The Eagle Cliff, Robert Michael Ballantyne [top 10 books to read TXT] 📗

fell back to its native element with a considerable splash.

"A two-pounder!" gasped Donald, unable to restrain his excitable spirit, as he half rose.

Junkie had him by the throat in a moment, and crammed his ragged head down among the heather.

"Tonal'!" he whispered remonstratively.

"I forgot," whispered Donald, when the strong little hands relaxed. "I'll not do't again."

"Ye better no'," returned Junkie, with a shake of his fist that required no explanation.

By this time the fish had darted like a lightning flash twice up stream, once down, three times across, and twice into the air. At the same time the fisher had hurried up and down the bank, had tripped over two stumps and a root, had dropped his wideawake, and had very nearly gone head foremost into the pool; for his tackle was fine and his fish large. The fisher-boy gasped.

"Tonal'," said Junkie, in very low tones, "if ye don't behave better, I'll send ye away."

"It iss not easy, but I'll try," said he.

Donald could say no more. The best of men or boys could do no more than try. We may as well say here at once, however, that his efforts at self-control were crowned with success. He proved himself to be a great man in embryo by ruling his own spirit that day.

In a few minutes the trout was landed by means of a miniature gaff, which the fisher carried in his basket, for the purpose of securing fish that were too heavy to be pulled out by the line. It was afterwards found to be a two-and-a-half pounder, which, being an unusually good fish for that stream, was the occasion of much rejoicing on the part of the old gentleman, as he stood wiping his forehead and commenting on it.

"Capital! Not had such a fellow as that for more than a week. There's more where that came from; but you must give the pool a rest, Dick. Try the run higher up."

In obedience to his own orders, MacRummle went up to a part of the stream where a high cliff on one side and a steepish bank on the other caused it to flow in a deep channel, not much more than a couple of yards wide. At the head of the run was a ledge where fish were invariably captured. Towards this spot the old man hurried eagerly.

The two boys lay still in the heather, allowed him to pass, and then softly followed, bending low, and keeping as much as possible behind bushes and in hollows, until they were again close upon him. Ensconcing themselves in a convenient mass of heather, they raised their heads and saw the fisher stepping carefully from rock to rock, as he approached the run.

Rounded boulders, large or small, are never safe to walk on, even for the young and active. MacRummle found it so. His foot slipped, and he sat down, with undignified haste, in a small pool of water.

Down went the boys' heads, that they might explode their laughter as softly as possible among the roots of the heather.

"Wass it not funny?" whispered Donald.

"I hope he's not hurt," replied Junkie, raising his head cautiously.

He saw that MacRummle had risen, and, with a rueful expression of face, was making insane and futile efforts to look at himself behind. A beaming smile overspread the boy's face as he glanced at his companion, for he knew well that the old gentleman cared little or nothing for water. And this was obviously the case, for, after squeezing as much water out of his nether garments as chose to come, he proceeded to the head of the runs and resumed fishing.

"I'm beginnin' to see through't," murmured Junkie, after watching for some time. "See! he has hooked another. Ye see, Tonal', it must be lettin' the hook drift away down under the ledges that does it. Look! He's got 'im!"

"I'm thinking ye are right, Junkie. An' the creat thing to know iss where the ledges lie. He keeps well back from the watter also. There maun be somethin' in that, what-e-ver. Ye wull be tryin' it yoursel' the morn, maype."

To this Junkie vouchsafed no reply, for the fisher, having secured his fish, was proceeding further up stream. When he was sufficiently far in advance, the boys rose to their feet, and again followed him.

Thus the trio occupied themselves all the forenoon--MacRummle gradually filling his basket with fine sea-trout, Junkie storing his inquisitive mind with piscatorial knowledge and "dodges," and Donald enjoying himself in the mere act of wallowing about in heather and sunshine.

About noon MacRummle suddenly ceased to gaze intently on the water, and placed his hand upon his waistcoat.

"Time, Dick?" he murmured, pulling out his watch. "I knew it. Commend me to nature. It's the best time-keeper, after all--needs no regulating."

He was wrong, as was frequently the case, but it mattered little, for there was no one to contradict him.

"Let me see," he muttered, taking off his basket, and drawing a newspaper parcel from the pocket of his coat--in which operation he was induced by memory to make a last futile attempt to see himself behind--"what have they put up for me?"

The parcel, when opened, disclosed a tempting pile of meat sandwiches. The old gentleman spread them out on a flattish boulder, which served as an admirable table.

Having leaned his rod against a tree, he emptied the basket on a grassy spot, and arranged the silver bars in a row. Then he sat down on his basket beside the table, and gave himself up to food and contemplation.

"A goodly row," he muttered, as well as the ham sandwich would let him. "Not a bad beginning; and such a splendid dish. There's comfort in that, for I hate useless work of any kind. A sort of an illustration, this, of the fitness of things!"

Apparently the peculiar unfitness of simultaneous mastication and speech struck him, for he paused a few moments, then continued,--"Yes, fitness. Supplies for the table absolutely needed. Healthy exercise a consequence. Result, felicity!"

The supplies checking speech again, MacRummle looked around him, with benignant good-will to man and beast expressed on his countenance.

Craning their necks over a bank, and seeing the old gentleman thus pleasantly engaged, the two boys sank into the heather, and disappeared from view as completely as did "Clan Alpine's warriors true," after they had been shown to Fitz James by Roderick Dhu. Like two sparrows in a purple nest they proceeded to enjoy themselves.

"Now, Tonal', we will grub," said Junkie. "Why, what's the matter with you?" he asked, on observing a sudden fall in his companion's countenance.

"The matter?" repeated the boy. "It iss the crub that's the matter, for I hev not a crumb with me."

"Now, isn't that awful?" said Junkie, with a hypocritically woeful look. "We will just have to starve. But there's plenty of water," he added, in a consoling tone. "Here, Tonal', take this leather cup an' fill it. Ye can git down to the river by the back o' the bluff without bein' noticed. See that ye make no noise, now. Mind what I said to ye."

While Donald went at a slow, sad pace to fetch water, Junkie spread his handkerchief on the ground, and on this tablecloth laid out the following articles, which he took from a small bag that he had carried, slung on his shoulder,--a very large piece of loaf bread, a thick slice of cheese, two hard biscuits, an apple, a bit of liquorice, a mass of home-made toffee, inseparably attached to a dirty bit of newspaper, three peppermint lozenges, and a gully knife with a broken blade.

When Donald returned and beheld this feast, he opened his eyes wide. Then, opening his mouth, he was on the point of giving vent to a cheer, when Junkie stopped him with a glance and an ominous shake of the fist.

It is to this day an undecided question which of those feasters enjoyed himself most.

"I always bring with me more than I can eat, Tonal', so you're welcome to the half. `Fair play,' as daddy says, although he sometimes keeps the fairest play to himself;" with which dutiful remark the urchin proceeded to divide the viands very justly.

It did not take long to consume the whole. But MacRummle was quicker even than they, possibly because he had enticing work still before him. The consequence was, that he had resumed his rod unnoticed by the boys, and in the process of his amusement, had reached that part of the bank on the top of which they lay concealed. Their devotion to lunch had prevented his approach being perceived, and the first intimation they had of his near presence was the clatter of pebbles as he made a false step, and the swish of his flies above their heads as he made a cast.

The boys gazed at each other for one moment in silence, then hastily stuffed the remnant of their feast into their pockets.

Suddenly the glengarry bonnet of Junkie leaped mysteriously off his head, and dropped on the heather behind him.

"Hanked again!" growled MacRummle from the river-bed below.

Every fisher knows the difficulty of casting a long line with a steep bank behind him. Once already the old gentleman had hanked on the bank a little lower down, but so slightly that a twitch brought the flies away. Now, however, the hank was too complicated to give way to a twitch, for the glengarry held hard on to the heather. In desperate haste, Junkie, bending low, tried to extract the hook. It need scarcely be said that a hook refuses to be extracted in haste. Before he could free it, the voice of MacRummle was heard in sighs and gasps of mild exasperation as he scrambled up the bank to disentangle his line. There was no time for consideration. Junkie dropped his cap, and, rolling behind a mass of rock, squeezed himself into a crevice which was pretty well covered with pendent bracken. Donald vanished in a somewhat similar fashion, and both, remaining perfectly still, listened with palpitating hearts to MacRummle's approach.

"Well, well!" exclaimed the fisher in surprise; "it's not every day I hook a fish like this. A glengarry! And Junkie's glengarry! The small rascal! Crumbs, too! ha! that accounts for it. He must have been having his lunch here yesterday, and was so taken up with victuals that he forgot his cap when he went away. Foolish boy! It is like his carelessness; but he's not a bad little fellow, for all that."

He chuckled audibly at this point. Junkie did the same inaudibly as he watched his old friend carefully disengage the hook; but the expression of his face changed a little when he saw his cap consigned to the fisher's pocket, as he turned and descended to the stream. Having given the fisher sufficient time to get away from the spot, Junkie emerged from his hiding-place.

"Tonal'," he said, in a low voice, looking round, "ye may come oot noo, man. He's safe away."

The ragged head, in a broad grin, emerged from a clump of bracken.

"It wass awful