darling child. Donald was left to sleep; and, under Kenneth's orders, all hands were set to work to clear away the traces of the fight, while Scoodrach was sent out to scout and bring back tidings of the whereabouts of the enemy. The young gillie had recovered his sgian-dhu from where it had been thrown by Kenneth, and he ran off with alacrity, delighted with his task; while baskets and maunds were brought, and amidst plenty of hearty laughter the potatoes were gathered up, the women entering into the task heart and soul. But, like Humpty Dumpty, the various earthenware pots that had fallen from the wall, even with the aid of all the king's horses and men, could not have been put together again, so Long Shon gathered the sherds into a basket, throwing one load into the sea, and coming back for another. "I say, look here, Tavvy," cried Kenneth very innocently, after hurling a potato with magnificent aim at Max's back, and completely ignoring his inquiring gaze as the visitor turned round. "Tid she call me?" "Yes; we must have this old spar out of the way, for they may come back and have better luck next time." "Hey, but they wadna daur come back," cried Tavish. "I don't know, Tavvy. Anyhow, we'll have the spar where they can't get it. Where shall we put it?" "She'd better pit it inside ta castle," said Tavish. "Well, we'll all help you carry it. You'll help, Max?" "Oh yes, I'll help," replied Max, offering the potato to Kenneth. "Do you want to throw this at any one else?" "Eh? No. Yes, I do. I'll keep it for the bailiffs. I say, though, this is a rum game. Those people can't have any right to come like that." "I don't know for certain," said Max; "but I'm afraid they have--if--" He stopped short, for Kenneth flushed up. "Oh, come, Maxy, that's too bad. Don't insult my father by saying things in that underhanded way. My father doesn't owe money, I'm sure." Max felt uncomfortable, for he had an undefined feeling that there was something very wrong, but it was all misty and confused. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, Ken," he said. "Then you shouldn't. There, never mind. Hi, Long Shon, come and help carry this old spar." "She ton't want any one to help her carry ta bit o' wud," said Tavish contemptuously. "She could pitch it like ta caber." He raised himself to his full height, as he strode towards the gateway where the spar lay. Then, stooping down, he lifted one end and rested it upon his shoulder, after which he kept on hitching it up and getting farther under till he had reached the middle, when he grasped it with both hands firmly, took a step back, and the far end rose slowly from the ground, the spar swaying in equilibrium slowly up and down as the great fellow stood firm till it was at rest, and perfectly horizontal, when he strode slowly and steadily toward the gate and went through into the yard. "There, Maxy, talk about a Samson!" cried Kenneth; "what do you think of that?" "I'd give something to be as strong," said Max, as he ran into the courtyard, followed by Kenneth, the two boys applauding loudly as Tavish gave himself a jerk, leaped aside, and the spar fell with a clang which echoed from the ruined walls. "She's chust a wee pit heavy, Maister Ken," said Tavish, passing his arm across his brow, "and she wadna like to carry ta pit o' wood to Falkirk." "Ta Chief--ta Chief!" shouted Scoodrach, coming running in through the gate. "What! my father?" cried Kenneth, flushing up. "I say, Maxy, what will he say? Where is he, Scoody?" "Chust here on ta pony," whispered the lad, with his eyes wide; and he looked round for a way to escape, as if he had a pricking of conscience as to what had been going on. "Take the pony and rub him down. I've ridden hard. Where's Mr Kenneth?" came from outside. The voice sounded very harsh and stern, so much so that Kenneth shrank from meeting him, but it was only for a moment. "I'm here, father," he cried, and he went out, followed closely by Max,--who felt that he had no business to go, but that if he stayed back, it would be like leaving his friend in the lurch. "Oh, there you are--both of you," said The Mackhai sternly; and Max noted that he was deadly pale, while the veins in his temples were swollen, and looked like a network right round to the front of his brow. "Yes, father, here we are--both of us," said Kenneth, unconsciously repeating his father's form of expression. "Then perhaps, sir, you will explain to me what is the meaning of that piece of tomfoolery?" The Mackhai was evidently greatly agitated, and fighting down his anger, as he spoke in a cold, cutting tone, and pointed upward to the ruined battlements. Kenneth and Max had both forgotten it till they glanced up, and saw the dining-room table-cover floating from the spear staff in the wind. "That, father?" cried Kenneth, forcing a laugh, while Max felt a strange desire to beat a retreat; "that's the banner of the Mackhais." "No fooling, sir, at a time like this," cried The Mackhai, so fiercely that his son turned pale. "And now please explain what's all this I have just learned on the way, about a party of men coming here, and there being a desperate fight. Is this true?" "Well, there has been a fight, father. I don't know about desperate." "Not desperate, sir! when I found two men on the road, one bruised and battered about so that he can't see out of his eyes, and his face all blood-smeared, while the other is lamed, and can hardly walk." "Well, sir," said Kenneth boldly, "a pack of scoundrels came here with a cock-and-bull story about taking possession of Dunroe; and as you were out, and I knew it must be some trick, I called our people together, shut the gates, set them at defiance, and--there was a fight, and we beat 'em off." A flush of pride came across The Mackhai's face, and a bright look fell upon his son, but they passed away directly, and he continued, with lowering brow. "And you have done this, sir?" he said sternly; "and you," he added, turning sharply upon Max,--"you knew better than this stupid country boor of a boy. Why didn't you stop him?" "I did not think of doing so, sir," said Max, hesitating; and then, speaking out firmly, "I helped him, and did my best to beat the people off. I'm afraid I was worse than he." "What?" cried The Mackhai; "you did?" "Yes, sir, I did." The Mackhai burst into a wild, discordant laugh. "You did?" he repeated mockingly. "You helped to beat off these scoundrels of the law?" "Yes, sir." Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a doubt on his friend's pluck. "Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better." "This is most delicious!" cried The Mackhai mockingly. "You, Maximilian Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?" "I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might," said Max warmly. "I'm sorry if I've done wrong. Don't be angry with Kenneth, sir. I'm sure he meant to do what was right." "Right!" cried the Mackhai. "You young idiots, you don't know what you've done,--you do not, Kenneth. As for you, you young viper, are you as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and--" "Mackhai! Mackhai!" yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard from the house. "Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been and cot ta poat, and they've landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house." "What!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Come on, father. Oh, why didn't I put a sentry there?" Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father's words, he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his father clapped his hand upon his shoulder. "Stop!" he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to proclaim the ruin of the new. "Mr Mackhai," he said sharply, as he presented a slip of paper, "in the Queen's name I take possession here--suit of Mr Andrew Blande, Lincoln's Inn, London." "What!" cried Max, whose jaw dropped as he grasped the state of affairs. "It is a lie! my father would not do such a thing." "Your cursed father, sir, would do anything that is mean and base--even to sending you down here to be a spy upon us, till he could tie the last knot in the miserable net he has thrown around me." "Oh, Max!" cried Kenneth, as his face flushed, and then turned pale. "Be a man, my boy," said his father sternly. "Recollect that you are a Mackhai. Let this legal robber take all; let him and his son enjoy their prize. Ken, my boy, my folly has made a beggar of you. I have lost all now, but one thing. I am still a gentleman of a good old race. He cannot rob me of that. Come." He walked proudly through the archway into the house with his son, and the rest followed, leaving Max Blande standing alone in the old courtyard, staring wildly before him, till he started as if stung. For all at once a jackdaw on the inner part of one of the towers uttered what sounded to him a mocking, jeering-- _Tah_! _ |
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