Part 9 (1/2)

”Generally,” corrected Artemis, loyally. ”Will you make them fall down dead?”

Fiona explained that she only wanted to catch one and talk to it.

”We never saw that done,” said Apollo. ”But we will find one, and then you can catch it.”

”It's very early for woodc.o.c.k,” said Artemis. ”There won't be any in the heather on the second of October. But there may be an early pair in the ferns.”

”The first ones always pitch in the ferns on Glenollisdal,” said Apollo.

So to Glenollisdal they went, down the sh.o.r.e road and across the little bridge and then by the shepherd's track along the top of the black cliffs, over gra.s.s and stones all rough and white with the frost. The cold morning air was like new wine, and Fiona had to shade her eyes from the low sun. Then the track left the cliffs and began to climb up a sunless valley, across little burns beautiful with fading ferns, till between two great moorland crags it reached the pa.s.s, more a watercourse now than a track; and then came the cairn at the summit of the pa.s.s, with its glorious view of sea and mountain, and down at one's very feet the deep narrow valley that was Glenollisdal, seamed from crest to foot by its deep burn, which ran half its length through faded brown heather and then out to sea through a huge bed of dying bracken, the whole bathed in the bright morning sun.

”We always come here the first day,” said Apollo. ”Oh, we are going to have fun.”

The three followed the track down to where it pa.s.sed the top of the fern bed. There was a good deal of gra.s.s there, dotted with sheep, and in one place, looking well out to sea, a curious little hard circle in the gra.s.s, where no sheep ever came.

”That is the fairy ring,” said Artemis. ”Where they dance, you know.”

”They dance on All Hallows E'en,” said Apollo. ”But no one ever sees them.”

”Because everyone's afraid to go and look,” said Artemis.

”Please, may we start?” said Apollo.

”All you have to do is to wait till we point,” said Artemis, ”and then come to us.”

And the two dogs dashed off into the great fern bed, crossing each other backwards and forwards like a pair of scissors as they quartered it.

They were not long about it. Apollo's gallop became a sort of run, a yard or two of stealthy crawl, and he stopped dead, tail stiff and throat distended, like a dog of marble, and looked round for Fiona.

Artemis was just crossing him; she whipped round in her stride as if shot and became a second marble image where she stood.

Fiona walked down to Apollo. But the ferns rustled a good deal as she made her way through, and as she reached the dog's side the c.o.c.k rose, five yards away, with a lazy careless flap as if it felt only the bother of being disturbed. For a moment she had a vivid impression of the white patches at the end of its fan of tail feathers, and then it gradually gathered speed and swept away over the side of the valley; for an instant it showed black as it crossed the sky line, and then it was gone.

Apollo turned to Fiona with unhappy eyes and licked her hand. But Artemis never moved a muscle.

”Come to me,” she said in a low whisper.

Very quietly Fiona reached her side.

”The other bird is here,” whispered Artemis, ”just under my nose.

Stoop down.”

Fiona bent down between the stalks of the bracken. The woodc.o.c.k was sitting with its back to her, a little brown bunch of feathers. Very gently she put her hand out, and even as she did so she became aware of a wise black eye looking at her, though the bird faced the other way. Her hand closed on the empty air, and the woodc.o.c.k, with a wonderful spring, was well on its way to seek its mate.

”I believe I could have put a foot on it,” said Artemis regretfully.

”But of course we are not allowed to.”

”I don't know how I came to be so foolish,” said Fiona. ”I ought to have spoken to it instead of trying to catch it. But I forgot.”

”Better luck next time,” said Apollo; ”we must try again.”