by John Buchan
CHAPTER II
HOW I RODE TO THE SOUTH
The night was full of wind, light spring airs, which rustled andwhistled down every street and brought a promise of the hills and thegreen country. The stars winked and sparkled above me, but I had no mindto them or aught else save a grey house in a wood, and a girl sittingthere with a heavy heart. 'Faith, my own was heavy enough as I ledMaisie through the West Vennel, shunning all but the darkest streets,for I knew not when I might be challenged and recognised, losing my wayoften, but nearing always to the outskirts of the town. Childrenbrawled on the pavement, lights twinkled from window and doorway, thesmell of supper came out of chink and cranny. But such things were notfor me, and soon I was past all, and near the hamlet of Liberton and thehighway to Tweeddale.
Now there was safety for me to mount, and it was blessed to feel thelife between my knees and the touch of my mare's neck. By good luck Ihad found her saddled and bridled, as if some careless, rascally groomhad left her untouched since her arrival. But I would have cared littlehad there been no equipment save a bridle-rope. I could guide a horseon the darkest night by the sway of my body, and it was not for nothingthat I had scrambled bareback about the hills of Barns. Maisie took theroad with long, supple strides, as light and graceful as a bird. Thebig mass of Pentland loomed black before me; then in a little it fellover to the right as we advanced on our way. The little waysidecottages went past like so many beehives; through hamlet and village weclattered, waking the echoes of the place, but tarrying not a moment,for the mare was mettlesome, and the rider had the best cause in theworld for his speed. Now this errand which seems so light, was, intruth, the hardest and most perilous that could be found. For you are toremember that I was a man proscribed and all but outlawed, that anychance wayfarer might arrest me; and since in those troubled times anyrider was suspected, what was a man to say if he saw one dressed ingentleman's apparel, riding a blood horse, coatless and hatless? Then,more, all the way to Peebles lay through dangerous land, for it was theroad to the southwest and the Whigs of Galloway, and, since the PentlandRising, that part had been none of the quietest. Also it was my owncountry, where I was a well-kenned man, known to near everyone, so whatmight have been my safety in other times, was my danger in these. This,too, was the road which my cousin Gilbert had travelled from Barns, andwell watched it was like to be if Gilbert had aught to do with thematter. But the motion of my mare was so free, the air so fine, thenight so fair, and my own heart so passionate, that I declare I hadforgotten all about danger, and would have ridden down the High Streetof Edinburgh, if need had been, in my great absence of mind.
I was recalled to my senses by a sudden warning. A man on horsebacksprang out from the shelter of a plantation, and gripped my bridle. Isaw by the starlight the gleam of a pistol-barrel in his hand.
"Stop, man, stop! there's nae sic great hurry. You and me 'ill hae somewords. What hae ye in your pouches?"
Now I was unarmed, and the footpad before me was a man of considerablestature and girth. I had some remnants of sense left in me, and Iforesaw that if I closed with him, besides the possibility of getting abullet in my heart, the contest would take much time, and would have anuncertain ending. I was fairly at my wit's end what with hurry andvexation, when the thought struck me that the law and military which Idreaded, were also the terror of such men as this. I made up my mind tothrow myself on his mercy. Forbye, being a south-country man, the oddswere great that my name would be known to him.
"I have no money," I said, "for I came off this night hot-speed, with aregiment of dragoons waiting behind me. I am the Laird of Barns, inTweeddale, and this day an outlaw and a masterless man. So I pray younot to detain me, for there's nothing on me worth the picking. I havenot a groat of silver, and, as you see, I ride in my shirt."
"Are ye the Laird o' Barns?" said the man, staring. "Man, I never kentit or I wadna hae been sae unceevil as to stop ye. Be sure that I'm wi'ye, and sae are a' guid fellows that likena thae langnebbit dragoons andthae meddlesome brocks o' lawyers in Embro. Gang your ways for me. Butstop, ye've nae airms. This 'ill never dae. Tak yin o' my pistols, forI'll never miss it. And see, gin ye tak my advice and gin ye're gaun toBarns, gang off the Peebles road at Leadburn, and haud doun by theBrochtoun and Newlands ways, for a' the way atween Leadburn and Peeblesis hotchin' wi' sodgers and what-ye-may-ca'-thems. Guid e'en to ye, anda safe journey." The man rode off and almost instantly was lost to mysight; but his act gave me assurance that there was still some good leftin the world, though in the most unlikely places.
And now I saw before me the black woods of Rosslyn and Hawthornden, andin the near distance the roofs of the clachan of Penicuik. There I knewdanger would await me, so taking a random turning to the right, I strucktowards the hills in the direction of Glencorse. The place was roughand moory, and full of runlets of water, but Maisie was well used tosuch land, for it was no worse than the haughs of Manor, and level turfcompared with the brow of the Deid Wife or the shoulder of Scrape. Soin a little, when the lights of Penicuik were well on the left, I cameto the Hawes Burn, which passes the Inn of Leadburn, and tracking itdownward, came to the bald white house which does duty for a hostel.
I dared not enter, though I was wofully thirsty, but kept straight on tothe crossroads where the two paths to Tweeddale part asunder. One--theway by which I had gone when I set out on my travels--goes over the moorand down by the springs of the Eddleston Water, through the village ofthat name, and thence down the vale to Peebles. The other, longer andmore circuitous, cuts straight over the rough moorlands to the littlevillage of Newlands, then over much wild country to Kirkurd, and thehigh hills which hem in the hamlet of Broughton, whence it is but fivemiles to the house of Dawyck. It is a road which I have always hated asbeing dismal and wild beyond any of my knowledge, but now I was glad tobe on it, for every step brought me nearer to my love.
The country, in the main, is desolate heather and bog, with here andthere a white cot-house where dwells a shepherd. Of late I hear thatmany trees have been planted and the bogs are being drained, but at thetime I speak of, all was still in its virginal wildness. The road, by agood chance, is dry and easy to find, else there had been difficultiesawaiting me. The night was clear and sharp, and a bright moon made thepath as plain as daylight. I found time to curse that moon whenever Ineared human dwellings, and to bless it heartily when I was in thedesert morasses again.
In a little I saw a hilltop which, by its broad, flat shape I knew forthe Black Mount, which lies above the village of Dolphinton on the wayto the west country. This is a landmark of great note in thecountryside, and now I could guess my whereabouts. I made out that Imust be scarce two miles from the jumble of houses lining the highwaywhich is named Kirkurd, at which spot the road fords the deep, sullenstream of Tarth. Now this same Tarth a little way down flows into theLyne, which enters Tweed almost opposite the house of Barns. At othertimes I had ridden the path down its side, for it is many miles theshorter way. But I knew well that Barns would be watched like thecourtyard of the Parliament House, and I durst not for my life venturenear it. I deemed it unprofitable to run the risk of capture for thesake of an hour or two saved. So after passing Kirkurd, I held straighton over the black moors which lie towards the watershed of the Broughtonburn.
Now by good luck I had dismounted just after the bridge and buckledMaisie's girth tight and eased the saddle, for I suspected that now Iwas entering the more dangerous country. The issue showed that I hadguessed rightly, for just at the sharp turn of the road over the Hell'sCleuch burn, I came near to my end. I was riding carelessly at a rapidpace through the thick wood of pines which cloaks the turn, whensuddenly, ere ever I knew, I was into the middle of a detachment ofhorse riding leisurely in the sime direction.
I do not well know how I acted, save that my pistol went off in themellay, and I saw a man clap his hand to his shoulder in a vast hurryand swear freely. Ha
lf a dozen hands were stretched to my bridle, half adozen pistols covered me at once. Now I had no leave to use my hands,my pistol I had fired, so I was wholly at their mercy. What happened Ican only guess, for I was in too great a flurry to have any clearremembrance of the thing. I was conscious of striking one man fiercelyon the cheek with my empty pistol, and of kicking another on the shinswith all my might. But my sudden appearance had startled the horses sothoroughly that all the soldiers' time was taken up in curbing them, sothey had no leisure to take aim at me. A dozen shots cracked around me,all going high into the air, and in a second I was through them and onthe highroad beyond, some twenty paces in advance.
But by this time they were getting their horses under, and I felt thatthere was no time to be lost if I wished to see many more days on theearth. I patted Maisie's neck, which to a beast of her spirit was thebest encouragement, and set myself to a race for life. I kicked off mygreat boots to ease her, and then, leaning forward, began the trial ofspeed. Behind me I heard shouting and the beat of horses getting intotheir stride. Before me was the long, thin highway, and black hills,and endless peatmosses. I had half a mind to leave the road and ridefor the hills, where I made sure no man of them could ever follow me.But I reflected that this would shut for me the way to Dawyck, and Ishould have to lie hid in these regions for weeks, for when my path wasonce seen they would guard it more closely. My only chance was tooutstrip them and so keep the country open before me.
Now began the most terrible and desperate race that I was ever engagedin. I had tried my cousin Gilbert and beaten him on the side of Scrape;now his men were taking revenge for that episode in good earnest. Atthis time I was no more than out of pistol shot, and though I kept thisinterval, and all their balls fell short, it was an unpleasing thing tobe riding with shots behind you, any one of which, for all you knew,might lodge in your spine. So I strained every nerve to increase thedistance.
Maisie responded gallantly to my call. I felt her long, supple swingbelow me and the gathering of her limbs. I began to glory in theexhilaration of the thing, and my spirits rose at a bound. The keen,cool air blew about my face, the moonlight danced on the mare's neck,and the way in front was a long strip of light. Sometimes I could nottell whether or not I was dreaming. Sometimes I thought I was back inHolland asleep in the garden, and that all this shifting pageant oflight and scenery, these cries and shots behind, and this long, measuredfall of hooves were but the process of a dream. I experienced the mostacute enjoyment, for all heavy cares for the future were driven away bythe excitement of the chase. It was glorious, I thought, and I carednot a straw for the loss of place and fortune if the free life of theopen air and the hills was to be mine. It was war to the hilt betweenmy cousin and myself; both had flung away the scabbards; but I wouldmaster him yet and show him which was the better man. He should learnthat John Burnet was never so strong as when he was most sorely pressed.
But this braggadocio exhilaration soon passed, and in its place camesome measure of forethought. I reflected that though I might distancemy pursuers and win to Dawyck, I would surely be tracked, and so bringmisfortune on my mistress and myself. I had as yet no clear plans forthe future. I had already all but burned my boats, for this night'swork was like to get me into trouble on its own account. The wildnotion of fleeing to the hills and trusting to God for the restcommended itself to me more and more. But one thing I must do--abide atDawyck till such time as Nicol should be able to join me. I had themost perfect trust in him; I had proved him a hundred times, and I knewwell that if mortal man could do aught to mend my fortunes, he could doit. So with this thought I matured a plan for the present. I must putforth all my speed and win clean away from my pursuers. Now atBroughton there was an inn, where abode an honest man, one JoshuaWatson, who had oft had dealings with me in the past. He was an oldretainer of my house, and I knew that he would see his roof and gear ina blaze before his eyes ere he would see any harm come to a laird ofBarns. To him I purposed to go and hide till the dragoons had passed.They had not recognised me, I knew, for they were not men of ourcountryside; and if left to themselves, would keep the highway toMoffat, and have never a thought of turning aside into Tweeddale.
I whispered something to Maisie, and the good mare set herself to thetask. She was still unjaded, for I had used her to long wanderings, andshe had not forgotten the lesson. I listened to her steady, rhythmicalbreath and the measured beat of her hooves, and I thanked Heaven that Ihad chanced on her. At first they were maybe an eighth of a milebehind. Soon the distance increased, little by little at first, then bymore and more as my mare got into her long gallop and their coarsebeasts began to tire. We passed the little lonely cot of Lochurd,nestling under great green hills where the sheep bleat and the ploverscry alway. Then on by the lonely bog where men came once to dig marland left a monstrous wide pit, filled with black water and with nobottom. I paused for a second to let Maisie drink from a burn whichcomes down from the Mount Hill. Soon we were at the turning where theroad to Biggar and the West goes off from the highway. Here I stoppedto listen for a moment. Far off and faint I heard the noise of mypursuers, and judged they were near a mile distant. Then off again; andnow the road inclines downward, and as one rises over the crest of brae,which the shepherds call the Ruchill End, there bursts on the sight allthe vast circle of hills, crowded and piled together, which marks thecourse of Tweed. Down the little glen of Broughton I rode, while theburn made music by the highway, and it was hard to think that deathawaited a little behind. Soon the moors sank into fields, trees andcottages appeared, a great stone mill rose by the water, and I clatteredinto the village of Broughton.
The place was asleep, and, as I drew up at the inn, but one light wasapparent. I hammered rudely at the door till the landlord came, sleepyand yawning, and bearing a candle in his hand. At the sight of me hestarted, for my danger was known over all Tweeddale. In a few words Itold him of my pursuit and my request. He was a man of sparing speech,and, saying nothing, he led me to the barn and showed me a hole in agreat bank of straw. Maisie he took to the stable. "Ha'e nae fear," hesaid. "Trust me, I'll settle the hash o' thae gentry."
Sure enough, I had not been two minutes in the place when I heard voicesand the sound of horses, and creeping to the narrow, unglazed window,saw the dragoons draw up at the inn-door. Much shouting brought downthe landlord, who made a great show of weariness, and looked like onejust aroused from sleep.
"Heard you or saw you any man pass on horseback about five minutessyne?" they asked.
"I daresay I did," said he. "At ony rate, I heard the sound o' a horse,and it's verra likely it was on the Moffat road. There's a hantle o'folk pass by here at a' 'oors."
"Ye're sure he didna come in here?" they said again. "We'll search thehouse to see."
"Weel," said the landlord, "ye can dae as ye like, but it seems a geyfule's errand. I tell ye it's lang past midnight, and we've a' beenasleep here, and naebody could hae gotten in unless I had opened thedoor, for I hae a' the keys. But come and look, gentlemen, and I'llfetch ye some yill."
They drank the ale, and then seemed to think better of their purpose,for they remounted. "He'll be aff to the hills at the heid o' Tweed,"they said. "He would never, gin he had ony sense, gang doun Tweeddale,where there's nae hiding for man or beast." So with many wanton oathsthey set off again at a lazy gallop.
