The Bushranger's Secret Part 7

There was a small cottage in these parts kept by M'Pherson, an old stock-keeper of Mr. Macquoid's. Gray had hoped to leave it far behind him in this day's journey, but he was only too glad to see it when he had at last regained the track just after sunset. He and his horse were both tired out.

The old man came to his cottage door as Gray clattered up the hilly path. He looked at Gray, and then beyond him.

"Ye're kindly welcome, lad. But hasna your mate come up wi' ye?"

Gray looked involuntarily behind him. The path stretched away lonely and desolate in the gathering darkness.

"What do you mean?" he asked; turning a pale face on M'Pherson. "I am quite alone."

"Weel, weel; there was a callant here no' sae lang syne, speering after ye. Aye, 'twas you he meant. A weel set-up, black-haired chap, he said, riding a roan horse wi' a white blaze in front."

Gray got off his horse and stood with his hand upon the bridle.

"I know no one about here. You must be mistaken," he said. But he said it falteringly, and a cold sweat broke out upon his brow. The idea had flashed upon him that it might be Harding who was tracking his footsteps.

"What was he like?" he asked, as carelessly as he could.

"A soft-spoken callant wi' reddish hair--a puir thin sort o' body wi' a ferrety face. Sae ye didna luke for him? Weel, weel, maybe it's no a maitter for greeting that ye havena come across him. I wadna hae gi'en muckle for his honesty. But ye wull be wanting a meal, lad, and your bonnie horse too. Yon's the stable. A gude man is gude to his beastie, and ye'll no be wanting me to a.s.sist."

He bustled into the house without waiting for Gray to speak. He would have waited long, for Gray was too startled to speak. He began to think it must be Lumley who was following him. He slowly led his horse to the stable and made it comfortable, and then went back to the house.

He stopped at the door to look back into the dusk.

The house was built in a green hollow carved out of the side of a steep hill. The ground rose steeply behind the place, rising up into a jagged ridge against the sky. In front there was a small flat meadow immediately before the house; then the ground fell almost precipitously and then rose again, with only a narrow ravine between. The opposite hills were higher than the hill under which the cottage was built, and frowned above it in heavy overhanging ma.s.ses of rock. As Gray looked up he could only distinguish the vague dark outlines of the gloomy hills. A thousand men might have been hidden in the hollows and he would have been none the wiser. He listened intently, but there was no sound of human life. The wind had fallen, and the rush of the stream at the bottom of the ravine was the only sound that struck his ear.

M'Pherson had a comfortable meal prepared for him, late as it was. But Gray could not eat. He was too excited and uneasy. He tried to get a clear description of the man who had asked for him, but M'Pherson could tell him little more. The man had come to the door about four in the afternoon. He explained that he was expecting to come up with a friend along that road, and wanted to know how far he was ahead.

"He seemed verra oneasy when I told him I'd set eyes on naebody the day lang. I tauld him ye must hae gone the ither road."

"I missed my way."

"Aye, 'twas that made ye sae late. And sae ye arena acquent wi' the man? 'Tis verra strange."

Yes, it was very strange. The more Gray thought of it the more alarming it seemed. And then quite suddenly an explanation came to him, which, while it did not remove the annoyance of the occurrence, robbed it of all its more alarming elements. The explanation was this:--

Lumley had evidently conceived an absurd dog-like affection for him.

The fellow had not taken his refusal to have him as a servant as a final one, and was following him in the hope that he might still be taken on. He had not dared to come face to face with Gray. Perhaps when he had entered the room at Mr. Stuart's (for Gray was now convinced that it was Lumley he saw) he intended to make one more appeal, but Gray's sudden wakening had startled him too much.

Gray's face cleared as he forced himself to accept this explanation as the true one. He stretched himself with the air of one who throws off a burden.

"I'll turn in," he said, yawning as he spoke. "But I'll have another look at my horse first."

"Aye, do, my lad. But ye needna feel oneasy aboot your horse. Sandy here"--and he looked down at the old sheep-dog at his knee--"wull hear ony step that comes near the house, be it e'er sae saft."

Gray shuddered as his glance fell on the dog. He was looking up at his master just as Watch used to look at Harding.

"Ye arena that fond o' dogs," said the old man quickly. He had noticed Gray's look. "But Sandy's nae common dog. I could tell you mony a tale o' his cleverness."

He patted the dog's head and looked across at Gray, who had resumed his seat and was staring fixedly into the fire. He had turned deadly pale.

M'Pherson's shrewd kindly eyes dwelt on him for a moment. Gray was conscious of the look and roused himself with an effort.

"How far is it to Daintry's Corner?" he asked abruptly.

Daintry's Corner was close to Rodwell's Peak, and Gray was making that the apparent end of his journey.

"Aboot a maitter o' twal mile or sae. Ye'll win it by mid-day the morn." He paused a moment and then added: "Ye look ower pale, my lad, for sic journeying amang the hills. Ye wad do weel to tak' a bit rest; and it's lang since I've set een on a braw lad like you. A day or twa's rest wi' me wad freshen you up."

Gray hastily declined the invitation, and then, feeling he had been too abrupt, he said:

"I am sailing for England in a month, and I want to get a good idea of your hill scenery. I've lived on the plains a great deal, and this is my first opportunity."

"Eh! I ken what the plains are. I lived nigh the allotted span o'

life upon them--saxty years I lived there. I cam from Scotland a bairn o' seven, and I lived on the Macquoid estate till I cam up here."

"Whatever made you leave your home for this lonely spot?" Gray asked, glad to keep the old man talking about himself to prevent any more curious inquiries about his own doings.

"Ye wadna understand if ye werena born amang the hills, lad. The gudewife, she kent how I felt, and when the Lord took her hame the hills seemed to ca' more and more on me. It's no lonely here; there's voices everywhere. Did ye ever think, my lad, o' the way the Bible speaks of hills an' a' high places. 'The shadow o' a great rock in a weary land.' Yon's a grand pa.s.sage; but the fu' meaning naebody can understand wha hasna kent the thirst and heat o' a waterless desert.

Were ye ever lost in the Bush, lad?"

Gray stared across at him in angry bewilderment.

"Never," he said abruptly.

"Ye may be thankful; 'tis a terrible place. The skies like bra.s.s abune your head; the grund like parchment under your feet. I was a lost man amang those deserts once. Four days I wandered through dry and thirsty places. Eh, sirs, 'twas a terrible time! But the Lord brought me through; thanks be to His holy name!"

Gray did not speak. The old man's words had called up in clear vision those endless deserts of scorched sand, where the very herbage was hateful to look upon, and the blessed light became a consuming fire.

Had Harding, faint with his wounds, wandered helplessly there till he fell to rise no more?

M'Pherson got up and reached down the great Bible that lay by itself on the shelf above his head.

"'Tis time for evening wors.h.i.+p, my lad. I'll read ye a chapter."

He sat down and placed the Bible on the table, and put on his silver-rimmed spectacles. Gray leant back in his chair and folded his arms, and prepared himself to listen. The old man looked at his face, and then turned over the leaves of his Bible with a sigh.

"I'll read ye what has often been a comfort to me, my lad," he said.

But Gray's eyes had fallen on the sheepdog, and he had seen it drag itself up, with ears upraised and head pointed at the door, in the very att.i.tude of Watch that night the fugitive Dearing had been outside the hut.

"Look at the dog!" he stammered out to M'Pherson. "He hears someone outside the house."

"That's verra onlikely," said M'Pherson with a calmness that was intensely irritating to Gray.

"He isn't much use as a dog if he makes that fuss for nothing," Gray returned.

"Weel, weel, we are baith getting auld thegither."

M'Pherson rose as he spoke and went to the door to open it.

"You are not going out?" Gray cried.