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Three Boys; or, the Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 31. An Exciting Chase |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. AN EXCITING CHASE "Scood! you beast!" "Silence, Kenneth!" cried The Mackhai sternly, as he looked half-angrily, half-pleased at the flushed face of the young gillie. "She ton't care. She'll fecht for ta Mackhai till she ties." "Leave the room, sir!" cried The Mackhai. "You meant well, but you have done a cruel and cowardly thing." Scoodrach hung his head, and stooped to pick up his bonnet by one of the strands of the worsted tuft, letting the soft flat cap spin slowly round as he watched it, and then he moved toward the door. "Stop!" cried The Mackhai. Scoodrach turned sharply and defiantly round, with his hot northern blood flushing to his temples. "Ta Chief may kill her," he cried; "but she shall na say she's sorry." "Go and fetch Tavish and your father, sir, and never dare to address me again like that." Scoodrach slunk out of the room, and, as he turned to shut the door, his eyes met those of Kenneth, who shook his fist at him. Without a moment's hesitation, Scoodrach doubled his own, and looked defiance as the door was closed. "Never dare to address me again like that!" muttered The Mackhai. "Poor lad! there is no fear." "What shall we do, father?" "Do? We must all set out in search of Max, and bring him back. In my anger, Ken, I have done a brutal thing." "But you did not mean it, father." "How could he know that? See if he has taken his luggage. No, no; impossible! The poor lad has wandered right away into the mountains, and I am to blame. Get the ponies, Kenneth; we may do better mounted. I suppose," he added bitterly, "we may use them for the present." Kenneth darted out of the room, met Tavish and Long Shon, and in a very few minutes the two sturdy little ponies were in the old courtyard, The Mackhai and his son mounting, and the little party starting off at once. Before they had gone far, The Mackhai turned his head. "Where is that boy?" he said. No one replied, for Scood had not been seen to leave, but from where he was seated Kenneth could just see a tuft of wool sticking up above the heather, and he pressed the sides of his pony and cantered back to where the boy lay upon his face in a hollow, with his bonnet tilted on to the back of his head. "Here, Scoody! What are you doing there?" cried Kenneth. "Naething." "Get up, sir, and come on." "Na. She will gang away and be a redcoat. Naebody cares for Scoody the noo." "Don't be a red-headed donkey. Get up, and come and show us which way Max Blande went." Scoodrach shook his head. "Look here, if you don't get up, I'll call father, and he'll come and lay into you with the dog-whip." "He wadna daur," cried the lad, leaping up and glaring at the speaker. "Yes, he would, and so would I, if I had one here." "Gin ye daur lay a finger on her, she'll hae your bluid!" cried Scoodrach. "There!" cried Kenneth, pressing his pony's sides, and reaching over to catch tightly hold of the lad's collar. "I daur lay a whole hand on you, Scoody. Noo, lat's see gin ye daur turn on your Chief." "Ye know I wadna hurt a hair o' your heid," muttered the lad. "Then come on, like a good fellow, Scoody, and help to find him." "D'ye want to find the laddie wha's gaun to rob ye o' ta auld plaace?" "Yes. Come on, Scood. We mustn't quarrel, and you won't be such a brute as to refuse to help me because I'm going to be poor." "Puir or rich!" cried the lad, with the tears of excitement in his eyes, "gin ye want her to, she'll dee for ye, Maister Ken." "That's old Scoody once again," cried Kenneth, drumming his pony's flanks; and as the little animal whisked round, Scoodrach caught hold of its long tail, gave the hairs a twist round his hand, and away they went after the others, to whom they soon caught up. Then followed a long and wearisome search, Scoodrach pointing out the way Max had taken, when, as there was no path or even sheep-track, they divided, and went on mile after mile, only to give up at dark and return tired and faint, and with Scoodrach hanging his head as he felt how he had been the cause of all the trouble; and, seizing the first opportunity, he slipped off with the ponies, to bed them down for the night. "We must be up at daybreak and begin again, Ken," said The Mackhai sadly. "That boy must be found. Can you form any idea which way he would take?" "No, father. I've been trying to think, but we seem to have tried everywhere, and I don't believe he could have gone very far." "He had a long start." "You don't think he has come to any harm--slipped over the crags anywhere, or gone into--" Kenneth stopped and shuddered. "One of the boggy patches, Ken? Oh no, my boy. He has been out so much with you and Scoodrach, that he ought to be able to take care of himself by now." "Yes, father--ought to," said Kenneth meaningly; and then, in an outburst of passion, as he stood with clenched fists, "I'll give Scoody such a thrashing as he never had in his life! I'll half kill him." "Hush! That will do," said The Mackhai sadly. "The boy acted according to his lights. He was, in his half-savage way, fighting for the honour of our old house." "Yes, father, but--" "Hush, my boy! Our days are numbered at Dunroe: let us leave here with as pleasant memories as we can, and with the love and respect of those who have looked to us for bread." "Oh, father!" cried Kenneth; and there was a great sob in his throat, and his face was contracted though his eyes were dry. The Mackhai grasped his son's hand. "Be a man, Ken," he said quietly. "You ought to have commenced life well, but now you will have to go forth into the world and fight your way. You must make friends, not enemies." "It would not make Scood an enemy, father, and a good whacking would do him good." "No, no, Ken. Now get some food, and go and lie down for a few hours to have some rest. We can do nothing till daylight." "Very well, father. And--and I will try not to mind leaving the old place, and to be a man." "God bless you, my boy!" cried The Mackhai, laying his hands upon his son's shoulders and gazing into his eyes. "Come, Ken, trouble has its good sides after all; it has taught me something more about the nature of my son. Now, go and get some rest; I shall not be happy till I have taken that boy again by the hand." "Why, father!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Oh, what an old donkey I am!" Before The Mackhai could speak, he had rushed out of the room and across the hall, to return at the end of a few minutes in company with Dirk, who was barking, and as excited as his master. "Why, Ken!" cried The Mackhai. "It's all right, father. Dirk will find him. Tavvy is waiting. Don't you come. We'll have poor old Maxy back before long." "I shall come with you," said The Mackhai, rising, and taking a flask and plaid from where they lay. "What are you going to do first?" "I'll soon show you," cried Ken excitedly. "Here, Dirk, old boy, put on your best nose to-night, and let's show the Londoner what a Highland dog can do." Dirk barked loudly, and followed his master as he rushed out of the room and up-stairs to Max's chamber, where Kenneth dragged some of the clothes which his visitor had worn last down upon the carpet. "Now, Dirk! seek, laddie, seek!" The dog dashed at the clothes, snuffed at them, tossed them over, snuffed at them again, and then uttered a sharp, whining bark. "Come along," cried Kenneth, and he ran down to the hall, where his father was ready, and then out into the dark courtyard, at whose entrance Tavish was waiting, armed with a tall staff. "I ken ye're richt, maister," he said. "We'll lay ta collie on chust where the laddie saw ta young chentleman last." Very little was said as they trudged on, Kenneth holding Dirk by one of his ears, till they reached the foot of the slope, pointed out by Scoodrach as the road taken by Max. Here the dog was loosed, and he looked up in his master's face, barking loudly, as if asking for instructions, and not yet comprehending what was meant. "Seek, laddie, seek! Max, Max! Seek, seek!" Dirk uttered a low yelping whine, and began to quarter the ground, whimpering and growing more and more excited as he increased the distance between him and those who followed by sound, for the dog was soon invisible in the darkness. For quite a quarter of an hour the hunt was kept on, each minute damping the hopes of the party more and more, till The Mackhai said sadly,-- "It's of no use, my boy. You're asking too much of the dog." "She thocht Dirk would ha' takken it up," said Tavish slowly. "She's na the dog she thocht." "Don't give up yet, father. I feel sure." "Hey, she's cot it!" cried Tavish wildly, as a loud baying bark came from Dirk. "Yes, come on! He has got it now," cried Kenneth, and he dashed on at a sharp trot right into the darkness. "Keep up with him, Tavish," cried The Mackhai. "Steady, Ken, steady." "All right, father," came from far ahead. "Oh ay, sir, she'll be close aifter the young Chief. Hark! d'ye hear? Dirk's got the scent, and she'll rin him doon." Right away in the darkness the low barking of the dog could be heard, for Dirk had indeed got on the scent, and, with the wondrous faculty of his kind, he was trotting steadily on over the grass and heather, nose down, tail high, and not for a moment halting in his quest. Hour after hour the hunt went on, no little exertion being needed to keep within hearing of the dog, who followed Max's trail right on and on--a devious, wandering trail, right along to the narrow gully where the dark loch lay. After coming to a halt several times, where Max had waded into patches of bog, and also where he had stepped over the precipitous place and fallen a few feet, to slide and scramble down some distance farther, Dirk picked up the trail again, and trotted on. These halts gave those who followed time to catch up, and there were so many faults along the edge of the dark, narrow loch, that Kenneth and Tavish were together and pretty close behind. "Think o' ta laddie finding his way doon here," said the forester. "You don't think he can have slipped in anywhere?" whispered Kenneth. "It's a nasty place, even by day." "Oh ay, laddie, and ta fush are sma' and hard to get. She'd get richt alang, though. Noo, which way wad she gang--up by ta waterfa', or awa' through ta wee bit burnie?" "I don't know, Tavvy," panted Kenneth; "but we ought to be near him now." "Nay; she'll be a lang gate yet, my bairn. Air ye there, sir?" "Yes; go on," came from behind; and the rough tramp was continued, till the forester cried,-- "She's gaed up ta burnie." "Why, Tavvy, there's a light there! What light's that?" "Licht?" said Tavish innocently. "Hey, there's a licht!" "What can it be?" "Only a shepherd's bothy." "There is no shepherd's bothy up here on the Clandougal estate, Tavvy." "Maybe it's some Southron laird had a cot made for him to fush ta loch." "Nonsense, Tavvy! and if it was so, no one would be having a big fire there at this time of night." "Whush, laddie!" "But--I know! Why, Tavvy, it's a still!" "Whush! Here, lat's ca' back ta tog." "Nonsense! He has gone right on. Hurray! we've found him. Max is sure to be up there by the fire." "Ta laddies wadna lat her stop," muttered Tavish; "put we'll pe hafin' trouble wi' 'em. Hearken to ta tog!" "Why, Ken, look," came from behind, as the dog's barking went echoing along the narrow little glen; "that must be a still. Eh, Tavish?" "Aw'm thinking maybe it sall be a still, sir," said Tavish innocently, as his master closed up. "Maybe?" said The Mackhai sharply; "and I'm thinking you knew it was there, and have tasted the stuff." Tavish was silent, and they all plodded on toward the distant light, the dog's track being straight for it naturally, for the only way up the little glen was by the burn. "Ta licht's gone," muttered Tavish. "She'll be thinking they've heert ta tog, and thrown watter upo' it, and we shall be in trouble pefore we've done." "Hallo!" cried Kenneth; "the light's out." The Mackhai called attention to the fact at the same moment. "Keep close to me, Kenneth," he said. "But no they would not dare," he said to himself. Tavish turned to his master. "Shall she fecht?" "There will be no need, my man. Get on. We shall find the boy has taken shelter there." Tavish shook his head, and muttered to himself. "What is it, Tavvy?" said Kenneth. "If it's ta whusky they're makking aboon yonder, ta young chentleman isna there." "Well, we shall soon see about that," cried Kenneth, pressing on in the most reckless way, and only saving himself from several falls by his activity, for he went among the broken rocks like a goat. A loud burst of barking lent speed to his feet; and ten minutes later the party were up in front of the rough building, from which came to their nostrils the strong reek of steam, telling that water had been thrown upon the fire they had seen. There was no answer to their calls, but Dirk was barking furiously inside, and Kenneth at once entered, Tavish following to light a match; but there was no one within, only enough visible to show what business had been going on. "Any one about here?" shouted Kenneth, after they had satisfied themselves that Max was not to be seen. But there was no reply, and Tavish shouted in Gaelic. Only the echoes answered his call; and Kenneth impatiently coaxed out the dog, who seemed to think that his work was done. "He has been here, father, and they've gone on." "Ta loons air hiding, laddie," whispered Tavish, "and hearin' every word we say. Hey! but Dirk has it again. Gude tog! gude tog!" Dirk had suddenly taken up the track again, and followed faithfully on, right up the side of the glen, and away over the level mountain plain, after tracking the fugitive by the side of a great fall, which made its way downward into the loch. The rest of the hunt was easy, for Dirk took them on and on; Kenneth growing so excited, as he felt that the end of the chase was near, that he left Tavish and his father far in the rear. Then Dirk dashed right away, and Kenneth was in turn left behind, till he knew that the dog had found, for his loud baying came from away in the darkness, as he stood barking over the spot where Max lay, half asleep, half in a state of stupor, brought on by cold. _ |
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