Safe Custody and Laughing Bacchante

by Dornford Yates

  As was natural, my half hour seemed to be gone as soon as it had begun; indeed, when Colette touched my shoulder, my hand went at once to my pistol, because I imagined she had ill news to report. Then she showed me my watch, and I saw it was a quarter to two.

  Still, my sleep had refreshed me, and now I felt more than able to do what I had to do. This was to find some water in which I could sink the firearms belonging to Friar and his men. The duty was such as had to be properly done, for Orris unarmed was a nuisance, but Orris armed could make an end of me before I knew he was there.

  I was sorely tempted to leave Colette in the aerie until my return, and but for Orris, I would have; but though I was ready to swear that we had left him behind, I dared not take the risk of exposing Colette to the mercy of such a man. And, of course, being very tired, we had made poor time from the barn—but Orris was fresh.

  Colette had returned to her post and was looking out.

  She was lying flat, as a soldier lies upon the range, with her eyes just above the lip; and her head was slowly moving, which showed she was sweeping the ground upon every side. Such devotion to duty touched me as nothing else could have done, for though she was out of her depth and though she was mad to know how I had recovered the gems, she had put away childish things. She had her orders, and that was enough for her. Later on, perhaps—but now she was on parade. Few girls, I think, would have observed such discipline.

  “Don’t move, Colette, but listen to what I am going to say. Directly southwest there’s a ridge, about twenty-five paces away. I’m going to look over that. Don’t call if you see any movement, but come to me.”

  “Very well, Adam,” she said.

  Laden with kit bag and pistols—I dared leave neither behind—I clambered up to the ridge, there to lie down. As I had hoped it would, this commanded the country for two or three miles, and I very soon saw the wink of tumbling water, further and lower than I liked it, but not too far. Listening intently, I thought I could hear its song. And then I knew that the water which I could hear must be closer than that. Studying the lay of the land, I judged that there was a valley I could not see, not very much more than a quarter of a mile away; if I was right, and there was a river within it, this should be a vigorous head of water, that, but for the valley that kept it, would be declaring its presence with a much louder voice.

  (That in fact I was right does me no credit at all, for I am well used to mountains and know and love the order in which hills stand; I can read the hang of their forests, the course which their waters take; and when a page of that lovely book is hidden, I am able to guess its contents more surely than other men. I have not the gift of tongues, but the speech and language of nature has always appealed to me; and perhaps because I have always sat at her feet, I have come to learn it a little, so that I can interpret some of her simpler ways. Then again, my wife has taught me, and she can commune with nature, can talk with birds and with beasts and set them at ease, can stand in a wood blindfold and name the trees about her by hearing the answer their branches give to the wind.)

  I made my way back to the aerie and bade Colette come with me.

  Within ten minutes of time we had struck a sturdy stream, which was pounding out of the mountains with all the time-honored flourish that tumbling water is always so proud to wear. And there, while Colette kept watch, I committed to its charge first the rounds and then the pistols to which they belonged. Then I soused my head and drank and rinsed my arms and my hands—and never found water more gratifying in all my life. Then I watched while Colette made her toilet, if you can give it that name. To be honest, I think you can, for when she came to my side and smiled into my eyes, I saw that fountains still practiced their ancient art. Her lovely face was painted, her beautiful head was tired, for her color was high and her hair was powdered with little brilliants of water that rendered the glory of the sunshine with all their might.

  “You must be a nymph,” I said.

  “Like Eve?”

  “That’s right. Eve is a nymph. I found her up in the mountains and carried her off.”

  “Am I to believe you, Adam?”

  “Ask her, when you meet her, and she will confirm what I say. She mayn’t admit she’s a nymph, but I think she is.”

  “I shall know if she is, for if she is just a woman she will not like me.”

  “Why d’you say that, Colette?”

  “Because I have had her husband all to myself. If I had a hump on my back, she would not mind. But I have no hump on my back and I am in love with you.”

  “Colette, for God’s sake—”

  “She is not like you, for you are very simple. She will know, the moment she sees my face. And if she is all you say, she will put her arms about me and love me for loving you. But if she is just a woman, I shall be hateful in her sight.”

  I put a hand to my head.

  “Is that why you came?” I said.

  “Of course, my dear. When you were to run into danger, how could I stay behind? But I am not going to trespass—I know my place. And it would do no good, for Eve has all your heart. I hope very much you will kiss me, when we have made our landfall and all is well, but I know that it will mean nothing, because, if Eve were here, I should not exist.”

  I took her face in my hands and kissed her eyes and her lips.

  “You will always exist,” I said, “for so long as I live. It is perfectly true that Jenny has all my heart, but I am not made of stone, and when a great lady does me such honor as this—”

  “But I am not a great lady.”

  “You are one of the greatest ladies that I have ever known.”

  She did not speak, but she put her arms round my neck and pressed her cheek tight against mine. Then she threw back her head and smiled.

  “Do you wonder that I love you?” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I find it remarkable.”

  And there something made me look round.

  At the head of the miniature valley, I saw a bough spring into place.

  Quick as a flash, I fired. And then I was climbing the bank as fast as I could. But when I was up, there was no sign of any man. Searching the spot at which I had seen the movement, I found a mark that might have been made by a heel, but though I sought high and low, Orris, if it was he, had made himself scarce. Of course, the roar of the water swallowed the sound of any hasty retreat, and the neighborhood offered good cover on every side.

  I turned to Colette, who had followed as fast as she could.

  “This is a nuisance,” I said. “I think I know who it was, and if I am right, he’s unarmed. For all that, he is a trier, as I have reason to know. If we are careful, I don’t see what he can do; but it means that we can’t let up, as we did just now.” Looking round, I fingered my chin. “I had meant to go back to where I had my sleep, but I think he must know that place, and so we had better go on. If we can find a spot overlooking the smuggler’s path, we can take it in turns to rest until dusk comes in. And, then, though he’s trailed us so far, we should be able to lose him for good and all.”

  I think my decision was good, but I made it heavily, for I was still terribly tired, and I had promised myself that, when we got back to our aerie—but ten minutes’ walk—I should sleep for another hour, before relieving Colette. And now we must struggle on, till we found a new resting place.

  And there I saw that Colette looked very much shaken . . .

  I put my arm about her and made her sit down.

  “I told you, my sweet, that the way I was going was one that no woman should take.”

  Colette put a hand to her head.

  “I am very sorry,” she said. “I shall not do it again. I have seen shots fired at a fair, but never in an endeavor to kill a man.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” I said, lamely enough.

  “I know. I wish you had. You were terribly quick.”

  I smiled.

  “Had it been Mansel,” I said, “he would have fired before the bough had
stopped moving—and got his man.”

  Colette sighed.

  “First Palin, then Mansel,” she said. “I am tired of these paragons. I think you do very well. In any event, you do well enough for me.”

  “I think,” I said, “I think you are better now. If so, let us get on, for we must, both of us, rest before we set out for Jade.”

  Colette got to her feet.

  “You made me cross, and so you made me better; I cannot bear that you should diminish yourself. I sleep like the dead, and wake—to find that, while I was sleeping, you have recovered the gems. The quest was to me quite hopeless. It was because it was hopeless that I, the weaker vessel, could not go on. The shock turned my blood to water. I just collapsed. But you went on—and achieved the impossible thing. How many hours have you slept since Wednesday night? And today is Saturday. And still you are up and doing—and ready to cross the frontier, river and all. Such endurance is supernatural; only the greatest heart could so overcome the flesh. Yet, Palin and Mansel are very much finer than you. The one will make me laugh—”

  “So he will,” I said, doggedly.

  Colette stamped her foot.

  “I have no desire,” she said, “to be made to laugh.”

  “You’ll fall for Mansel,” I said. “You see if you don’t. For there is about him a royalty that nobody can deny.”

  Colette kissed her hand and put it up to my lips.

  “Perhaps. But I shall not love him.” She looked round. “Let us go on. I want you to take your rest.”

  An hour and more went by before we had found a spot which I could approve. Though not as good as the aerie, it did very well. Two miles ahead I could see the smuggler’s way, and there was a cliff behind us, to cover our rear. And box bushes, growing about it, gave cover enough.

  We threw ourselves down.

  “Listen, my lady,” I said. “It is nearly half past three, and, now that I see the way, I do not think we need move until half past eight. That gives us five hours. I think I must sleep for one hour. Then you will sleep for two. Then I shall sleep for two more. And then we will leave. Will you promise upon your honor to wake me at half past four?”

  “On one condition, I give you my word,” said Colette.

  “That is that at half past four you tell me something that I should like to know.”

  “Why, what is that, Colette?”

  “Have you to ask, Adam?”

  “You must tell me,” I said, “for I am too tired to think.” Colette put her head on one side.

  “You must forgive me,” she said. “I am not like Bell. I am sure Bell asks no questions. But I should like to know how you came by the gems.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “By God, Colette, I’m sorry.”

  She was on her knees and had caught my hand to her breast.

  “Adam, dear, you are used to working with men. And while deeds have to be done, men have no time for words. When the action is over, then they will talk. But I am a woman, Adam. And I will wager that Eve would have asked before now.”

  I began to laugh. . . .

  But before I could start my tale, she had moved to a boulder which lay at the foot of the cliff. Sitting there, she could see about us, yet, because of the box, she could hardly be seen. I watched her steadily searching the neighboring mountainside. Then I took off my wrist watch and rose and put it into her hand.

  “At half past four,” I said.

  “O man of few words,” she said, “at half past four.”

  “O martinet,” said I, “at five and twenty to five.”

  She did not look at me, but a smile stole into her face.

  Then, once again, I laid my head down on my kit bag and fell asleep.

  It was five o’clock, and I was keeping watch. Colette was lying beside me, fast asleep.

  My tale had been told in some detail, while we were breaking our fast, and now at last I was able to think things over, measure our chances, and generally look ahead.

  We had been very fortunate so far, for we had been moving in country near enough to the border to claim the casual attention of frontier-guards. Yet we had met no one at all, and if we had been observed, we had not been approached. Then, again, we had reached a point from which, in less than an hour, we could strike the smuggler’s way, and if we did not move until the shadows were falling, the odds against some encounter were long indeed.

  Three things only concerned me.

  The first was that, though we were resting, we were extremely tired. How many miles lay before us, I neither knew nor cared; I knew that we could cover them somehow—if all went well. But when a path is so rough as not to deserve that name, when it is strewn with boulders and crossed by mountain streams, when you are moving in darkness and, though you carry a torch, you must on no account use it to guide your steps, and when you are almost too tired to lift up your feet, then it is easy to stumble, to wrench or sprain an ankle or even to break a leg. I did not think it likely that I should do such a thing, but Colette was not used to journeys like this, and her legs were very slender and were not furnished, as mine were, with tendons like steel.

  The second was the water barrier.

  We had crossed this without any fuss the night before, but then we were fresh. Colette’s weight had been nothing, and she had done all that I asked her and done it well. But now we were very tired, and there were the gems to be carried, and the landing was not so easy upon the opposite side. And if I should bungle the business and fail to land, I was not at all sure that I should have the strength to climb the dangling rope and so gain the bough. (I have already shown that, though he hung in mid-air, a man had only to climb to the branch to which the rope was made fast; then he could climb down the tree, which grew upon the Italian side of the flood.) Then and there I decided that, for that sinister passage, Colette must bear the gems. The bag could be tied to her neck and could rest on her back. Then, if I failed to land, by standing upon my shoulders, she should, I thought, be able to reach the bough, so that, though I could not follow, the gems would be saved.

  And the third of the things was Orris.

  I had no doubt at all that it was he that had peered from the head of the little valley in which we had stood, and I was surprised and dismayed that such a man should have managed, in country so much against him, to cling to our heels. If he had got so far, it seemed extremely unlikely that we had shaken him off, and if I was right in this, he would assuredly follow us down to the smuggler’s way. It would be dark by then, but the night would favor Orris as much as it favored us, for while it would be harder to see us, he could approach much closer without being seen. Over all, I had a feeling that I had not done with the man. Since I was armed and weighed far more than he did, he would not be wise to attack, but the battle is not always to the strong, and Fortune will smile upon the man who ‘will never let go.’

  There was nothing to be done, I decided, but to lay a trap for Orris and pray that he would walk in. When you wish to tackle a man who is following you, you turn a corner and stop and wait for him to come round. That is, of course, elementary. Now in the ordinary way, Orris was far too skillful to enter a trap like that, but across the smuggler’s way, there was running a minor torrent, none too easy to cross. There were, I daresay, a score of ways across it, but I had found only one which was close to the path. And this must carefully be taken, because the water was rough. If then we took this way—and turned aside in the bushes upon the opposite side, Orris, if he was behind us, must surely walk into my arms. For men of his sort dislike a noisy water, although, as a rule, its bark is worse than its bite.

  Of such were my reflections that beautiful summer evening, while sunshine and shadow fought for the everlasting hills. Foot by foot, the former receded, and the exquisite peace of sundown covered the great retreat. The breeze hauled down its flag, sounds I had not been aware of stole on the air, and the cool of the valleys about us rose up in a cloud of fragrance no eye could see, refreshing my tired sen
ses and lacing, as with a cordial, each breath I drew.

  “Now came still evening on . . .”

  I woke Colette, as I had sworn to wake her, just short of seven o’clock, but I had no desire to sleep, so the two of us watched together until it was nearly eight.

  “It is nearly time,” said Colette, with her head against my shoulder. “I cannot see forty paces, and when I cannot see twenty, we must be gone.”

  I put an arm about her.

  “Yes, my gallant Colette, it is nearly time.”

  “You have won your match,” she said. “I think you will always win, for no one and nothing can stand against the force of your will.”

  “I have had many failures, Colette, and I am not home yet.”

  “You may call them failures, though I do not think most people would. You see, I know you, Adam. There is no cunning in you, although you are very wise, but there is within you a drive, the like of which I have never imagined before. When the wind was against us at Godel, you took charge—and raised the big tent in its teeth in ten minutes of time. It is that determination that forces the hand of Fortune, whether she will or no. And so we shall cross the frontier, bearing the gems . . . the gems which are a nonesuch . . . which the Boche and Friar and all the police in the country were out to take. But you will carry them out, as you meant to do. And tomorrow evening I shall not sit by your side with your strong arm about me and my head against your breast. We are alone now, and so we can do as we please. There is no one to watch or whisper, because I have lost my heart.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “Do you want to distress me, Colette? I am a most ordinary man, but I belong to a world that you do not know. If you were to enter that world, you would take it by storm—a thing I have never done and could never do. You would be the rage, Colette. You would have so many suitors, you would not know which to choose. And then I should lose my stature, and you would find me a very ordinary man.”

  “Did Eve do that?” said Colette.

  I swallowed.

  “I don’t think she ever found me anything else.”