The Eagle Cliff, R. M. Ballantyne [best fiction books to read .txt] 📗

a specimen of a tall athletic Highlander as one could wish to see, replied that that was true.

“Nae doot,” he said, “I hev put Mr Jackman in the best place of all, for, whativer way the deer come, they’ll hev to pass close, either above or below him—an’ that’s maybe as weel for him wi’ his queer new-fashioned rifle; but at the heed o’ the pass is the next best place. The only thing is that ye’ll hev to tak’ sure aim, for there’s more room for them to stray, an’ ye may chance to git only a lang shot.”

“Well, then, it is not the place for me, for I am a poor shot,” said Barret; “besides, I have a fancy to stay here, where I am. You say it is a very good spot, Ivor, I understand?”

“Weel, it’s no’ that bad as a spote,” answered the keeper, with a grim smile, for he had not much opinion of Barret’s spirit as a sportsman; “but it’s ackward as the lawnd lies.”

“Never mind. I’ll stay here, and you know, laird, that I have some pleasant associations with it in connection with your niece.”

“That is more than Milly has,” returned the old gentleman, laughing. “However, have your way. Now, gentlemen, we must place ourselves quickly, for the beaters will soon be entering the wood. I will take you, Mr Mabberly, to a spot beyond the pass where you will be pretty sure of a shot. And MacRummle—where shall we place him?”

“He can do nothing wi’ the gun at a’, sir,” muttered the keeper, in a low voice, so that he might not be overheard. “I wad putt him doon at the white rock. He’ll git a lang shot at them there. Of course he’ll miss, but that’ll do weel enough for him—for he’s easy pleased; ony way, if he tak’s shootin’ as he tak’s fishin’, a mere sight o’ the deer, like the rise o’ a salmon, ’ll send him home happy.”

“Very well, Ivor, arrange as you think best. And how about Captain McPherson and McGregor?”

“I’ll tak’ care o’ them mysel’, sir.”

“Ye need na’ fash yer heed aboot us, laird,” said the skipper. “Bein’ more used to the sea than the mountains, we will be content to look on. Iss that not so, Shames?”

“That iss so—what-ë-ver,” returned the seaman.

“Well, come along then; the beaters must be at work now. How many did you get, Ivor?”

“I’m not exactly sure, sir,” returned the keeper; “there’s Ian Anderson an’ Tonal’ from Cove, an’ Mister Archie an’ Eddie, an’ Roderick—that’s five. Oo, ay, I forgot, there’s that queer English loon, Robin Tips—he’s no’ o’ much use, but he can mak’ a noise—besides three o’ Mr Grant’s men.”

“That’s plenty—now then—”

“Please, father,” said Junkie, who had listened with open eyes and mouth, as well as ears, for this was his first deer-stalk, “may I stop with Mr Barret?”

“Certainly, my boy, if Mr Barret does not object.”

Of course Mr Barret did not object, though he was rather surprised at this mark of preference.

“I say, me boy,” whispered Pat Quin, “ask av I may stop wid ye.”

Junkie looked at the Irishman doubtfully for a moment, then said—

“Father, Quin says he wants to stop with me.”

“You mayn’t do that, Quin,” returned the laird with a smile; “but you may go and stay with your master. I heard him say that he would like you to be with him to keep you out of mischief.”

“Thankee, sor. I was used to attend on ’im in the jungles to carry his spare guns, for it’s ellyphints, no less, that we was used to bag out there; but I make no question he can amuse himsilf wid deer an’ things like that where there’s nothin’ better. He was always aisy to plaze, like Mr MacRummle.”

“Just so, Quin; and as MacRummle knows the hill, and has to pass the place where Mr Jackman has been left, you had better follow him.”

This arranged, the different parties took up their positions to await the result of the beating of a strip of dwarf forest, several miles in extent, which clothed part of the mountain slopes below the Eagle Cliff.

On reaching the spot where Jackman was stationed, old MacRummle explained to him the various arrangements that had just been made for the comfort of all.

“I am sorry they gave me the best place,” said Jackman. “I suppose it is because the laird thinks my experience in India entitles me to it; but I would much rather that Mabberly or Barret had got the chance, for I’m used to this sort of thing, and, after bagging elephants, I can afford to lay on my oars and see my friends go in and win.”

“An’ sure, aren’t thim the very words I said, sor?” put in Quin.

“Have they given you a good place?” asked Jackman of MacRummle, taking no notice of his man’s remarks.

“They’ve given me the worst,” said the old man, simply; “and I cannot blame them, for, as the keeper truly remarked, I can do nothing with the gun,”—still less with the rifle, he might have added! “At the same time, I confess it would have added somewhat to the zest of the day if Ivor had allowed me some degree of hope. He thought I didn’t overhear him, but I did; for they give me credit for greater deafness than I deserve.”

There was something so pitiful, yet half amusing, in the way in which this was said, that Jackman suddenly grasped the old gentleman’s hand.

“Mr MacRummle,” he said firmly, “will you do me a favour?”

“Certainly, with pleasure—if I can.”

“You can—and you shall. It is this: change places and rifles with me.”

“My dear, kind sir, you don’t know what you ask. My rifle is an old double-barrel muzzle loader, and at the white rock you wouldn’t have the ghost of a chance. I know the place well, having often passed it in fishing excursions up the burns. Besides, I never used a repeating rifle in my life. I couldn’t manage it, even if I were to try.”

“Mr MacRummle, are you not a Highlander?”

“I believe I am!” replied the old man, drawing himself up with a smile.

“And is not that equivalent to saying that you are a man of your word?”

“Well—I suppose it is so—at least it should be so.”

“But you will prove that it is not so, if you fail to do me a favour that lies in your power, after promising to do it. Come now, we have no time to lose. I will show you how to use the repeater. See; it is empty just now. All you have to do is to take aim as you would with any ordinary rifle, and pull the trigger. When the shot is off, you load again by simply doing this to the trigger-guard—so. D’you understand?”

“Yes, perfectly; but is that all? no putting in of cartridges anywhere?”

“No, nothing more. Simply do that (open—and the cartridge flies out), and that (shut—and you are loaded and ready to fire)! Now, try it. That’s it! Capital! Couldn’t be better. Why, you were born to be a sportsman!”

“Yes, with fish,” remarked the gratified old man, as he went through the motions of loading and firing to perfection.

“Now, then, I will load it thus. Watch me.”

As he spoke, he filled the chamber under the barrel with cartridge after cartridge to the amazement of MacRummle and the amusement of Quin, who looked on.

“How many shots will it fire without reloading?” asked the old man at length.

“Sixteen,” replied Jackman.

“What! sixteen? But—but how will I ever know how many I’ve let off?”

“You don’t require to know. Just blaze away till it refuses to fire! Now, I must be off. Where is this white rock that I have to go to?”

“There it is—look. A good bit down the hill, on the open ground near the forest. If you have good eyes, you can see it from here. Look, just behind the ridge. D’you see?”

“I see. Great luck to you. Do good work, and teach that rascal Ivor to respect your powers with the rifle. Come along, Quin.”

“But really, my young friend, it is too good, too self-denying of you to—”

He stopped, for Jackman and Quin were already striding down the mountain on their way to the white rock.

MacRummle had been somewhat excited by the enthusiasm of his young friend and the novelty of his situation. To say truth, he would much rather have been pottering along the banks of one of his loved Highland streams, rod in hand, than crouching in the best pass of the Eagle Cliff in expectation of red-deer; but being an amiable and sympathetic man, he had been fired by the enthusiasm of the household that morning, and, seeing that all were going to the drive, including the laird, he made up his mind to brace himself up to the effort, and float with the current. His enthusiasm had not cooled when he reached the Eagle Cliff, and Jackman’s kindness, coupled with hope and the repeating rifle, increased it even to white heat. In which condition he sat down on a rock, removed his hat, and wiped his bald, perspiring head, while a benignant smile illuminated his glowing features.

About the same time, Barret and Junkie having selected a convenient mass of rock as their outlook, so that they could command the pass for some distance in both directions without exposing themselves to view, rested the rifle against the cliff and began to talk. Soon the young man discovered that the little boy, like many other mischievous boys, was of an exceedingly inquiring disposition. Among other things, he not only began an intelligent inquiry about the locks of a rifle, but a practical inquiry with his fingers, which called for remonstrance.

“Do you know, Junkie, that this is the very spot where your Cousin Milly fell?” said Barret, by way of directing the urchin’s thoughts into a safer channel.

“Is it? Oh, dear, what a thump she must have come down!”

“Yes, indeed, a dreadful thump—poor thing. She was trying to get flowers at the time. Do you know that she is exceedingly fond of flowers?”

“Oh, don’t I? She’s got books full of them—all pasted in with names printed under them. I often wonder what she sees in flowers to be so fond of them. I don’t care a button for them myself, unless they smell nice. But I often scramble after them for her.”

“There is a good deal to like in flowers besides the smell,” said Barret, assuming an instructive tone, which Junkie resented on the spot.

“Oh, yes, I don’t want to know; you needn’t try to teach me,” he said, firmly.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t think of teaching you, my boy. You know I’m not a schoolmaster. I’m not clever enough for that, and when I was your age, I hated to be taught. But I could show you some things about flowers and plants that would astonish you. Only it would not be safe to do it just now, for the deer might come up and—”

“No they won’t,” interrupted the boy; “it’s a monstrous big wood they’ve got to pass through before they can come here, so we have time to look at some of the ’stonishin’ things.”

“Well, then, come. We will just go a little way up the cliff.”

Leading Junkie away among the masses of fallen rock, which strewed that ledge of the cliff, the wily youth began to examine plants and flowers minutely, and to gradually arouse in the boy’s mind an interest in such parts of botanical science as he was capable of understanding.

Meanwhile the small army of beaters had extended themselves across the distant end of the forest, which, being some miles off, and on the other side of a great shoulder of the mountain, was not only out of sight, but out of hearing of the stalkers who watched the passes of the Eagle Cliff.

All the beaters, or drivers, were well acquainted with the work they had to do, with the exception