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man below was completely hidden from any watcher on the top. Dickson's heart
fell, for he did not profess to be a cragsman and had indeed a horror of
precipitous places. But as the two scrambled along the foot, they passed
deepcut gullies and fissures, most of them unclimbable, but offering
something more hopeful than the face. At one of these
Old Bill halted, and led the way up and over a chaos of fallen rock and loose
sand. The grey weather had brought on the dark prematurely, and in the
halflight it seemed that this ravine was blocked by an unscalable nose of
rock. Here Old Bill whistled, and there was a reply from above. Round the
corner of the nose came
Dougal.
"Up here," he commanded. "It was Mr. Heritage that fund this road."
Dickson and his guide squeezed themselves between the nose and the cliff up
a spout of stones, and found themselves in an upper storey of the gulley,
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very steep, but practicable even for one who was no cragsman.
This in turn ran out against a wall up which there led only a narrow
chimney. At the foot of this were two of the DieHards, and there were others
above, for a rope hung down, by the aid of which a package was even now
ascending.
Huntingtower
CHAPTER VIII. HOW A MIDDLEAGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE
64
"That's the top," said Dougal, pointing to the rim of sky, "and that's the
last o' the supplies." Dickson noticed that he spoke in a whisper, and that
all the movements of the DieHards were judicious and stealthy. "Now, it's
your turn. Take a good grip o' the rope, and ye'll find plenty holes for
your feet. It's no more than ten yards and ye're well held above."
Dickson made the attempt and found it easier than he expected. The only
trouble was his pack and waterproof, which had a tendency to catch on jags
of rock. A hand was reached out to him, he was pulled over the edge, and then
pushed down on his face. When he lifted his head Dougal and the others had
joined him, and the whole company of the DieHards was assembled on a patch
of grass which was concealed from the landward view by a thicket of hazels.
Another, whom he recognized as Heritage, was coiling up the rope.
"We'd better get all the stuff into the old Tower for the present," Heritage
was saying. "It's too risky to move it into the House now. We'll need the
thickest darkness for that, after the moon is down. Quick, for the beastly
thing will be rising soon, and before that we must all be indoors."
Then he turned to Dickson and gripped his hand. "You're a high class of
sportsman, Dogson. And I think you're just in time."
"Are they due tonight?" Dickson asked in an excited whisper, faint against
the wind.
"I don't know about They. But I've got a notion that some devilish queer
things will happen before tomorrow morning."
CHAPTER IX. THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES
The old keep of Huntingtower stood some three hundred yards from the edge of
the cliffs, a gnarled wood of hazels and oaks protecting it from the
seawinds. It was still in fair preservation, having till twenty years before
been an adjunct of the house of Dalquharter, and used as kitchen, buttery,
and servants' quarters. There had been residential wings attached, dating
from the mideighteenth century, but these had been pulled down and used for
the foundations of the new mansion. Now it stood a lonely shell, its three
storeys, each a single great room connected by a spiral stone staircase,
being dedicated to lumber and the storage of produce. But it was dry and
intact, its massive oak doors defied any weapon short of artillery, its
narrow unglazed windows would scarcely have admitted a cata place
portentously strong, gloomy, but yet habitable.
Dougal opened the main door with a massy key. "The lassie fund it," he
whispered to Dickson, "somewhere about the kitchenand I guessed it was the
key o' this castle. I was thinkin' that if things got ower hot it would be
a good plan to flit here. Change our base, like." The Chieftain's
occasional studies in war had trained his tongue to a military jargon.
In the ground room lay a fine assortment of oddments, including old bedsteads
and servants' furniture, and what looked like ancient discarded deerskin
rugs. Dust lay thick over everything, and they heard the scurry of rats. A
dismal place, indeed, but Dickson felt only its strangeness. The comfort of
being back again among allies had quickened his spirit to an adventurous
mood. The old lords of Huntingtower had once quarrelled and revelled and
plotted here, and now here he was at the same game. Present and past joined
hands over the gulf of years. The saga of Huntingtower was not ended.
The DieHards had brought with them their scanty bedding, their lanterns and
campkettles. These and the provisions from Mearns Street were stowed away in
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a corner.
"Now for the Hoose, men," said Dougal. They stole over the downs to the
shrubbery, and Dickson found
Huntingtower
CHAPTER IX. THE FIRST BATTLE OF THE CRUIVES
65
himself almost in the same place as he had lain in three days before,
watching a dusky lawn, while the wet earth soaked through his trouser knees
and the drip from the azaleas trickled over his spine. Two of the boys
fetched the ladder and placed it against the verandah wall. Heritage first,
then Dickson, darted across the lawn and made the ascent. The six scouts
followed, and the ladder was pulled up and hidden among the verandah litter.
For a second the whole eight stood still and listened. There was no sound
except the murmur of the now falling wind and the melancholy hooting of
owls. The garrison had entered the Dark Tower.
A council in whispers was held in the gardenroom.
"Nobody must show a light," Heritage observed. "It mustn't be known that
we're here. Only the Princess will have a lamp. Yes" this in answer to
Dickson"she knows that we're comingyou too. We'll hunt for quarters later
upstairs. You scouts, you must picket every possible entrance. The windows
are safe, I think, for they are locked from the inside. So is the main
door. But there's the verandah door, of which they have a key, and the back
door beside the kitchen, and I'm not at all sure that there's not a way in
by the boilerhouse.
You understand. We're holding his place against all comers. We must
barricade the danger points. The headquarters of the garrison will be in
the hall, where a scout must be always on duty. You've all got whistles?
Well, if there's an attempt on the verandah door the picket will whistle
once, if at the back door twice, if anywhere else three times, and it's
everybody's duty, except the picket who whistles, to get back to the hall
for orders."
"That's so," assented Dougal.
"If the enemy forces an entrance we must overpower him. Any means you like. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]