The Dark Mile (Historical Novel). D. K. Broster

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СКАЧАТЬ down and herded together in this comparatively level stretch not far from the loch, lowed uneasily, pushed at each other with their spreading horns, or looked about from under their tawny fringes in mild perplexity. Hours of the hardest and hottest work had gone to their collecting, not because they were so numerous, but because they were so scattered in their grazing.

      “There still want three,” said Ewen, glancing at the list in his hand. He and Ian stood on the edge of the herd, with never a glance behind them, where on a little knoll Glenshian sat with a gillie at his back. The only person who occasionally turned his eyes that way was eight year old Donald, who, heated from his assistance in the chase, now stood by his father’s side and perpetually counted the cattle, reaching a different total every time.

      “Those will be the three,” said Ewen, “which gave Duncan the slip up there. But he sent a couple of men after them.”

      “And there they come, I fancy,” observed Ian, pointing to a small group of cattle and two men who were making their way slowly round the end of the loch. “But your list is incorrect, Ewen, or else the beasts have been miscounted, for there are five steers there instead of three.” He said this in all innocence, suddenly realised the possible significance of what he had seen, and ejaculated under his breath, “It’s not possible!”

      As for the laird of Ardroy beside him, he might have become one of the pines by the loch, he was so still. Nearer and nearer came the five steers, in a leisurely, lurching fashion, and the sunset glowed upon their lion-coloured pelts and touched their enormous horns with light. They were all of the same breed, indistinguishable save to the eyes of a herdsman. “They must all be Ewen’s!” thought Ian. “Someone has miscounted.”

      Ardroy roused himself and beckoned.

      “What is the meaning of this, Duncan?” he asked hoarsely. “Why have I two more beasts than the tally shows?”

      Duncan looked at his master with eyes at once shrewd and visionary. “Witchcraft, Mac ’ic Ailein,” he replied. “Four days ago you had them not. Yet they may have strayed into the herd.”

      “They have been stolen!” said Ardroy in a fierce, ashamed voice. “They could never have strayed so far from Mac ’ic Fhionnlaigh’s land. Stolen by one of my men—in effect, then, stolen by me! And I so certain——”

      “Father,” broke in Donald’s little voice by his side, “here is the gentleman coming down to speak to you.”

      And Ewen Cameron turned to meet the bitter chagrin and humiliation he saw falling upon him. Glenshian, descending leisurely from his mound, walked towards him through the rustling heather-stems, his hair glowing like fire beneath the red canopy spread above them all.

      “It was well I had patience until the end,” he observed with a very disagreeable smile. “Yet, as I said, truth will out. Here come two of my best steers, Ardroy—well hidden away they were, no doubt.”

      “Prove your ownership!” said Ewen, short and sharp.

      “Seumas!” called the Chief over his shoulder. The gillie went forward, seized one of the beasts by a horn, tugged it nearer, pushed it sideways, and, lifting the shaggy hair on one flank, disclosed a large “G” roughly branded there. In the same dead silence he repeated the performance with another. A long breath went up from the assemblage of hot and weary men, and Glenshian’s gillies began to talk excitedly together. Ardroy’s were silent. And the colour on their master’s face was not from the sunset.

      “You’ll allow my men, I suppose, to take my stolen property home?” queried Fionnlagh Ruadh. “And, since you were so insistent that you knew all about your people’s doings, Ardroy, I must conclude that this petty theft—one can hardly dignify it with the name of a creach—had your connivance.”

      This he said so that all could hear; stepping closer, he added in a lower tone, “Your own glove will be the better of a wash in the gutter now!”

      He swung on his heel, went to his horse, which a gillie brought forward from the mound, gave an order, and mounted. With sulky, puzzled faces the Camerons watched the two alien steers being separated from the rest and driven off after him. Ian and little Donald saw Ewen himself, as if stung by a gadfly, go striding away from all of them, under that yet tremendous sunset which might have been painted for the setting of some great tragedy rather than of this ignominious little exposure.

      Ian took his small relative’s hand. “Come home, Donald; we’ll not wait for your father.”

      And Donald, knitting his brows, came obediently. He asked questions, of course, which young Invernacree did his best to answer, in spite of his own bewilderment. What an odious and inexplicable scene! . . . Poor Ewen!

      “Cousin Ian, Cousin Ian, our house is on fire!”

      For they were now come in sight of the House of Ardroy, and its western windows did flame and glitter as if a conflagration raged within.

      “ ’Tis only the reflection of the sunset, laochain,” answered the young man. (“Or else the house is angry, like its owner, at the affront put upon him.”) But he did not pass on this fancy to the astonished and excited little boy at his side.

      § 3

      The burnt out sunset was only a memory, for even the tall candles were dwindled down nearly to their sockets that night ere Ian put to his cousin the question which had been secretly tearing at him all evening. For up till now they had spoken of nothing but the problem of the stolen cattle.

      “Ewen, is it true about Finlay MacPhair—that he has Doctor Cameron’s blood at his door?”

      Ewen’s eyes met his. The angry mortification still alight in their blue depths gave way to another emotion.

      “It is quite true. I will tell you how I know it. First of all, it was common talk among the Jacobites in London that Archie would never be brought to trial because the English Government would have had to produce evidence whose source they did not wish to reveal—in other words they had some valuable spy whose usefulness they did not intend to curtail by disclosing his identity. Next, with my own eyes I saw Finlay MacPhair coming secretly one night out of the house of Mr. Henry Pelham, my Lord Newcastle’s brother—he who died last year. When I charged Glenshian with this, in Hector’s presence, he denied it absolutely, and told us some fairy tale about a ‘double.’ Upon that we discovered in his lodging the very letter whose loss had caused some most damaging reflections on Hector’s honour—the cipher letter which he had written to Cluny Macpherson and which was stolen from him in the Highlands the previous autumn, when Archie came over, by some man who was either an agent of the Government’s or of Glenshian’s himself.”

      “That, I suppose,” commented Ian, “was the letter which Glenshian pretended this afternoon contained intelligence really meant for the Government, because it was not openly directed to Cluny?”

      “Yes. You see how he twisted that unlucky business, cunning as he is, in order to carry the war into the enemy’s country. I need not tell you that you might as well suspect me of purposely giving information as Hector Grant.—To resume, on finding this letter of his in Finlay’s possession Hector drew his sword upon him; I contrived to separate them before either had injured the other. Glenshian, who was recovering from an illness, swooned from the exertion, and Hector, going through his pockets in search of further evidence, found undeniable testimony that it was actually through his agency that he had been slandered. Finlay had taken СКАЧАТЬ