John Buchan - The Collected Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

“Well, it’s a pity ye didn’t get him,” said Dougal, “him being what we ken him to be… I’m for holding a council o’ war, and considerin’ the whole position. So far we haven’t done that badly. We’ve shifted our base without serious casualties. We’ve got a far better position to hold, for there’s too many ways into yon Hoose, and here there’s just one. Besides, we’ve fickled the enemy. They’ll take some time to find out where we’ve gone. But, mind you, we can’t count on their staying long shut up. Dobson’s no safe in the boiler-house, for there’s a skylight far up and he’ll see it when the light comes and maybe before. So we’d better get our plans ready. A word with ye, Mr. McCunn,” and he led Dickson aside.

“D’ye ken what these blagyirds were up to?” he whispered fiercely in Dickson’s ear. “They were goin’ to pushion the lassie. How do I ken, says you? Because Thomas Yownie heard Dobson say to Lean at the scullery door, ‘Have ye got the dope?’ he says, and Lean says, ‘Aye.’ Thomas mindit the word for he had heard about it at the Picters.”

Dickson exclaimed in horror.

“What d’ye make o’ that? I’ll tell ye. They wanted to make sure of her, but they wouldn’t have thought o’ dope unless the men they expectit were due to arrive at any moment. As I see it, we’ve to face a siege not by the three but by a dozen or more, and it’ll no’ be long till it starts. Now, isn’t it a mercy we’re safe in here?”

Dickson returned to the others with a grave face.

“Where d’you think the new folk are coming from?” he asked.

Heritage answered, “From Auchenlochan, I suppose? Or perhaps down from the hills?”

“You’re wrong.” And he told of Leon’s mistaken confidences to him in the darkness. “They are coming from the sea, just like the old pirates.”

“The sea,” Heritage repeated in a dazed voice.

“Ay, the sea. Think what that means. If they had been coming by the roads, we could have kept track of them, even if they beat us, and some of these laddies could have stuck to them and followed them up till help came. It can’t be such an easy job to carry a young lady against her will along Scotch roads. But the sea’s a different matter. If they’ve got a fast boat they could be out of the Firth and away beyond the law before we could wake up a single policeman. Ay, and even if the Government took it up and warned all the ports and ships at sea, what’s to hinder them to find a hidy-hole about Ireland—or Norway? I tell you, it’s a far more desperate business than I thought, and it’ll no’ do to wait on and trust that the Chief Constable will turn up afore the mischief’s done.”

“The moral,” said Heritage, “is that there can be no surrender. We’ve got to stick it out in this old place at all costs.”

“No,” said Dickson emphatically. “The moral is that we must shift the ladies. We’ve got the chance while Dobson and his friends are locked up. Let’s get them as far away as we can from the sea. They’re far safer tramping the moors, and it’s no’ likely the new folk will dare to follow us.”

“But I cannot go.” Saskia, who had been listening intently, shook her head. “I promised to wait here till my friend came. If I leave I shall never find him.”

“If you stay you certainly never will, for you’ll be away with the ruffians. Take a sensible view, Mem. You’ll be no good to your friend or your friend to you if before night you’re rocking in a ship.”

The girl shook her head again, gently but decisively. “It was our arrangement. I cannot break it. Besides, I am sure that he will come in time, for he has never failed—”

There was a desperate finality about the quiet tones and the weary face with the shadow of a smile on it.

Then Heritage spoke. “I don’t think your plan will quite do, Dogson. Supposing we all break for the hinterland and the Danish brig finds the birds flown, that won’t end the trouble. They will get on the Princess’s trail, and the whole persecution will start again. I want to see things brought to a head here and now. If we can stick it out here long enough, we may trap the whole push and rid the world of a pretty gang of miscreants. Let them show their hand, and then, if the police are here by that time, we can jug the lot for piracy or something worse.”

“That’s all right,” said Dougal, “but we’d put up a better fight if we had the women off our mind. I’ve aye read that when a castle was going to be besieged the first thing was to get rid of the civilians.”

“Sensible to the last, Dougal,” said Dickson approvingly. “That’s just what I’m saying. I’m strong for a fight, but put the ladies in a safe bit first, for they’re our weak point.”

“Do you think that if you were fighting my enemies I would consent to be absent?” came Saskia’s reproachful question.

“‘Deed no, Mem,” said Dickson heartily. His martial spirit was with Heritage, but his prudence did not sleep, and he suddenly saw a way of placating both. “Just you listen to what I propose. What do we amount to? Mr. Heritage, six laddies, and myself—and I’m no more used to fighting than an old wife. We’ve seven desperate villains against us, and afore night they may be seventy. We’ve a fine old castle here, but for defence we want more than stone walls—we want a garrison. I tell you we must get help somewhere. Ay, but how, says you? Well, coming here I noticed a gentleman’s house away up ayont the railway and close to the hills. The laird’s maybe not at home, but there will be men there of some kind—gamekeepers and woodmen and such like. My plan is to go there at once and ask for help. Now, it’s useless me going alone, for nobody would listen to me. They’d tell me to go back to the shop or they’d think me demented. But with you, Mem, it would be a different matter. They wouldn’t disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me, and to come at once, for God knows how soon our need will be sore. We’ll leave your cousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed’s the place for her, and then you and me will be off on our business.”

The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. “It’s the only way,” he said. “Get every man jack you can raise, and if it’s humanly possible get a gun or two. I believe there’s time enough, for I don’t see the brig arriving in broad daylight.”

“D’you not?” Dickson asked rudely. “Have you considered what day this is? It’s the Sabbath, the best of days for an ill deed. There’s no kirk hereaways, and everybody in the parish will be sitting indoors by the fire.” He looked at his watch. “In half an hour it’ll be light. Haste you, Mem, and get ready. Dougal, what’s the weather?”

The Chieftain swung open the door, and sniffed the air. The wind had fallen for the time being, and the surge of the tides below the rocks rose like the clamour of a mob. With the lull, mist and a thin drizzle had cloaked the world again.

To Dickson’s surprise Dougal seemed to be in good spirits. He began to sing to a hymn tune a strange ditty.

“Class-conscious we are, and class-conscious wull be

Till our fit’s on the neck o’ the Boorjoyzee.”

“What on earth are you singing?” Dickson inquired.

Dougal grinned. “Wee Jaikie went to a Socialist Sunday School last winter because he heard they were for fechtin’ battles. Ay, and they telled him he was to join a thing called an International, and Jaikie thought it was a fitba’ club. But when he fund out there was no magic lantern or swaree at Christmas he gie’d it the chuck. They learned him a heap o’ queer songs. That’s one.”

“What does the last word mean?”

“I don’t ken. Jaikie thought it was some kind of a draigon.”