The Leithen Stories. Buchan John
IV, c. 68).
We are, sir,
Your obedient servants,
PROSSER, MCKELPIE, AND MACLYMONT.
John Macnab, Esq.
Lamancha laughed. ‘Is that good law, Ned?’
Leithen read the letter again. ‘I suppose so. Deer being ferae naturae, there is no private property in them or common law crime in killing them, and the only remedy is to prevent trespass in pursuit of them or to punish the trespasser.’
‘It seems to me that you get off pretty lightly,’ said Archie. ‘Two quid is not much in the way of a fine, for I don’t suppose you want to black your faces or march five deep into Haripol … But what a rotten sportsman old Claybody is!’
Palliser-Yeates heaved a sigh of apparent relief. ‘I am bound to say the replies are better than I expected. It will be a devil of a business, though, to circumvent that old Highland chief, and that young American sounds formidable. Only, if we’re caught out there, we’re dealing with sportsmen and can appeal to their higher nature, you know. Claybody is probably the easiest proposition so far as getting a stag is concerned, but if we’re nobbled by him we needn’t look for mercy. Still, it’s only a couple of pounds.’
‘You’re an ass, John,’ said Leithen. ‘It’s only a couple of pounds for John Macnab. But if these infernal Edinburgh lawyers get on the job, it will be a case of producing the person of John Macnab, and then we’re all in the cart. Don’t you realise that in this fool’s game we simply cannot afford to lose – none of us?’
‘That,’ said Lamancha, ‘is beyond doubt the truth, and it’s just there that the fun comes in.’
The reception of the three letters had brightened the atmosphere. Each man had now something to think about, and, till it was time to dress for dinner, each was busy with sheets of the Ordnance maps. The rain had begun again, the curtains were drawn, and round a good fire of peats they read and smoked and dozed. Then they had hot baths, and it was a comparatively cheerful and very hungry party that assembled in the dining-room. Archie proposed champagne, but the offer was unanimously declined. ‘We ought to be in training,’ Lamancha warned him. ‘Keep the Widow for the occasions when we need comforting. They’ll come all right.’
Palliser-Yeates was enthusiastic about the food. ‘I must say, you do us very well,’ he told his host. ‘These haddocks are the best things I’ve ever eaten. How do you manage to get fresh sea-fish here?’
Archie appealed to Sime. ‘They come from Inverlarrig, Sir Erchibald,’ said the butler. ‘There’s a wee laddie comes up here sellin’ haddies verra near every day.’
‘Bless my soul, Sime. I thought no one came up here. You know my orders.’
‘This is just a tinker laddie, Sir Erchibald. He sleeps in a cairt down about Larrigmore. He just comes wi’ his powny and awa’ back, and doesna bide twae minutes. Mistress Lithgow was anxious for haddies, for she said gentlemen got awfu’ tired of saumon and trout.’
‘All right, Sime. I’ll speak to Mrs Lithgow. She’d better tell him we don’t want any more. By the way, we ought to see Lithgow after dinner. Tell him to come to the smoking-room.’
When Sime had put the port on the table and withdrawn, Leithen lifted up his voice.
‘Look here, before we get too deep into this thing, let’s make sure that we know where we are. We’re all three turned up here – why, I don’t know. But there’s still time to go back. We realise now what we’re in for. Are you clear in your minds that you want to go on?’
‘I am,’ said Lamancha doggedly. ‘I’m out for a cure. Hang it, I feel a better man already.’
‘I suppose your profession makes you take risks,’ said Leithen dryly, ‘Mine doesn’t. What about you, John?’
Palliser-Yeates shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I don’t want to go on. I feel no kind of keenness, and my feet are rather cold. And yet – you know – I should feel rather ashamed to turn back.’
Archie uplifted his turbaned head. ‘That’s how I feel, though I’m not on myself in this piece. We’ve given hostages, and the credit of John Macnab is at stake. We’ve dared old Raden and young Bandicott, and we can’t decently cry off. Besides, I’m advertised as a smallpox patient, and it would be a pity to make a goat of myself for nothing. Mind you, I stand to lose as much as anybody, if we bungle things.’
Leithen had the air of bowing to the inevitable. ‘Very well, that’s settled. But I wish to Heaven I saw myself safely out of it. My only inducement to go on is to score off that bounder Claybody. He and his attorney’s letter put my hackles up.’
In the smoking-room Lamancha busied himself with preparing three slips of paper and writing on them three names.
‘We must hold a council of war,’ he said. ‘First of all, we have taken measures to keep our presence here secret. My man Shapp is all right. What about your people, Archie?’
‘Sime and Carfrae have been warned, and you may count on them. They’re the class of lads that ask no questions. So are the Lithgows. We’ve no neighbours, and they’re anyway not the gossiping kind, and I’ve put them on their Bible oath. I fancy they think the reason is politics. They’re a trifle scared of you, Charles, and your reputation, for they’re not accustomed to hidin’ Cabinet Ministers in the scullery. Lithgow’s a fine crusted old Tory.’
‘Good. Well, we’d better draw for beats, and get Lithgow in.’
The figure that presently appeared before them was a small man, about fifty years of age, with a great breadth of shoulder and a massive face decorated with a wispish tawny beard. His mouth had the gravity and primness of an elder of the Kirk, but his shrewd blue eyes were not grave. The son of a Tweeddale shepherd who had emigrated years before to a cheviot farm in Sutherland, he was in every line and feature the Lowlander, and his speech had still the broad intonation of the Borders. But all his life had been spent in the Highlands on this and that deer forest, and as a young stalker he had been picked out by Jim Tarras for his superior hill craft. To Archie his chief recommendation was that he was a passionate naturalist, who was as eager to stalk a rare bird with a field-glass as to lead a rifle up to deer. Other traits will appear in the course of this narrative; but it may be noted here that he was a voracious reader and in the long winter nights had amassed a store of varied knowledge, which was patently improving his master’s mind. Archie was accustomed to quote him for most of his views on matters other than ornithology and war.
‘Do you mind going over to that corner and shuffling these slips? Now, John, you draw first.’
Mr Palliser-Yeates extracted a slip from Lithgow’s massive hand.
‘Glenraden,’ he cried. ‘Whew! I’m for it this time.’ Leithen drew next. His slip read Strathlarrig.
‘Thank God, I’ve got old Claybody,’ said Lamancha. ‘Unless you want him very badly, Ned?’
Leithen shook his head. ‘I’m content. It would be a bad start to change the draw.’
‘Sit down, Wattie,’ said Archie. ‘Here’s a dram for you. We’ve summoned you to a consultation. I daresay you’ve been wonderin’ what all this fuss about secrecy has meant. I’m going to tell you. You were with Jim Tarras, and you’ve often told me about his poachin’. Well, these three gentlemen want to have a try at the same game. They’re tired of ordinary sport, and want something more excitin’. It wouldn’t do, of course, for them to appear under their real names, so they’ve invented a nom de guerre – that’s a bogus name, you know. They call themselves collectively, as you might say, John Macnab. John Macnab writes from London to three proprietors, same as Jim Tarras used to do, and proposes to take a deer or a salmon on their property within certain dates. There’s copy of the letter, and here are the replies that arrived tonight. Just you read ’em.’