Part 10 (1/2)
They waited for what seemed a week but saw nothing further of the man, and when at last they heard the report of a gun and the barking of a dog far away down the mountain, they felt safe. He was evidently looking in another direction for the intruders, and at once Alan gave the word to go back to their own side of the lake. They skirted the sh.o.r.es, keeping a sharp lookout all the while, and at length reached the landing-place. The weary members of the Clan breathed a sigh of relief as they found themselves safe on their own ground again, arid their spirits rose.
Jock told what Alan had written on the rock, and Alan was so much impressed by that achievement that he took out the blue chalk and on a rock by the tarn wrote ”Here Angus Niel, gamekeeper and poacher, shot a stag”; and on the stone where the boat had been, he put the mystic initials ”R. R. C.”
”There,” said Alan, pausing to admire his handiwork, ”that'll keep him guessing, and scared too.”
”What can we do next?”
”Take away his boat,” said Jean promptly.
”Good idea!” cried Alan.
”Where can we hide it?” asked Jock.
”I'm mortal hungry,” said Sandy. ”Couldn't we eat first?”
”No food until this job is done,” said the Chief firmly. ”We'll never have another chance when we know where the other man and Angus both are. It's now or never!”
”But where shall we hide it?” demanded Jock again.
”I'll tell you,” cried Jean, her eyes dancing with mischief. ”We can carry it to the burn and float it down to the cave!”
This was a stroke of genius, no less, and every member of the Clan looked upon Jean with respect bordering upon awe. At the point where the lake emptied into the burn there were loose rocks, about which the water rushed in a swift cataract, but, below, the current flowed more gently toward the fall. It was deep only in spots where the trout loved to hide, but it was not a stream anywhere in its course upon which one would launch a boat for pleasure. The rocks were so near the surface that the weight of even one person might ground it, but afloat and empty it might be carried clear to the rocks above the cave. The Clan considered the plan carefully, standing upon the rocky banks.
”How would we guide it?” asked Sandy doubtfully.
”There's a rope on the end of the boat,” said Jean promptly, ”and we could push it off with sticks if it got stuck.”
”Come on,” cried Alan, and the four plotters rushed bask to the lake and pulled the boat out of the water. Alan took the prow and Jock took the stern, while Sandy and Jean supported it on each side, and in this way, after many struggles, they succeeded in carrying it to a place below the rapids where they dared launch it.
”I'll hold the rope,” said Alan, ”and you, Sandy, take an oar and go down the other side of the stream, so you can push it off if it gets stuck on that side.”
”How'll I get across?” asked Sandy.
This was a poser at first, but Alan found a way.
”Get into the boat,” he said, ”and we'll push it across where there aren't any stones sticking up. You can pole it across with your oar, and I'll keep hold of the rope.”
Sandy jumped in at once, and the boat, in spite of some swirling, was finally near enough to the opposite bank so he could jump out. This he did, taking the oar with him. It was an exciting journey down stream, for the boat b.u.mped against rocks and caught on fallen trees, and it was a good hour before the children, tired out but triumphant, finally dragged it out of the water just above the falls.
”If we had our rope, we could drag it to the edge of the cliff and let it down in front of the cave,” cried Jean in another flash of inspiration, and Sandy instantly rushed down the rock, made the necessary detour, and climbed the secret stair to the cave. He then whistled, and three heads appeared over the top of the cliff.
”I'll throw up the rope and when you let the boat down, I'll steady it,” said Sandy.
”Heave away,” cried Alan, and after a few trials the rope came flying up on the cliff and was soon looped around the boat. Then the three braced their feet against the rocks and slowly lowered the boat by the rope fastened to the prow, and by their own rope, while Sandy steadied it below. They threw down the rope-end after it, and a few moments later the rapturous Clan hauled the boat into the cave! They sat in it to eat their luncheon and were so lost in admiration of their enterprise and their booty that they did not start home until the level rays of the sun warned them that it was late.
XI. ANGUS NIEL AND THE CANNY CLAN
The days that followed were days of stirring adventure to the Rob Roy Clan, and days of continuous and surprising misery to Angus Niel. Never in his history as gamekeeper of Glen Cairn had he had such experiences. The very trees in the woods seemed to be bewitched. Wherever he went he was followed by some mysterious power that seemed to know his every movement. If he killed any game, the fact was advertised and the place marked by signs in blue chalk. Not only that, but the very path of his approach to the spot was marked by pointing arrows and some such legend as ”This way to the glen where Angus Niel killed a deer” would decorate a neighboring rock. On other rocks appeared pertinent questions addressed to him. ”How much did you get for the stag?”
was one of them, and there were also queries as to where he found the best market for game. He was kept so busy searching the forest for these incriminating signs and rubbing them out, that he could not follow his regular rounds. Even this did not avail, for if he erased them on one day, it was but a matter of time before the letters appeared again as fresh and blue as ever. Nor was this all. He was haunted by a wailing voice which reached him even in the remote fastnesses of the forest. He was sure to hear it if he ventured into the neighborhood of the waterfall, and he usually avoided that region as if it harbored a pestilence.