Catriona

“A letter to James More?” said he.

“The same,” said I.

“Well, and I can tell ye more than that,” said Alan. “For the last night, when you were fast asleep, I heard the man colloguing with some one in the French, and then the door of that inn to be opened and shut.”

“Alan!” cried I, “you slept all night, and I am here to prove it.”

“Ay, but I would never trust Alan whether he was asleep or waking!” says he. “But the business looks bad. Let’s see the letter.”

I gave it him.

“Catriona,” said he, “you have to excuse me, my dear; but there’s nothing less than my fine bones upon the cast of it, and I’ll have to break this seal.”

“It is my wish,” said Catriona.

He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in the air.

“The stinking brock!” says he, and crammed the paper in his pocket. “Here, let’s get our things together. This place is fair death to me.” And he began to walk towards the inn.

It was Catriona that spoke the first. “He has sold you?” she asked.

“Sold me, my dear,” said Alan. “But thanks to you and Davie, I’ll can jink him yet. Just let me win upon my horse,” he added.

“Catriona must come with us,” said I. “She can have no more traffic with that man. She and I are to be married.” At which she pressed my hand to her side.

“Are ye there with it?” says Alan, looking back. “The best day’s work that ever either of you did yet! And I’m bound to say, my dawtie, ye make a real, bonny couple.”

The way that he was following brought us close in by the windmill, where I was aware of a man in seaman’s trousers, who seemed to be spying from behind it. Only, of course, we took him in the rear.

“See, Alan!”

“Wheesht!” said, he, “this is my affairs.”

The man was, no doubt, a little deafened by the clattering of the mill, and we got up close before he noticed. Then he turned, and we saw he was a big fellow with a mahogany face.

“I think, sir,” says Alan, “that you speak the English?”

“Non, monsieur,” says he, with an incredible bad accent.

“Non, monsieur,” cries Alan, mocking him. “Is that how they learn you French on the Seahorse? Ye muckle, gutsey hash, here’s a Scots boot to your English hurdies!”

And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick that laid him on his nose. Then he stood, with a savage smile, and watched him scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand-hills.

“But it’s high time I was clear of these empty bents!” said Alan; and continued his way at top speed, and we still following, to the backdoor of Bazin’s inn.

It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came face to face with James More entering by the other.

“Here!” said I to Catriona, “quick! upstairs with you and make your packets; this is no fit scene for you.”

In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst of the long room. She passed them close by to reach the stairs; and after she was some way up I saw her turn and glance at them again, though without pausing. Indeed, they were worth looking at. Alan wore as they met one of his best appearances of courtesy and friendliness, yet with something eminently warlike, so that James smelled danger off the man, as folk smell fire in a house, and stood prepared for accidents.

Time pressed. Alan’s situation in that solitary place, and his enemies about him, might have daunted Cæsar. It made no change in him; and it was in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he began the interview.

“A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond,” said he. “What’ll yon business of yours be just about?”

“Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story,” says James, “I think it will keep very well till we have eaten.”

“I’m none so sure of that,” said Alan. “It sticks in my mind it’s either now or never; for the fact is me and Mr. Balfour here have gotten a line, and we’re thinking of the road.”

I saw a little surprise in James’s eye; but he held himself stoutly.

“I have but the one word to say to cure you of that,” said he, “and that is the name of my business.”

“Say it then,” says Alan. “Hout! wha minds for Davie?”

“It is a matter that would make us both rich men,” said James.

“Do you tell me that?” cries Alan.

“I do, sir,” said James. “The plain fact is that it is Cluny’s Treasure.”

“No!” cried Alan. “Have ye got word of it?”

“I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there,” said James.

“This crowns all!” says Alan. “Well, and I’m glad I came to Dunkirk. And so this was your business, was it? Halvers, I’m thinking?”

“That is the business, sir,” said James.

“Well, well,” said Alan; and then in the same tone of childlike interest, “it has naething to do with the Seahorse, then?” he asked.

“With what?” says James.

“Or the lad that I have just kicked the bottom of behind yon windmill?” pursued Alan. “Hut, man! have done with your lees! I have Palliser’s letter here in my pouch. You’re by with it, James More. You can never show your face again with dacent folk.”

James was taken all aback with it. He stood a second, motionless and white, then swelled with the living anger.

“Do you talk to me, you bastard?” he roared out.

“Ye glee’d swine!” cried Alan, and hit him a sounding buffet on the mouth, and the next wink of time their blades clashed together.

At the first sound of the bare steel I instinctively leaped back from the collision. The next I saw, James parried a thrust so nearly that I thought him killed; and it lowed up in my mind that this was the girl’s father, and in a manner almost my own, and I drew and ran in to sever them.

“Keep back, Davie! Are ye daft! Damn ye, keep back!” roared Alan. “Your blood be on your ain heid then!”

I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked reeling against the wall; I was back again betwixt them. They took no heed of me, thrusting at each other like two furies. I can never think how I avoided being stabbed myself or stabbing one of these two Rodomonts, and the whole business turned about me like a piece of a dream; in the midst of which I heard a great cry from the stair, and Catriona sprang before her father. In the same moment the point of my sword encountered some thing yielding. It came back to me reddened. I saw the blood flow on the girl’s kerchief, and stood sick.

“Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his daughter after all!” she cried.