Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  He came to himself, and found Peters holding a brandy-flask to his mouth. Peters had a whitish face. “My God, sir,” he stammered, “you will never be nearer death.”

  The young man seemed to have recovered, for he had strength enough to laugh. “I cut it pretty fine, but there was no other way. I had to make myself ground-bait if we were to catch these pike. We’ve got them all now...I think I could have held them for another five minutes, but I chose to precipitate things. You see, I saw by the nicker of the lantern that the door was opening, and that meant you. If I hadn’t thought of that head-crashing dodge, I think I might have stopped a bullet.”

  The man on the barrel had risen and was looking sombrely on. The policeman jerked his head towards him. “What about that fellow?” he asked.

  “Oh, let him alone,” was the answer. “He is free to go where he likes. He was at school with me, and I owe him a good turn for this evening.”

  BOOK II - THE COURTS OF THE MORNING

  I

  Just about the hour of sunrise a girl sat perched on a rock from which the ground fell westward into an abyss of blue vapour. East of her, after a mile of park-like land, the steep woods rose black as coal, and above them soared into the central heavens a great mountain of rock and shale, which, so sheer was the face, showed even to a viewpoint so near its summit cone of snow. The face and the plateau were still dipped in shadow, but beyond the mountain the sun was up, and its first beams, flooding through a cleft on the north shoulder, made a pool of gold far out on the Western sea. The peak was the great Choharua, which means, in the speech of the old races, the Mountain of the Two Winds, for it was held to be wind-shed as well as water-shed.

  The tropic dawn broadened fast, though the sun did not show himself. Presently all the plateau to the east was washed in a pure, pale light. The place seemed to sparkle with a kind of hoarfrost, though the air was mild, and its undulations, and the shallow glen of the stream which descended from Choharua, were sharp-rimmed black shadows in that silver field. Then greenness broke through the monotint, like the flush of spring in an English wood, and what had been like a lunar landscape sprang suddenly into clean, thin colours. The far cone of snow became rosy-red and crystalline, so that for one moment, it hung like a translucent jewel in the sky. Then it solidified; the details of the shaly face sprang into hard reality; what had been unfeatured shadow showed now as sheer crag and intricate couloirs, specked with snowdrifts which were leaping waters. At last came the orb of the sun, first a crescent of red gold, and then by quick gradations a great burning archway in which the mountain seemed to be engulfed. The air changed to a glow of essential light, and in a moment it seemed that the faint scents of night became the warm spicy odours of day.

  The girl was looking to the sea. The line of light, which a minute before had been on the horizon, ran shoreward, as if a tide of sheer gold was flowing in from the west, But the ocean was some thousands of feet below, and the shore waters remained in dusk long after the morning had conquered the plateau. Below her the chasm of blue mist slowly became luminous, and features detached themselves tall trees near at hand clinging to scarps, outjutting head-lands of green far down. The noise of the falling stream grew louder, as if it had been asleep during the darkness and had only begun to talk with the morning. The immediate foreground cleared, and curious things were revealed. There were buildings on the edge of the chasm from which wire ropeways ran down into the brume, the kind of thing by which in Norway the saeter hay is moved to the valley, and by which in the War in the eyries of the Dolomites the Italian army provisioned its look-out posts and gun stations. Also there were revealed the beginnings of a path which descended the ravine in spirals, and something else — a framework of trestles and iron which decanted itself into the abyss like a gigantic chute. A stranger could now have made out the main features of the landscape — a steep glen down which the torrent from Choharua made its way to the sea, a glen, not a cliff, a place by which in was possible to have access from the shore to the plateau But that shore would not reveal itself. It lay far below in a broad ribbon of mist, flecked like a bird’s wing, which separated the molten gold of the sea from the gold-washed recreated world of the morning hills.

  The girl rose from her perch and drew long breaths of the diamond air. The waxing light revealed her companion, a tall man muffled in a blanket coat, who had been standing beneath her. She turned to him. “It is well called this the Courts of the Morning, Excellency,” she said. “Aren’t you glad I made you come with me?”

  He was busy lighting his pipe. When he raised his face to her, there was a flicker of a smile around the corners of his deep-set eyes.

  “I blame myself for not appreciating long ago the charms of this corner of my province. It is a place to intoxicate youth.”

  “And you?”

  “I am no longer young. To me it is a picturesque mantelpiece between the sierras and the sea. I observe—” he nodded towards the ropeways and the trestles—”I observe your communications. Ingenious!”

  “You may examine them at your leisure. We have no secrets from our leader.”

  “Your leader malgre lui. You foolish children are consistent in your folly. Tell me one thing, Miss Dasent. I am apparently at liberty. A charming young lady takes me out to admire the sunrise. Supposing I desire to leave — desire it very badly. I am a busy man and my business will suffer from my absence...Say that I am resolved to end this folly and at this moment. What would hinder me?”

  “Need you ask?” she said.

  “I ask,” he replied. Something minatory and grim had come into his face.

  “I should hinder you,” was her answer.

  He took a step towards her, while she watched him keenly. As his foot was raised for a second step, she blew a small whistle, and he halted. Out of the rocks and bushes men had appeared by magic, lean Indian faces with their eyes fixed on the girl. She looked at her companion, and he smiled. Then she waved her hand and the faces disappeared.

  “I thought as much,” he said. “As I said, you are consistent in your folly.” The momentary animation had gone out of his face, and left it placid, set, and inscrutable.

  He did not move when out of the chasm two figures emerged, so quietly that even the girl, who had been expecting them, started as their steps rang on the stony platform.

  They were young men, apparently much of an age, but very different in build. One was tall and burly, with an untidy head of tow-coloured hair and a face so rugged that the features might have been rough-hewn with an axe out of some pale wood. It would have made an excellent figurehead for an old China clipper. He wore a khaki shirt, khaki shorts, and football stockings, but there was something about him that smacked of the sea. His companion, who wore similar clothes, was slight and beaky, with s mop of longish dark hair. They were about to cry some greeting to the girl when they caught sight of her companion and both stiffened, like men who had been trained, in the presence of a superior.

  “Excellency, may I present to you two members of your staff?” she said. “This,” — indicating the tall man—”is Lieutenant Roger Grayne, a naval officer...This is Captain Bobby Latimer. You are not interested in these things, I know, Excellency, but Captain Latimer has quite a reputation in our Air Force.”

  The bareheaded young men saluted. “Pardon our rig, sir,” said Grayne, “but we’ve been up all night. We’re rather in want of a bath and breakfast. We’ve just been saying good-bye to the Corinna.”

  “Ah! Your line of communications?”

  “One of them,” said the girl, smiling.

  “I venture to remind you,” said the older man, “that the republic of Olifa possesses a navy.”

  The sailor laughed. “Not a very good one, sir. A trifle short in small craft and a whole lot short in practice Olifa has never had much coast-patrol work to do, and she is mighty ignorant of this northern shore. I’d like to take you down below there and show you the landing. It’s as cunningly tucked away as the ports the
old-time buccaneers used to have among the Florida keys. It would take pretty bright men some months to hit it off.”

  “But supposing they were fortunate? What then?”

  “Why then, sir, they could make it difficult for the Corinna and certain other craft, but they couldn’t put any considerable spoke in our business.”

  “What would prevent them fighting their way up and cornering you like rats on this shelf?”

  “Ye — es,” was the answer. “They might — with Heaven’s own luck and plenty of time and no sort of regard for casualties. That four thousand feet of gully is a mighty difficult ladder to climb, and every rung has its nasty catch. I’m not worrying about our little backdoor to the sea. Come here, sir, and have a look down. The mist will be gone by now.”

  The Gobernador allowed himself to be led to a little platform of rock which projected above the gulf. On his arrival he had made the ascent in a thick fog, and had had no chance of noting the details. Now he saw that the path dropped at once into thick bush, while the trestles zigzagged till they were lost behind a spur of rock. Only the wireways ran straight in a dizzy angle till far below they seemed to terminate in a dull blur on the water’s edge. But what he chiefly observed was that the shore made a little bay, which ran south and was sheltered from the ocean by a green conical spur. To a ship at sea that bay was securely hidden, and the ravine must appear as one of a hundred others on the scarred and wooded mountain face. There would be some intricate prospecting before it was discovered.

  He turned to the others with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “I think I have had enough of the picturesque. What about breakfast?”

  A path led them into the shallow trough of the plateau, where the stream from Choharua wound among lawns and thickets in shining links like a salmon-river. They crossed it by a rough bridge of planks, and then the land lifted gently under the shadow of the mountain, while the shelf broadened as it turned the southern skirts. Presently it flattened out to a miniature plain, and they came suddenly into an area of crowded life. It looked like a cantonment. Around a block of wooden huts lay a ring of tents, from which rose the smoke of morning fires. On the left there we horse-lines, and beyond them the tall masts of a wireless station. On the right were what looked like aeroplane hangars. A busy hum came from the place, and that mingled smell of wood-smoke, horses, and cooking food which since the beginning of time has been a mark of human concourse.

  The western ocean was hidden by the lift of the shore scarp, but since the coast recessed at this point there was a gleam of water from the south. To the south-east lay the great wall of the sierras, but as it bent inland the land in front seemed to sink in craggy and forested foothills, giving the eyes a great prospect towards what seemed a second and lower plateau. The air was filled with an exquisite morning freshness, half of the sea and half of the hills, and the place seemed part eyrie, part sanctuary — an observation point over the kingdoms of the world, and also a tiny sheltered kingdom, brooded over by virgin peaks and guarded by untravelled seas.

  The four stopped before one of the larger tents. A little way off a small party of Indians were off — saddling weary horses. The girl pointed to them.

  “See, Excellency,” she said. “Another of our lines of communication.”

  An hour later a small company assembled for breakfast in the staff mess hut. Janet Roylance was dispensing coffee to half a dozen young men in breeches and linen jackets, one of whom was her husband, while Barbara Dasent at the other end of the table was slicing a cold ham. The men rose as the Gobernador entered, and Janet pointed to a vacant chair beside her.

  “Where is Sandy?” she asked. “Archie saw him an hour ago, and he said he was hungry enough to eat an ox.”

  “He is getting clean,” said Archie. “He looks as if he had been having a dusty time. He likes tea, Janet.”

  “I know. I’ve got it for him. And Sobranye cigarettes in a china box. I remembered his tastes.”

  To a stranger there would have appeared to be no formality or restraint about the little party. It might have been a company of friends breakfasting at some country farm.

  The Gobernador made a hearty meal, and his watchful eyes seemed almost benevolent when they rested on Janet or Barbara. There was no reference to the hive of strange activities around them. The young Americans were recondite travellers and talked at large of odd places and odd friends. One of them, Eborall by name, whom the others called Jim, had been with Roosevelt on his Amazon expedition and had something to say of the uneasy life of the Brazilian forests. “We never struck a health-resort like this,” he said. “They don’t keep them on the east side of the Andes.” Grayne, who was something of a naturalist, had a discussion with Archie Roylance about a type of short-winged buzzard that he had seen that morning. The young men spoke deferentially, with an eye on the Gobernador, like subalterns breakfasting with their commanding officer. Janet chattered eagerly in her role of the untravelled, to whom every new thing was a marvel. Only Barbara was a little silent. Her eyes were always turning to the door.

  Presently it opened and a man entered. At first glance he seemed about the same age as the others, for a fine-drawn face often acquires an absurd youthfulness when, after some days of indoor life, it is first exposed to the weather. The tiny wrinkles around his eyes did not show under the flush of sunburn. He entered like a guest who, having arrived late at a country-house, makes his first appearance at breakfast and knows that he will find friends.

  “Sandy, at last!” Janet cried. All rose, and the young Americans turned curious eyes on the newcomer, as on someone who had been eagerly awaited.

  “There’s a chair next to Barbara,” Janet said. “Excellency, I don’t think you have met Lord Clanroyden.”

  The two men bowed, but the newcomer did not offer to shake hands. They smiled on each other with conventional politeness, but the eyes of the elder man dwelt longer on the newcomer’s face.

  “What’s the news?” Janet asked with a casualness that was obviously assumed.

  “None at present, except that everything goes well. I must feed first, for my last bite was fifteen hours ago. After that I’m going to turn in and sleep a round of the clock...How jolly it is to be up on this shelf again! I feel a new man already.”

  Sandy fell heartily on his food. “China tea,” he murmured. “Janet, you saint! I haven’t tasted it for weeks.”

  But the pleasant informality had deserted the company. Archie looked heavy with unspoken questions. The young Americans fell silent and kept their eyes furtively on Sandy as if they were trying to harmonise a preconceived figure of their imagination with this ravenous reality. Janet rose “I don’t see why we should behave as if we were at the Zoo, and watching the animals feed. Your cigarettes are over there, Sandy. We’ll leave you to finish your breakfast in peace.”

  But the Gobernador did not leave the room with the others. He filled his pipe and pushed the Sobranye cigarettes towards Sandy’s plate. The latter, having finished the marmalade stage, began to peel an apple. “Please smoke,” he said. “I’ll join you in a second.”

  Presently he swung himself round to face the other, and lit a cigarette. His face had lost the careless youthfulness which it had borne when he first arrived. It was the face of an older and a different man, hard, fine, and alert, and his eyes were as wary as the Gobernador’s. They seemed to be inviting a challenge.

  The latter spoke first.

  “I think you owe me an explanation, Lord Clanroyden,” he said. The tones of his voice were perfectly quiet and assured. The question seemed to spring not from anxiety but from a polite curiosity.

  “I owe you many, but they will have to come bit by bit. Meanwhile I can give you news. The night before last we occupied without serious trouble the city of the Gran Seco. At this moment I think I can fairly say that the whole province is in our hands.”

  “We! Our! What precisely do you mean?” There was an edge in the voice which proved that its possessor h
ad been startled.

  “It is a long story. But the name which the newspaper-readers of the world are associating with the revolt against the Olifa Government is your own, Excellency. You were the creator of the Gran Seco, and you are going to be its liberator.”

  “Liberator? From what? Am I to destroy my own creation?”

  “The copper industry will not suffer. The Vice-President of the Company will see to that. There will only be a suspension of business — how long will depend upon the Olifa Government.”

  “Rosas? He is in this fool conspiracy?”

  “Undoubtedly. You may call him the prime mover. You know him as Rosas the Mexican, but to his friends he s John Scantlebury Blenkiron — a patriotic citizen of the United States—”

  The other cried out. “Blenkiron! But he is dead!”

  “Only officially. He is an ancient friend of mine, and there is our good fortune, Excellency, that your paths never crossed till he joined you eighteen months ago. You need not blame your Intelligence service. Blenkiron has puzzled before this the most efficient Intelligence services. He had seen watching your doings for some time, and when he put his remarkable talents at your service it was with a purpose. The first part of that purpose has now been accomplished.” Sandy paused.

  “Go on,” said the other. “I am deeply interested.”

  Sandy laughed. “We have no secrets from our commander-in-chief. But why should I waste time telling you what you know already?”