Part 29 (2/2)
mess!”
”Splas.h.!.+” echoed Archie with a grim laugh. ”She's gane a' into jaups.
She maun hae thocht she was a juck-pool. I would like to dee like a Christian when I dee, and no' shuffle oot like a scattered explosion, or a humplick o' mince.”
”Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an'
jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!”
”What the h.e.l.l are ye girnin' at?” asked Archie, turning round on him.
”Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo, although I admit she's made a h.e.l.l o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly ghost at the door o' h.e.l.l! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think she's goin' to bite you!” and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's sardonic humor.
It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole place.
Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going. Every wild bird upon the moor seemed to shout at him in accusation; every living thing seemed to scream out in terror as he approached.
He laughed a harsh laugh, like the cry of a wild beast, and the sheep scampered away in fear. The wind moaned out of the gray clouds, which lay thick upon the hidden hills, and there was an early iciness in its breath as it groaned past; A soft, slushy sound rose from the moor at every step, until it seemed that even earth protested. Eerie and sad the moor was, gray and threatening the hills. Laughing at intervals that low gurgle which sprang from fear, as some wild bird would start up at his approach, he plodded on.
He did not know where he was going. He had no particular objective. He did not know what line he would pursue. He only wanted to get away from the scene of the tragedy, and those terrible eyes staring, which seemed to follow him from behind every bush or clump of heather, till in the gray mist it seemed as if the moor were alive with them.
Eyes everywhere. Eyes that never winked or moved. Eyes that never trembled with recognition or glimmered with life. Dead eyes, cold eyes, immovable and clear--horribly clear they were--eyes that simply stared, neither showing accusation nor denunciation; but there they were at every tuft of yellow gra.s.s, behind every moss-hag, and staring like pools of clear silent death, which struck horror to his heart. He bounded sideways as a partridge on whirring wing flew away at his approach, and almost dropped dead with fright as a muirc.o.c.k, with loud protesting voice, seemed to scream: ”'way back! 'way back! 'way back!”
and then, drawing out into a low grumbling command, as it came to earth a few hundred yards away, still muttering its orders to him, as he momentarily stood to recover from his fright.
The whinny of a horse upon the hillside, the low cry of a young cow, the bleat of a sheep, all added to his feeling of dread, until the sweat streamed down his body, as he swung along the moor.
At last he came to a little village, about six miles from Lowwood, and, entering the inn, he called for a supply of whisky.
”It's kind o' cauld the day,” the landlady said in an affable way, as he stepped into the bar.
”Warm enough where I have been,” he replied bluntly. ”Gie's something to drink in whusky!”
”So it wad seem,” she said in reply, noting his beaded forehead, as he wiped it with a colored handkerchief.
”You've surely been gey hard ca'd wherever you hae been,” and there was a note of curiosity in her voice.
”I want a drink,” he broke in abruptly, ”an' it doesna matter a d.a.m.n to you whether I hae been hard ca'd or no'. You're surely h.e.l.lish keen to hae news. Dis a' your customers get the Catechism when they come in here?” he queried. ”If they do, I may as well tell you to begin with, that I came in for whusky, an' no' to staun' an examination.”
She saw at once that he resented her leisurely way and her attempt at affability, and she hastened to apologize.
”Look dam'd sharp,” he growled, as she attended to his order. ”I want whusky and plenty o' it.”
”You are in an unco' hurry,” she replied, getting nettled, as she filled a gla.s.s. ”It doesna' do to be so snottery as a' that.”
”Well, dammit, look alive. I'm dying for a drink. Bring in a bottle,” as she placed a gla.s.s before him filled with whisky, ”an' tak' the price o'
your dam'd poison aff that!” and he flung down a sovereign upon the table.
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