Part 28 (1/2)

Margaret glowed with enthusiasm, and the Colonel's eyes sparkled as he handed me the box for the customary pinch--a courtesy, I found by later experience, he conferred on very few. Indeed, in my new trouble, the kindness and affection of the Colonel were becoming my best stand-by.

”The great game's afoot, Oliver,” he said.

”And we'll play it to the end, sir.”

”Good lad,” said he.

”Donald, ye auld skaicher,” said Maclachlan, ”get your bairns agait. The Maclachlans are going to be last, where they should be first, at the intaking of a town, but the Prince, G.o.d bless him, will think me balm in Gilead when he sees the reinforcements I bring.”

He was in high feather, and it interested me to watch in another the tonic effect of Margaret's presence. I took no advantage of my capacity as her body-servant, but leaped into my saddle and sat the sorrel like a wooden image as he dodged about to get her horsed again and ready for the road. He was, indeed, fit to serve a queen; the Highland fas.h.i.+on marvellously well set off the clean, strong lines of his body, and the single eagle's feather in his bonnet was the right sign to be waving over him. The top-dog spirit was fast oozing out of me, and I sat there sourly dusting the skirts of my poor country-tailor-made coat.

The men were lined up on the rough moorland track, Donald at their head, and the two pipers filling their bags and fingering their chanters behind him. Maclachlan took Margaret's rein and began to lead her mare up the slope of the path, but the Colonel called to him and diverted his attention, and she stopped beside me.

”Oliver,” she said, ”you must let me have your coat for half an hour when we are settled in the town, so that I can mend it. The holes in it make me s.h.i.+ver every time I see them.”

”You are very kind, madam,” said I, still dusting away, lest she should see how my hand trembled.

”Oliver!”

She forced me to look at her now, she spoke so peremptorily, and when the blue eyes met mine they were so clear and intent that I feared she might read my secret.

”Smile!”

Smile! I was to smile, was I? And when our Kate got the news at the Hanyards, the smile would die out of her eyes for ever, for Jack, dear, splendid Jack, was the weft that had been woven into the warp of her being.

”I do not smile to order, madam,” said I.

She flicked the mare sharply and cantered up to the level, whither Maclachlan raced after her with the speed of a hound.

CHAPTER XVI

BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE

On our way into the town a thing happened which greatly shook me, being, as I was, nothing in the world but a small farmer who had never seen the wars. At a point where the rough road cut across a fold in the moorlands we saw, half a mile to our right, a herd of cattle being lashed and chivvied away to the remoter crannies among the hills by a throng of sweating hinds and fanners. Had it happened our way, thought I broodily, Joe and I would be there among the like, saving our own stock from the marauders. Donald looked at them longingly, but our haste brooked no delay, and besides, as he put it to me later, ”It's a puir town, but, after a' said, better than a wheen lousy cattle, for I've come by a fine pair o' progues for a twa-three bawbees.”

Leek was as full of Highlanders as a wasp-cake is of maggots, and still they were swarming in. Donald and the clansmen, indifferent to the crush and hubbub, clave a way for us to the market-place, where, on the Colonel's advice, they were dismissed to beat for billets. I then took charge and led my companions across to the ”Angel,” where the throng was so dense that they might have been giving the ale away.

To get the horses stabled and baited was easy enough, for few of the Highlanders rode south, although it was different going north again. Then, leading my companions into the yard, I pushed into the inn and, by good hap, lighted on the host, nearly out of his five wits with trying to understand one word of English in a score of Gaelic.

”h.e.l.lo, surry!” said I.

”Gom!” said he, ”Staffordsheer at last.”

”I've heard a lot about Leek ale,” said I. ”Draw me a mug of it!”

He brought it in a trice, and his face beamed with honest pride as he said, holding it up between my eyes and the light, ”What do you think o'

that for colour and nap? d.a.m.n my bones! None of your London rot-gut, master, but honest Staffordsheer ale. Damme, you can fairly chew the malt in it.”

”I'll bet you a guinea I've drunk better,” said I, with the aleyard at my lips.