Carmen's Messenger

by Harold Bindloss

  XII

  A COMPLICATION

  At noon next day Foster sat, smoking, on a bridge near the clachan.The air was mild and sunshine filled the hollow, while Foster had justdined upon some very appetizing broth. The broth was thick withvegetables, but he did not think the meat in it came from a barn-doorfowl. The clachan was a poor and untidy place, but he was tired, andas the gamekeepers would not suspect a neatly-dressed stranger, hadthought of stopping another night. When he had nearly finished hispipe. Long Pete came up. Foster, who had only seen him in themoonlight, now noted that he had a rather frank brown face and atwinkling smile.

  "Ye'll be for Hawick?" he remarked.

  Foster said he was going there and Pete resumed in a meaning tone:"It's a grand day for the road and ye could be in Hawick soon afterit's dark."

  "Just so," said Foster, who could take a hint. "But is there anyreason I should start this afternoon?"

  "Ye should ken. I was across the muir in the morning and found apolisman frae Yarrow at Watty Bell's. He'd come ower the hills on hisbicycle and was asking if they'd seen a stranger wi' a glove on hisleft han'."

  Foster made a little abrupt movement that he thought the other noted,but said carelessly, "The fellow must have had a rough trip."

  "A road gangs roon' up the waterside, though I wouldna' say it's verygood. I'm thinking he made an early start and would wait for dinnerwith Watty. Then ye might give him twa 'oors to get here."

  Foster looked at his watch and pondered. He was beginning tounderstand Scottish tact and saw that Pete meant to give him a friendlywarning. It was obvious that the policeman would not have set offacross the hills in the dark of a winter morning unless he had beenordered to make inquiries. Moreover, since the gamekeepers hadmistaken Foster for Pete, the orders had nothing to do with thepoaching.

  "Perhaps I had better pull out," he said. "But the fellow won't havemuch trouble in learning which way I've gone."

  "I'm no' sure o' that. There's a road o' a sort rins west to Annandaleand Lockerbie."

  "But I'm not going west."

  "Weel," said Pete, "ye might start that way, and I would meet ye wherea sheep track rins back up the glen--ye'll ken it by the broken dykewhere ye cross the burn. Then I would set ye on the road to Hawickower the hill."

  "Thanks," said Foster thoughtfully. "I suppose I ought to let thefolks at the inn know I've gone towards Annandale, so they can tell thepoliceman?"

  Pete's eyes twinkled. "It might be better if they didna' exactly tellhim, but let him find it oot; but I'll see tae that. Polisman Jock isnoo and then rather shairp."

  Ten minutes later, Foster left the inn and set off across the moor.The heath shone red, and here and there little pools, round which whitestones lay in the dark peat, flashed in the sunshine. The pale-blue ofthe sky changed near the horizon to delicate green, and a soft breezeblew across the waste. Foster enjoyed the walk, although he waspuzzled and somewhat disturbed. If inquiries had been made aboutFeatherstone, he could have understood it, but the police were askingfor a man with a glove on his left hand, which could only apply to him.Daly, of course, would be glad to get him out of the way, if he hadlearned that he was in Scotland, but the police could not arrest a manwho had done nothing wrong.

  Foster now regretted that he had helped the poachers, although hethought he had made friends who would not betray him and might beuseful. He had met Border Scots in Ontario, and knew something abouttheir character. They were marked by a stern independence, inheritedfrom their moss-trooper ancestors, and he thought Pete was a typicalspecimen of the virile race. The man met him at the broken dyke, andleaving the road they turned east up the side of a sparkling burn.

  The narrow strip of level ground was wet and covered with moss, inwhich their feet sank, but the hillside was too steep to walk along.It ran up, a slope of gray-white grass, to the ragged summit where thepeat was gashed and torn. Here and there a stunted thorn tree grew ina hollow, but the glen was savagely desolate, and Foster, glancing athis companion, thought he understood why the men who wrung a livingfrom these barren hills prospered when they came out to the richwheat-soil of Canada. The Flowers of the Forest, who fell at Flodden,locking fast the Scottish square against the onslaught of England'sfinest cavalry, were bred in these wilds, and had left descendantsmarked by their dour stubbornness. Pete's hair was turning gray andhis brown face was deeply lined, but he crossed the quaking moss with ayoung man's stride, and Foster thought his mouth could set hard asgranite in spite of his twinkling smile. He was a man who would forgetneither a favor nor an injury, and Foster was glad to feel that he wason his side.

  At the head of the glen they climbed a long grassy slope and came to atableland where the peat was torn into great black rifts and piled inhummocks. This was apparently Nature's work, but Foster could not seehow the storms that burst upon the hills could have worked such havoc.Crossing the rugged waste to a distant cairn, they sat down upon thestones, and Pete filled his pipe from Foster's pouch.

  "Ye'll haud east until ye find a burn that will lead ye doon to theroad; then as ye cross the breist o' a fell ye'll see the reek o'Hawick," he said and added after a pause: "Maybe ye'll no' be stoppingin the town?"

  "I'll stay the night. After that, I think I'll take the hills again.I'm going south towards Liddesdale, but I expect that's out of yourbeat."

  Pete smiled. "There's maist to be done in my regular line this side o'Hawick. Buccleugh looks after his hares and paltrigs weel, and hismarches rin wide across the country from Teviot to Liddel. But I haefreends a' the way to the North Tyne, and there's no' many sheep salesI do not attend. If ye're wanting them, I could give ye a fewdirections that might help ye on the road."

  Foster thanked him and listened carefully. It looked as if thepoachers, who seemed to work now and then as honest drovers, knew eachother well and combined for mutual protection. It might be useful tobe made an honorary member of the gang.

  "Weel," his companion concluded, "if ye stop at the inns I've told yeo', ye'll find folks who can haud a quiet tongue, and if ye see onyreason for it, ye can say ye're a freend o' mine."

  Foster rather diffidently offered him some money, but was not surprisedwhen the man refused the gift. Indeed, he felt that it would havejarred him had Pete taken it. The latter gave him his hand with asmile and turned back to the glen while Foster pushed on across theheath. He reflected with some amusement that Pete probably thought hima fugitive from the law.

  After a time he stopped to look about. His view commanded a horizon oftwo or three miles, for he seemed to be near the center of thetableland. Its surface was broken by the hummocks and hollows of thepeat, and tufts of white wild cotton relieved the blackness of thegashes in the soil. Sheep fed in the distance, and he heard the harshcry of a grouse that skimmed the heath. The skyline was clear, and byand by two sharp but distant figures cut against it.

  Foster's first impulse was to drop into the ling, but he did not. Ifthe men were following him, it would take them half an hour to reachthe spot he occupied and, if necessary, the roughness of the groundwould enable him to reach the edge of the moor without their seeingwhich way he went. Besides, since he would be visible as long as hestood up, he could find out whether they were looking for him or not.They came nearer and then vanished, and he sat down and speculatedabout his line of retreat. Their disappearance was suspicious, andalthough he thought he could baffle the rural police, it would bedifferent if he had gamekeepers to deal with.

  By and by the men reappeared, but as they did not seem anxious to covertheir movements he felt relieved. It was possible that they had cometo mend a fence or look for some sheep. For all that, he drew backamong the hummocks, and looked for hollows where he would have abackground for his figure as he resumed his march. He saw no more ofthe men and by and by came to a burn, which he followed to lowerground, where he found the road Pete had told him about.

  It led him up and down hill, and now and then the track was faint
,while when he crossed the last ridge the light was fading. Motionlessgray clouds stretched across the sky, which glimmered with pale saffronin the west. Rounded hills, stained a deep blue, cut against thelight, and a trail of gauzy vapor hung about a distant hollow. Sincethere was no mist on the moors, he knew it was the smoke of Hawickmills.

  As he went down, stone dykes began to straggle up the hill. The fieldsthey enclosed were rushy and dotted with whinns, but they got smootherand presently he came to stubble and belts of plowing. Then he turnedinto a good road and saw rows of lights that got gradually brighter inthe valley ahead. It had been dark some time when he entered Hawick,and the damp air was filled with a thin, smoky haze. Factory windowsglimmered in the haze and tall chimneys loomed above the houses. Thebustle of the town fell pleasantly but strangely on his ears after thesilence of the moors.

  Reaching a hotel that looked comfortable, he went in, ordered dinner,and provisionally booked a room, though he did not register andexplained that he could not tell yet if he would stay all night. Then,leaving his knapsack, he went into the street and stopped by a bridgewhere three roads met. A guide-post indicated that one led to Selkirk,and the map had shown Foster that this was the way to Peebles andYarrow. Another ran up the waterside to Langholm and the south.

  Foster lighted a cigarette and drawing his maimed hand into the sleeveof his mackintosh, leaned against the side of the bridge and watchedthe Selkirk road. It was not cold and the street was well lighted bythe windows of the shops. Briskly moving people streamed across thebridge, as if the factory hands were going home from work, but nobodyseemed interested in Foster and the policeman who stood by theguide-post paid him no attention. He thought about going back to thehotel when a car, traveling rather fast, came down the road and pulledup close by.

  Foster leaned quietly against the bridge and did not turn his head, butsaw Daly sitting beside the driver; the half-dried mud that was thicklycrusted about the car indicated a long journey. An abrupt movementmight be dangerous, although he did not think Daly expected to find himor Featherstone calmly lounging about the street. The driver beckonedthe policeman and Foster heard him ask if one crossed the bridge forLangholm.

  The man told him to turn to the right, and after speaking to the driverDaly asked if there was a garage and a good hotel near. The policemangave him some directions, and when the car turned round and rolled awayFoster followed. He passed close by the policeman and, takingadvantage of the sociable Scottish custom, nodded and remarked that itwas a fine night. The man answered civilly, with a careless glance atFoster, who went on, feeling satisfied with his experiment. It wasobvious that no inquiries about him had been telegraphed to Hawick andhe had only Daly to deal with. This was curious, if the police werereally anxious to find him.

  The garage was open and Foster asked a man if he could hire a motorbicycle. The fellow said he thought so, but the manager was out, andFoster strolled about the room. Daly's driver was refilling the lampswith carbide, and when he finished asked for petrol.

  "Ye're for the road again," the man who brought the tin remarked.

  "For Langholm," replied the driver. "I don't expect we'll go fartherto-night, but I must have things ready if the boss wants to go on."

  Foster hoped the other would ask where they had come from, but he didnot do so, and next moment Daly walked down some steps at the other endof the room. Knowing that a quick retreat might betray him, Fosterstood still and examined a lamp he picked up. Daly crossed the floor,passing within a yard or two.

  "You can fix her all right, I suppose?" he said to the driver.

  The latter said something about a sparking-plug, and when Daly stoopedover the engine the light of a lamp shone into his face. He was a big,handsome man, but Foster, studying him closely, noted his hard andgreedy eyes. For a moment, he came near forgetting the need forcaution and giving way to a fit of rage. The fellow had it in hispower to bring disgrace upon upright people and drag an honored name inthe mire. He could humble Alice Featherstone's pride and ruin thebrother she loved.

  Lawrence had done wrong, but had paid for it and made good in Canada,and now the rogue who had learned his secret would drag him down, or,as the price of silence, bring his relatives to poverty. Foster feltthat Daly was not the man to be merciful when there was an advantage tobe got; one saw a sinister hint of cruelty in his coarsely-handsomeface. It would have been a relief to provoke the fellow and throw himout of the garage, but Foster knew he must deny himself thissatisfaction, since it would make things worse for those he meant toshield. He did not remember having felt so full of primitivesavageness before, but he exercised his self-control.

  Standing in the shadow, he turned his head, looking down at the lamp hebegan to take to pieces, and presently Daly said to the driver, "Youhad better get some food; I'll want you soon."

  Then he came back and passing close enough to touch Foster, went up thesteps and through a door. Foster put down the lamp and strolled out ofthe garage. He found dinner ready at his hotel and when he hadfinished went to the smoking-room, which was opposite the office. Heleft the door open and by and by heard a man enter the hall and stop atthe counter.

  "Have you an American called Franklin here?" he asked and Foster smiledas he recognized Daly's voice.

  He had half-expected the visit, and the inquiry was cleverly framed.Daly had not asked about a Canadian, because the accent of WesternCanada is that of the United States, and Franklin resembledFeatherstone enough to prompt the girl clerk to mention the latter ifhe were a guest. For all that, Daly was ignorant of the Scottishcharacter, because the Scot seldom offers information that is notdemanded.

  "No," she said, "we have no American staying with us."

  Foster thought Daly opened the visitors' book, which lay on thecounter, but as he had not yet entered his name, there was nothing tobe learned from it. Still Daly might come into the smoking-room, andhe picked up the _Scotsman_ and leaning back in his chair held up thenewspaper to hide his face. After a few moments, Daly said, "I don'tknow anybody here; it looks as if my friends aren't in the town."

  Then he went along the hall, and when the door shut Foster put down thenewspaper and began to think. He imagined that Daly hardly expected tofind Featherstone in Hawick, but it was curious that he was going toLangholm, which was on the best road to Lockerbie in Annandale. It wasthe police Foster had tried to put off the track at the clachan bystriking west across the moors, and he did not think Daly had anythingto do with them. He could see no light on the matter, but when he wentback to the garage it was something of a relief to find the car hadgone.