John Buchan - John Burnet of Barns - A Romance

"Gilbert," I said, "we have both done much work to-day, so we are both about equally wearied."

"Maybe," said he.

"But your horse is fresh, and a good one, as I know; and you are a good horseman, as you say yourself. You had much to say about my poor horsemanship at supper. Will you try a race with me?"

He looked at me scornfully for a minute. "Nay, there is little honour to be got from that. You knew the ground, and your horse, for all I know, may be swifter than mine. It was not of horses I spoke, but of the riders."

"In the race which I offer you," I answered, "we will both start fair. Do you see yon rift in the hill beyond Scrape? It is the Red Syke, a long dark hole in the side of the hill. I have never ridden there, for the ground is rough and boggy, and I have never heard of a horseman there since Montrose's rising. Will you dare to ride with me to yonder place and back?"

At this my cousin's face changed a little, for he had no liking for breaking his neck on the wild hills. And now, when I look back on the proposal, it seems a mad, foolhardy one in very truth. But then we were both young and spirited, and reckless of our lives.

"Mount and ride," said he. "I'll be there and back before you are half-road, unless, indeed, I have to carry you home."

Together we went round to the stables, and I saddled a black horse of my father's, for Maisie had already travelled far that day. The Weasel, we called him, for he was long and thin in the flanks, with a small head, and a pointed muzzle. He was viciously ill-tempered, and would allow no groom to saddle him; but before I had gone to Glasgow I had mounted and ridden him bareback up and down the channel of Tweed till he was dead-beat, and I half-drowned and shaken almost to pieces. Ever since this escapade he had allowed me to do what I liked with him; and, though I did not find him as pleasant to ride as the incomparable Maisie, yet I knew his great strength and alertness. My cousin's horse was a good cavalry charger, strong, but, as I thought, somewhat too heavy in the legs for great endurance.

We mounted and rode together out among the trees to the fields which bordered on the hills. I was sore in the back when I started, but, after the first half-mile, my sprightliness returned, and I felt fit to ride over Broad Law. My cousin was in an ill mood, for the sport was not to his taste, though he felt bound in honour to justify his words.

The spur of Scrape, which we came to, was called, by the country people, the Deid Wife, for there an Irish woman, the wife of one of Montrose's camp followers, had been killed by the folk of the place after the rout at Philiphaugh. We had much ado to keep our horses from slipping back, for the loose stones which covered the face of the hill gave a feeble foothold. The Weasel took the brae like a deer, but my cousin's heavy horse laboured and panted sorely before it reached the top. Before us stretched the long upland moors, boggy, and cleft with deep ravines, with Scrape on the right, and straight in front, six miles beyond, the great broad crest of Dollar Law. Here we separated, my cousin riding forward, while I thought the road to the left would be the surer. Clear before us lay the Red Syke, an ugly gash, into which the setting sun was beginning to cast his beams.

And now I found myself in a most perilous position. The Weasel's feet were light and touchy, and he stumbled among the stones and tall heather till I had sore work to keep my seat. My cousin's horse was of a heavier make, and I could see it galloping gallantly over the broken ground. I cheered my steed with words, and patted his neck, and kept a tight hand on the rein. Sometimes we slipped among the shingle, and sometimes stumbled over rocks half-hid in brackens. Then we passed into a surer place among short, burned heather. The dry twigs gave forth a strange, creaking sound as the horse's feet trod on them, and puffs of grey dust and ashes, the sign of the burning, rose at every step. Then, beyond this, we went to a long stretch of crisp mountain grass, pleasant for both horse and rider. We splashed through little tumbling burns, and waded through pools left by the spring rains. But, of a sudden, the ground grew softer, and even the Weasel's light weight could not pass in safety. At one time, indeed, I reined him back just on the brink of a treacherous well-eye, from which neither of us would have returned. I cast a glance at my cousin, who was still ahead; his heavy charger was floundering wearily, and he lashed it as if his life were at stake. Then we passed the green bog and came to a great peat-moss, full of hags, where the shepherds had been casting peats. Here the riding was more difficult, for the holes whence the peats had come were often some five feet deep, and it was no easy matter to get a horse out of that treacherous black mud. The Weasel did gallantly, and only once did I dismount, when his hind feet were too deeply sunk to permit him to leap. Beyond me I saw my cousin, riding swiftly, for the middle of the moss, as it chanced, was the firmest and evenest place. We were now scarce a hundred yards from the ravine of the Red Syke, and, even as I looked, I saw him reach it, rest a second to give his horse breathing-space, and then turn on his homeward way.

I came to the place a minute after, and having compassion on my brave horse, I dismounted, and eased him of my weight for a little. Then I got on his back again and set off. Gilbert I saw before me, riding, as I thought, in the worst part, and with a fury that must tell sooner or later on his heavy steed. I had scarce been a moment in the saddle, when, so strange are the ways of horses, the Weasel became aware, for the first time, of the other in front. Before, it had been a toil for him, now it became a pleasure, a race, which it lay with his honour to win. He cocked up his wicked, black ears, put down his head, and I felt the long legs gathering beneath me. I cried aloud with delight, for now I knew that no horse in Tweeddale could hope to match him when the mood was on him. He flew over the hags as if he had been in a paddock; he leaped among the hard parts of the green bog, from tussock to tussock, as skilfully as if he had known nothing but mosses all his days. We came up with Gilbert at the edge of the rough ground, lashing on his horse, with his face flushed and his teeth set. We passed him like the wind, and were galloping among the rocks and brackens, while he was painfully picking his steps. A merciful providence must have watched over the Weasel's path that day, for never horse ran so recklessly. Among slippery boulders and cruel jagged rocks and treacherous shingle he ran like a hare. I grew exultant, laughed, and patted his neck. The sun was setting behind us, and we rode in a broad patch of yellow light. In a trice we were on the brow of the Deid Wife. Down we went, slipping yards at a time, now doubling along the side; sometimes I was almost over the horse's head, sometimes all but off the tail; there was never, since the two daft lairds rode down Horsehope Craig, such a madcap ride. I scarce know how I reached the foot in safety: but reach it I did, and rode merrily among the trees till I came to the green meadowlands about the house of Barns. Here I dismounted and waited for my cousin, for I did not care to have the serving-men laugh at him riding in after me.

I waited a good half-hour before he appeared. A sorry sight he presented. His breeches and jerkin had more than one rent in them; his hat was gone; and his face was flushed almost crimson with effort. His horse had bleeding knees, and its shoulders shook pitifully.

"Pardon me, Gilbert," I said in a fit of repentance; "it was a foolish thing in me to lead you such a senseless road. I might have known that your horse was too heavy for the work. It was no fault of yours that you did not come home before me. I trust that we may forget our quarrels, and live in friendship, as kinsmen should."