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

amusement of Barret (before meeting Mrs Moss!), who rightly guessed the cause of all the noise.

About midday, like Barret, he prepared to comfort himself with lunch, and, unlike our unfortunate hero, he enjoyed it in comfort, sitting on a green patch or terrace, high up near the summit of the cliffs, and a full mile distant from the spot where the peculiar meeting took place.

Like a giant refreshed MacRummle rose from lunch, a good deal more like Bacchus, and much less like Nimrod. A rabbit had been watching him from the cliff above nearly all the time he was eating. It moved quietly into its burrow when he rose, though there was no occasion to do so, because, although within easy rifle shot, MacRummle did not see it. When the sportsman was past, the rabbit came out and looked after him.

Fixing his glasses firmly he advanced in that stooping posture, with the rifle at the “ready,” which is so characteristic of keen sportsmen! Next moment a rabbit stood before him—an easy shot. It sat up on its hind legs even, as if inviting its fate, and gazed as though uncertain whether the man was going to advance or not. He did not advance, but took a steady, deadly aim, and was on the point of pulling the trigger when the glasses dropped off.

MacRummle was wonderfully patient. He said nothing. He merely replaced his glasses and looked. The rabbit was gone. Several surrounding rabbits saw it go, but did not follow its example. They evidently felt themselves safe.

Proceeding cautiously onward, the sportsman again caught sight of one of the multitude that surrounded him. It was seated on the edge of its burrow, ready for retreat. Alas! for that rabbit, if MacRummle had been an average shot, armed with a shot gun. But it was ignorant, and with the characteristic presumption of ignorance, it sat still. The sportsman took a careful and long—very long—aim, and fired! The rabbit’s nose pointed to the world’s centre, its tail to the sky, and when the smoke cleared away, it also was gone.

“Fallen into its hole! Dead, I suppose,” was the remark with which the sportsman sought to comfort himself. A bullet-mark on a rock, however, two feet to the left of the hole, and about a foot too high, shook his faith a little in this view.

It was impossible, however, that a man should expend so much ammunition in a region swarming with his particular prey without experiencing something in the shape of a fluke. He did, after a time, get one shot which was effectual. A young rabbit sat on the top of a mound looking at him with an air of impudence which is sometimes associated with extreme youth. A fat old kinsman—or woman—was seated in a hollow some distance farther on. MacRummle fired at the young one, missed it, and shot the kinsman through the heart. The disappointment of the old man when he failed to find the young one, and his joy on discovering the kinsman, we leave to the reader’s imagination.

Thus he went on, occasionally securing something for the pot, continually alarming the whole rabbit fraternity, and disgusting the eagle, which watched him from a safe distance in the ambient atmosphere above.

By degrees he worked his way along till he came to the neighbourhood of the place where poor John Barret sat in meditative dejection. Although near, however, the two friends could neither see nor get at each other, being separated by an impassable gulf—the one being in a crevice, as we have said, not far from the foot of the cliff, the other hidden among the crags near the summit. Thus it came to pass that although Barret knew of MacRummle’s position by his noise, the latter was quite ignorant of the presence of the former.

“This is horrible!” muttered the youth in his crevice below.

“Now I call this charming!” exclaimed the old man on his perch above.

Such is life—viewed from different standpoints! Ay, and correctly estimated, too, according to these different standpoints; for the old man saw only the sunny surrounding of the Present, while the young one gazed into the gloomy wreck of the Future.

Being somewhat fatigued, MacRummle betook himself to a sequestered ledge among the cliffs, and sat down under a shrub to rest. It chanced to be a well concealed spot. He remained quietly there for a considerable time, discussing with himself the relative advantages of fishing and shooting. It is probable that his sudden disappearance and his prolonged absence induced the eagle to imagine that he had gone away, for that watchful bird, after several circlings on outstretched and apparently motionless wings, made a magnificent swoop downwards, and again resumed its floating action in the lower strata of its atmospheric world. There it devoted its exclusive attention to the young man, whose position was clearly exposed to its view.

As he sat there in gloomy thought, Barret chanced to raise his eyes, and observed the bird high above him—far out of gunshot.

“Fortunate creature!” he said aloud; “whatever may be the troubles of your lot, you are at least safe from exasperating rencontres with your future mother-in-law!”

We need not point out to the intelligent reader that Barret, being quite ignorant of the eagle’s domestic relations, indulged in mere assumptions in the bitterness of his soul.

He raised his fowling-piece as he spoke, and took a long, deliberate aim at the bird.

“Far beyond range,” he said, lowering the gun again; “but even if you were only four yards from the muzzle, I would not fire, poor bird! Did not Milly say you were noble, and that it would be worse than murder to kill you? No, you are safe from me, at all events, even if you were not so wary as to keep yourself safe from everybody. And yet, methinks, if MacRummle were still up there, he would have the chance of giving you a severe fright, though he has not the skill to bring you down.”

Now it is well-known to trappers and backwoodsmen generally that the most wary of foxes, which cannot by any means be caught by one trap, may sometimes be circumvented by two traps. It is the same with decoys, whether these be placed intentionally, or place themselves accidentally. On this occasion Barret acted the part of a decoy, all unwittingly to that eagle or to MacRummle.

In its extreme interest in the youth’s proceedings the great bird soared straight over his head, and slowly approached the old man’s position. MacRummle was not on the alert. He never was on the alert! but his eyes chanced to be gazing in the right direction, and his glasses happened to be on. He saw it coming—something big and black! He grasped his repeater and knocked his glasses off.

“A raven, I think! I’ll try it. I should like it as a trophy—a sort of memorial of—”

Bang!

The man who was half blind, who had scarcely used gun or rifle all his life, achieved that which dead shots and ardent sportsmen had tried in vain for years—he shot the eagle right through the heart, and that, too, with a single bullet!

Straight down it fell with a tremendous flutter, and disappeared over the edge of its native cliff.

MacRummle went on his knees, and, craning his neck, replaced his glasses; but nothing whatever could be seen, save the misty void below. Shrinking back from the giddy position, he rose and pulled out his watch.

“Let me see,” he muttered, “it will take me a full hour to go round so as to reach the bottom. No; too late. I’ll go home, and send the keeper for it in the morning. The eagle may have picked its bones by that time, to be sure; but after all, a raven is not much of a trophy.”

While he was thus debating, a very different scene was taking place below.

Barret had been gazing up at the eagle when the shot was fired. He saw the spout of smoke. He heard the crashing shot and echoes, and beheld the eagle descending like a thunder-bolt. After that he saw and heard no more, for, in reaching forward to see round a projecting rock that interfered with his vision, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong from the cliff. He had not far to fall, indeed, and a whin bush broke the force of the shock when he did strike; but he was rendered insensible, and rolled down the remainder of the slope to the bottom. There he lay bruised, bleeding, and motionless on the grass, close to the road, with his bent and broken gun beneath him, and the dead eagle not more than a dozen yards from his side!

“It is not like Barret to be late,” observed the laird that evening, as he consulted his watch. “He is punctuality itself, as a rule. He must have fallen in with some unusually interesting plants. But we can’t wait. Order dinner, my dear, for I’m sure that my sister must be very hungry after her voyage.”

“Indeed I am,” returned the little old lady, with a peculiar smile. “Sea-sickness is the best tonic I know of, but it is an awful medicine to take.”

“Almost as good as mountain air,” remarked MacRummle, as they filed out of the drawing-room. “I do wish I had managed to bring that raven home.”

At first the party at dinner was as merry as usual. The sportsmen were graphic in recounting the various incidents of the day; Mrs Moss was equally graphic on the horrors of the sea; MacRummle was eulogistic of repeating rifles, and inclined to be boastful about the raven, which he hoped to show them on the morrow, while Milly proved herself, as usual, a beautiful and interested listener, as well as a most hearty laugher.

But as the feast went on they became less noisy. Then a feeling of uneasiness manifested itself, but no one ventured to suggest that anything might have occurred to the absentee until the evening had deepened into night. Then the laird started up suddenly. “Something must have happened to our friend,” he exclaimed, at the same time ringing the bell violently. “He has never been late before, and however far he may have gone a-field, there has been more than time for him to return at his slowest pace. Duncan,” (as the butler entered), “turn out all the men and boys as fast as you can. Tell Roderick to get lanterns ready—as many as you have. Gentlemen, we must all go on this search without another moment’s delay!”

There is little need to say that Barret’s friends and comrades were not slow to respond to the call. In less than a quarter of an hour they were dispersed, searching every part of the Eagle Cliff, where he had been last seen by Giles Jackman.

They found him at last, pale and blood-stained, making ineffectual efforts to crawl from the spot where he had fallen, both the eagle and the broken gun being found beside him.

“No bones broken, thank God!” said Giles, after having examined him and bound up his wounds. “But he is too weak to be questioned. Now, lads, fetch the two poles and the plaid. I’ll soon contrive a litter.”

“All right, old fellow! God bless you!” said Barret, faintly, as his friend bent over him.

Roderick and Ivor raised him softly, and, with the eagle at his side, bore him towards Kinlossie House. Soon after, their heavy tramp was heard in the hall as they carried him to his room, and laid him gently in bed.