SIR EDWARD LEITHEN'S MYSTERIES - Complete Series. Buchan John

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СКАЧАТЬ on a difficult appeal which would come on in the autumn, when he hoped to induce the House of Lords to upset a famous judgement. He had begun to relish his competence again, even to take a modest pride in his fame; what had been dust and ashes in his mouth a few weeks ago had now an agreeable flavour. Palliser-Yeates was of the same way of thinking. Had he not declared last night that he wanted to give orders again and be addressed as “sir,” instead of being chivvied about the countryside? And Lamancha? Leithen seriously doubted if Lamancha had ever suffered from quite the same malady. The trouble with him was that he had always a large streak of bandit in his composition, and must now and then give it play. That was what made him the bigger man, perhaps. Charles might take an almighty toss some day, but if he did not he would be first at the post, for he rode more gallantly to win.

      “I suppose I may regard myself as cured,” Leithen reflected, as he munched a second breakfast of cheese-sandwiches and raisins somewhere under the north-eastern spur of Sgurr Dearg. But he reflected, too, that he had a horribly difficult day ahead of him, for which he felt a strong distaste. He realised the shrewdness of Acton Croke’s diagnosis; he was longing once more for the flesh-pots of the conventional.

      His orders had been to get somewhere on the Machray side by eight o’clock, and he saw by his watch that he was ahead of his time. Once he had turned the corner of Sgurr Dearg the wind was shut off and the mist wrapped him closer. He had acquired long ago a fast but regular pace on the hills, and, judging from the time and the known distance, he knew that he must now be very near the Machray march. Presently he had topped a ridge which was clearly a watershed, for the plentiful waters now ran west. Then he began to descend, and soon was brought up by a raging torrent which seemed to be flowing north-west. This must be the Red Burn, coming down from the gullies of Sgurr Dearg, and it was his business to cross it and work his way westward along the edge of the great trough of the Reascuill. But he must go warily, for he was very near the pass, by which, according to the map, a road could be found from Corrie Easain in the Machray forest to the Haripol Sanctuary—the road which according to Wattie Lithgow, gave the easiest access and would most assuredly be well watched. He crossed the stream, not without difficulty, and climbed another ridge, beyond which the ground fell steeply. These must be the screes on the Reascuill side, he concluded, so he bore to the right and found, as he expected, that here there was a re-entrant corrie, and that he was on the very edge of the great trough. It was for him to keep this edge, but to go circumspectly, for at any moment he might stumble upon some of Claybody’s sentries. His business was to occupy their attention, but he did not see what good he could do. The mist was distraction enough, for in it no man could see twenty yards ahead of him. But it might clear, and in that case he would have his work cut out for him. Meanwhile he must avoid a premature collision.

      He avoided it only by a hairsbreadth. Suddenly that happened which at the moment was perplexing Wattie Lithgow and Lamancha a mile off. Corridors opened in the air—dark corridors of dizzy space and black rock seamed with torrents. Leithen found himself looking into a cauldron of which only the bottom was still hid, and at the savage splinters of the Pinnacle Ridge. He was looking at something less welcome, for thirty yards off, on the edge of the scarp, was a group of five men.

      They had been boiling tea in billies in the lee of a rock and had been stirred to attention by the sudden clearing of the air. They saw him as soon as he saw them, and in a moment were on their feet and spreading out in his direction. He heard a cry, and then a babble of tongues. Leithen did the only thing possible. He strode towards them with a magisterial air. They were the real navvy, the hardiest race in the land, sleeping in drainpipes, always dirty and wet, forgetting their sodden labours now and then in sordid drink, but tough, formidable, and resourceful.

      “What the devil are you fellows doing here?” he shouted angrily.

      At first they took him for a gillie.

      “What the hell’s your business?” one of them replied, but the advance had halted. As he came nearer, they changed their minds, for Leithen had not the air of a gillie.

      “My business is to know what you’re doing here—on my land?”

      Now Machray forest was not let that season, and this Leithen knew. If any arrangement had been come to with Haripol it could only have been made between the stalkers. It was for him to play the part of the owner.

      The men looked nonplussed, for the navvy, working under heavy-handed foremen, is susceptible to the voice of authority.

      “We were sent up here to keep a look out,” one answered.

      “Look out for what? Who sent you?”

      “It was Lord Claybody—we took our orders from Mr Macnicol.”

      Leithen sat down on a stone and lit his pipe.

      “Well, you’re trespassing on Machray—my ground. I don’t know what on earth Lord Claybody means. I have heard nothing of it.”

      “There’s a man trying to poach, sir. We were telled to wait here and keep a look-out for him.”

      Leithen smiled grimly. “A pretty look-out you can keep in this weather. But that doesn’t touch the point that you’re in a place where you’ve no right to be…You poor devils must have been having a rotten time roosting up here.”

      He took out his flask.

      “Here’s something to warm you. There’s just enough for a tot apiece.”

      The flask was passed round amid murmurs of satisfaction, while Leithen smoked his pipe and surveyed the queer party. “I call it cruelty to animals,” he said, “to plant you fellows in a place like this. I hope you’re well paid for it.”

      “We’re gettin’ a pound a day, and the man that grips the poacher gets a five-pund note. The name o’ the poacher is Macnab.”

      “Well, I hope one of you will earn the fiver. Now, look here. I can’t have you moving a yard north of this. You’re on Machray ground as it is, for my march is the edge of the hill. I don’t mind you squatting here, and of course it’s no business of mine what you do on Haripol, but you don’t stir a foot into Machray. With this wind you’ll put all the beasts out of the upper corries.”

      He rose and strolled away. “I must be off. See that you mind what I’ve said. If you move, it must be into Haripol. A poacher! I never heard such rubbish. Better my job than yours, anyway. Still, I hope you get that fiver!”

      Leithen departed in an atmosphere of general good will, and as soon as possible put a ridge between himself and the navvies. It had been a narrow escape, but mercifully no harm was done. He must keep well below the skyline on the Machray side, for there would be watchers elsewhere on the Haripol ground and he was not ready as yet to play the decoy-duck. For it had occurred to him that he was still too far east for his purpose. Those navvies were watching the pass from the Red Burn, and had no concern with what might be happening in the Sanctuary. Indeed, they could not see into it because of the spur which Sgurr Dearg flung out toward the Reascuill. He must be further down the stream before he tried to interest those who might interfere with Lamancha; so he mended his pace, and, keeping well on the Machray side, made for the hill called Bheinn Fhada, which faced Sgurr Mor across the Reascuill.

      Then the mist came down again, and in driving sleet Leithen scrambled among the matted boulders and screes of Bheinn Fhada’s slopes. Here he knew he was safe enough, for he was inside the Machray march and out of any possible prospect from the Reascuill. But it was a useless labour, and the return of the thick weather began to try his temper. The good humour of the morning had gone, when it was a delight to be abroad in the wilds alone and to pit his strength against storm and distance. He was СКАЧАТЬ