The Eagle Cliff

  CHAPTER FIVE.

  PLANS, PROSPECTS, AND A GREAT FIGHT.

  There is something very enjoyable in awaking in a strange bedroom with afeeling of physical strength and abounding health about one, with aglorious, early sunbeam irradiating the room--especially if it does notshine upon one's face--with a window opposite, through which you can seea mountain rising through the morning mists, until its summit appears toclaim kindred with the skies, and with the consciousness that work isover for a time, and recreation is the order of the day.

  Some such thoughts and feelings caused John Barret to smile as he layflat on his back, the morning after his arrival, with his hands underhis head, surveying the low-roofed but cosy apartment which had beenallotted to him in the mansion of Kinlossie. But the smile gave placeto a grave, earnest expression as his eyes fell upon a framed card, onwhich was printed, in scarlet and blue and gold, "The earth is the Lordsand the fulness thereof."

  "So it is," thought the youth; "and my power to enjoy it comes from theLord--my health, my strength, myself. Yet how seldom do I thank Him forthe mere fact of a happy existence. God forgive me!"

  Although Barret thus condemned himself, we would not have it supposedthat he had been a careless unbeliever. His temperament was grave (notby any means gloomy) by nature, and a Christian mother's love andteaching had, before her early death, deepened his religiousimpressions.

  He was beginning to wonder whether it was Mrs Gordon who had hung thetext there, and whether it had been executed by Milly Moss, when the"get up" gong sent forth a sonorous peal, causing him to bound out ofbed. The act brought before his eyes another bed--a small one--in acorner of the room reminding him of what he had forgotten, that, thehouse being full to overflow by the recent accession of visitors, littleJoseph, better known as Junkie, shared the room with him.

  Junkie was at the moment sleeping soundly, after the manner of thehedgehog--that is, curled up in the form of a ball. It was plain thatneither dressing gongs nor breakfast-bells had any effect upon him, forhe lay still in motionless slumber.

  "Hallo! Junkie, did you hear the gong?" said Barret, pushing the boygently.

  But Junkie answered not, and he had to push him three or four timesgently, and twice roughly, before he could awaken the youngster.Uncoiling himself and turning on the other side, Junkie heaved a deepsigh, and murmured,--"Leave m' 'lone."

  "Junkie! Junkie! you'll be late for breakfast," shouted Barret in hisear.

  "Don'--wan'--any--br'kf'st," murmured the boy. "Leave m' 'lone, I say--or'll wallop you!"

  A laugh from Barret, and a still severer shake, roused the boy so far asto make him sit up and stare about him with almost supernaturalsolemnity. Then he yawned, rubbed his eyes, and smiled faintly.

  "Oh! it's _you_, is it?" he said. "I thought it was Eddie, and--"

  Another yawn checked his utterance. Then he suddenly jumped up, andbegan to haul on his clothes with surprising rapidity. It was evidentthat Junkie had a will of his own, and was accustomed to exert it on alloccasions. He continued to dress, wash himself, brush his hair and histeeth, without speaking, and with such vigour that he soon distanced hiscompanion in the race. True, he did not do everything thoroughly. Hedid not render his little hands immaculately clean. He did not rememberthat the secret places behind his ears required to be particularlyattended to, and, in brushing operations, he totally forgot that he waspossessed of back-hair. Indeed, it is just possible that he disbelievedthat fact, for he neglected it entirely, insomuch that when he hadcompleted the operation to his own entire satisfaction, several stiffand independent locks pointed straight to the sky, and two or three tothe horizon.

  "That's a pretty text on the wall, Junkie," observed Barret, while theyoungster was busy with the comb.

  "Yes, it's pretty."

  Barret wished to draw the boy out, but, like a tough piece ofindia-rubber, he refused to be drawn out.

  "It is beautifully painted. Who did it?" asked the youth, makinganother attempt.

  He had accidentally touched the right chord this time. It vibrated atonce. Junkie looked up with sparkling eyes, and said that Milly did it.

  "She does everything beautifully," he added, as he brushed away at hisforelock--a remarkably obstinate forelock, considering that it was themost highly favoured lock of his head.

  "You like Milly, I see," said his friend.

  "Of _course_ I do. Everybody does."

  "Indeed! Why does everybody like her so much?"

  "'Cause she's so nice," said Junkie, dropping his brush on the floor--not accidentally, but as the easiest way of getting rid of it. "And shesometimes says that I'm good."

  "I'm glad to hear that, my boy, for if Milly says so it must be true."

  "No, it's _not_ true," returned the boy promptly, as he fastened hisnecktie in a complex knot, and thrust his arm through the wrong hole ofhis little vest. "Milly is mistaken, that's all. But I like her to sayit, all the same. It feels jolly. But I'm bad--_awful_ bad! Everybodysays so. Father says so, an' he must be right, you know, for he says heknows everything. Besides, I _feel_ it, an' I know it, an' I don'tcare!"

  Having given vent to this reckless statement, and wriggled into hisjacket--the collar of which he left half down and half up--Junkiesuddenly plumped down on his knees, laid his head on his bed, andremained perfectly still for the space of about one quarter of a minute.Then, jumping up with the pleased expression of one who felt that hehad done his duty, he was about to rush from the room, when Barretstopped him.

  "I'm glad to see that you say your prayers, at all events," he said.

  "But I wouldn't say them if it wasn't for Milly," returned the urchin."I do it to please her. An' I wash an' brush myself, an' all that, just'cause she likes me to do it. I'd neither wash, nor pray, nor brush,nor anything, if it wasn't to please Milly--and mother," he added, aftera moment's reflection. "I like _them_, an' I don't care a button foranybody else."

  "What! for nobody else at all?"

  "Well, yes, I forgot--I like Ivor, too."

  "Is that the sick gamekeeper, Junkie?"

  "Sick! no; he's the drunken keeper. Drunken Ivor, we call him--not tohis face, you know. Wouldn't we catch it if we did that! But I'm fondof drunken Ivor, an' he's fond of me. He takes me out sometimes when hegoes to shoot rabbits and fish. Sometimes he's awful fierce, but he'snever fierce to his old mother that lives in the hut close behindhis--'cept when he's drunk. D'ee know"--the boy lowered his voice atthis point and looked solemn--"he very nearly killed his mother once,when he was drunk, you know, an' when he came sober he cried--oh, justas our Flo cries when she's bin whipped."

  At this point the breakfast-bell pealed forth with, so to speak, aspecies of clamorous enthusiasm by no means unusual in Scottish countrymansions, as if it knew that there was spread out a breakfast worthringing for. At the first sound of it, Junkie burst from the room, leftthe door wide open, clattered along the passage, singing, yellingvociferously as he went--and trundled downstairs like a retiringthunderstorm.

  The arrangements for the day at Kinlossie were usually fixed at thebreakfast hour, if they had not been settled the night before. Therewas, therefore, a good deal to consult about during the progress of themeal.

  "You see, gentlemen," said the host, when the demands of nature werepartially satisfied, "friends who come to stay with me are expected toselect their occupations or amusements for the day as fancy or taste maylead them. My house is `liberty hall.' Sometimes we go together on thehills after grouse, at other times after red-deer. When the rivers arein order, we take our rods and break up into parties. When weather andwind are suitable, some go boating and sea-fishing. Others go sketchingor botanising. If the weather should become wet, you will find alibrary next to this room, a billiard-table in the west wing, and asmoking-room--which is also a rod and gun-room--in the back premises.We cannot take the men from their work to-day, so that a deer-drive isnot possible, but that can be done any day. So, gentlemen, think ov
erit, and make your choice."

  "How is Milly this morning?" asked MacRummle, who came down late tobreakfast, as he always did, and consequently missed morning prayers.

  "Better, much better than we could have expected. Of course the arm isinflamed and very painful, but not broken, which is almost a miracle,considering the height from which she fell. But for you, Mr Barret,she might have lain there for hours before we found her, and theconsequences might have been very serious. As it is, the doctor saysshe will probably be able to leave her room in a few days."

  "Come, now, Mac," continued the host, "we have been talking over plansfor the day. What do you intend to do?"

  "Try the river," said the old gentleman, with quiet decision, as heslowly helped himself to the ham and egg that chanced to be in front ofhim. "There's a three-pounder, if not a four, which rose in the middlepool yesterday, and I feel sure of him to-day."

  "Why, Mr MacRummle," said Mrs Gordon smilingly, "you have seen thatthree-pounder or four-pounder every day for a month past."

  "I have, Mrs Gordon; and I hope to see him every day for a month tocome, if I don't catch him to-day!"

  "Whatever you do, Mac, don't dive for him," said the laird; "else wewill some day have to fish yourself out of the middle pool. Haveanother cut of salmon, Mr Mabberly. In what direction do your tastespoint?"

  "I feel inclined to make a lazy day of it and go out with your sonArchie," said Mabberly, "to look at the best views for photographing. Ihad intended to photograph a good deal among the Western Isles, thissummer; but my apparatus now lies, with the yacht, at the bottom of thesea."

  "Yes, in company with my sixteen-shooter rifle," said Giles Jackman,with a rueful countenance.

  "Well, gentlemen, I cannot indeed offer you much comfort as regards yourlosses, for the sea keeps a powerful hold of its possessions; but youwill find my boy's camera a fairly good one, and there are plenty of dryplates. It so happens, also, that I have a new repeating rifle in thehouse, which has not yet been used; so, in the meantime, at all events,neither of you will suffer much from your misfortunes."

  It was finally arranged, before breakfast was over, that MacRummle wasto go off alone to his usual and favourite burn; that Jackman and Quin,under the guidance of Junkie, should try the river for salmon andsea-trout; that Barret, with ex-Skipper McPherson, Shames McGregor,Robin Tips, Eddie Gordon, the laird's second son--a boy of twelve--andIvor, the keeper--whose recoveries were as rapid as his relapses weresudden--should all go off in the boat to try the sea-fishing; and thatBob Mabberly, with Archie, should go photographing up one of the mostpicturesque of the glens, conducted by the laird himself.

  As it stands to reason that we cannot accompany all of these parties, weelect to follow Giles Jackman, Quin, and Junkie up the river.

  This expedition involved a preliminary walk of four miles, which theyall preferred to being driven to the scene of action in a dog-cart.

  Junkie was a little fellow for his age, but remarkably intelligent,active, bright and strong. From remarks made by various members of theGordon family and their domestics, both Jackman and his servant had beenled to the conclusion that the boy was the very impersonation ofmischief, and were more or less on the look out for displays of hispropensity; but Junkie walked demurely by their side, asking andreplying to questions with the sobriety of an elderly man, and withoutthe slightest indication of the latent internal fires, with which he wascredited.

  The truth is, that Junkie possessed a nature that was tightly strung andvibrated like an Aeolian harp to the lightest breath of influence. Heresembled, somewhat, a pot of milk on a very hot fire, rather apt toboil over with a rush; nevertheless, he possessed the power to restrainhimself in a simmering condition for a considerable length of time. Thefact that he was fairly out for the day with two strangers, to whom hewas to show the pools where salmon and sea-trout lay, was a prospect socharming that he was quite content to simmer.

  "D'ee know how to fish for salmon?" he asked, looking gravely up inJackman's face, after they had proceeded a considerable distance.

  "Oh, yes, Junkie; I know how to do it. I used to fish for salmon beforeI went to India."

  "Isn't that the place where they shoot lions and tigers and--andg'rillas?"

  "Well, not exactly lions and gorillas, my boy; but there are plenty ofbaboons and monkeys there, and lots of tigers."

  "Have you shot them?" asked Junkie, with a look of keen interest.

  "Yes; many of them."

  "Did you ever turn a tiger outside in?"

  Jackman replied, with a laugh, that he had never performed that curiousoperation on anything but socks--that, indeed, he had never heard ofsuch a thing being done.

  "I knew it was a cracker," said Junkie.

  "What d'you mean by a cracker, my boy?" inquired Jackman.

  "A lie," said Junkie, promptly.

  "And who told the cracker?"

  "Ivor. He tells me a great, great many stories."

  "D'you mean Ivor Donaldson, the keeper?"

  "Yes; he tells me plenty of stories, but some of them are crackers. Hesaid that once upon a time a man was walkin' through the jungle--that'swhat they call the bushes, you know, in India--an' he met a great bigtiger, which glared at him with its great eyes, and gave a tremendousroar, and sprang upon him. The man was brave and strong. He held outhis right arm straight, so that when the tiger came upon him his armwent into its open mouth and right down its throat, and his hand caughthold of something. It was the inside end of the tiger's tail! The mangave an _awful_ pull, and the tiger came inside out at once with a_tremendous_ crack!"

  "Sure, and that _was_ a cracker!" remarked Quin, who had been listeningto the boy's prattle with an amused expression, as they trudged along.

  "Nevertheless, it may not be fair to call it a lie, Junkie," saidJackman. "Did Ivor say it was true?"

  "No. When I asked if it was, he only laughed, and said he had once readof the same thing being done to a walrus, but he didn't believe it."

  "Just so, Junkie. He meant you to understand the story of the tiger ashe did the story of the walrus--as a sort of fairy tale, you know."

  "How could he mean that," demanded Junkie, "when he said it was a_tiger's_ tail--not a _fairy's_ at all?"

  Jackman glanced at Quin, and suppressed a laugh. Quin returned theglance, and expressed a smile.

  "Better luck next time," murmured the servant.

  "Did you ever see walruses?" asked Junkie, whose active mind was proneto jump from one subject to another.

  "No, never; but I have seen elephants, which are a great deal biggerthan walruses," returned Jackman; "and I have shot them, too. I willtell you some stories about them one of these days--not `crackers', buttrue ones."

  "That'll be nice! Now, we're close to the sea-pool; but the tide's toofar in to fish that just now, so we'll go up to the next one, if youlike."

  "By all means, my boy. You know the river, and we don't, so we putourselves entirely under your guidance and orders," replied Jackman.

  By this time they had reached the river at the upper end of the loch.It ran in a winding course through a level plain which extended to thebase of the encircling hills. The pool next the sea being unfishable,as we have said, owing to the state of the tide, Junkie conducted hiscompanions high up the stream by a footpath. And a proud urchin he was,in his grey kilt and hose, with his glengarry cocked a little on oneside of his curly head, as he strode before them with all theself-reliance of a Highland chieftain.

  In a few minutes they came to the first practicable pool--a wide,rippling, oily, deep hole, caused by a bend in the stream, theappearance of which--suggestive of silvery scales--was well calculatedto arouse sanguine hopes in a salmon fisher.

  Here Quin proceeded to put together the pieces of his master's rod,while Jackman, opening a portly fishing-book, selected a casting lineand fly.

  "Have you been in India, too?" asked Junkie of Quin, as he watched theirproceedings with keen interest.

/>   "Sure, an' I have--leastways if it wasn't dhreamin' I've bin there."

  "An' have _you_ killed lions, and tigers, and elephants?"

  "Well, not exactly, me boy, but it's meself as used to stand by an'howld the spare guns whin the masther was killin' them."

  "Wasn't you frightened?"

  "Niver a taste. Och! thriflin' craters like them niver cost me anight's rest, which is more than I can say of the rats in Kinlossie,anyhow."

  A little shriek of laughter burst from Junkie on hearing this.

  "What are ye laughin' at, honey?" asked Quin.

  "At you not bein' able to sleep for the rats!" returned the boy. "It'sthe way with everybody who comes to stay with us, at first, but they getused to it at last."

  "Are the rats then so numerous?" asked Jackman.

  "Swarmin', all over! Haven't you heard them yet?"

  "Well, yes, I heard them scampering soon after I went to bed, but Ithought it was kittens at play in the room overhead, and soon went tosleep. But they don't come into the rooms, do they?"

  "Oh, no--I only wish they would! Wouldn't we have a jolly hunt if theydid? But they scuttle about the walls inside, and between the ceilingsand the floors. And you can't frighten them. The only thing thatscared them once was the bag-pipes. An old piper came to the house oneday and played a great deal, and we heard nothing more of the rats fortwo or three weeks after that."

  "Sensible bastes," remarked Quin, handing the rod to his master; "an' asign, too, that they've got some notion o' music."

  "Why, Quin, I thought you had bag-pipes in Ireland," said Jackman, as hefastened a large fly to his line.

  "An' that's what we have, sor; but the Irish pipes are soft, mellow,gentle things--like the Irish girls--not like them big Scotch bellowsthat screech for all the world like a thousand unwillin' pigs bein'forced to go to markit."

  "True, Quin; there's something in that. Now then, both of you standclose to me--a little behind--so; it's the safest place if you don'twant to be hooked, and be ready with the gaff, Junkie," said the fisher,as he turned a critical eye on the water, and made a fine cast over whathe deemed the most likely part of the pool.

  "Father never rose a fish there," said Junkie, with a demure look.

  The fisher paid no attention to the remark, but continued to cast alittle lower down stream each time.

  "You're gettin' near the bit now," said Junkie, in the tone of one whoseexpectations are awakened.

  "Th-there! That's him!"

  "Ay, and a good one, too," exclaimed Jackman, as a fan-like taildisappeared with a heavy splash. Again the fisher cast, with the sameresult.

  "He's only playin' wi' the fly," said Junkie in a tone ofdisappointment.

  "That's often the way--no!--th-there! Got 'im!"

  The rod bent like a hoop at that moment; the reel spun round to its ownmerry music, as the line flew out, and the fish finished its first wildrush with a leap of three feet into the air.

  "Hooray!" yelled Junkie, now fairly aflame, as he jumped like the fish,flourished the big hook round his head, and gaffed Quin by the lappet ofhis coat!

  "Have a care, you spalpeen," shouted the Irishman, grasping the excitedyoungster by the collar and disengaging himself from the hook. "Sure itmight have been me nose as well as me coat, an' a purty objec' thatwould have made me!"

  Junkie heeded not. When released he ran toward Jackman who wasstruggling skilfully with the fish.

  "Don't let him take you down the rapid," he shouted. "There's no goodplace for landin' him there. Hold on, an' bring 'im up if you can.Hi!"

  This last exclamation was caused by another rush of the fish. Jackmanhad wound up his line as far as possible, and was in hopes of inducingthe salmon to ascend the stream, for he had run perilously near to thehead of the rapid against which the boy had just warned him. But tothis the fish objected, and, finding that the fisher was obstinate, had,as we have said, made a sudden rush across the pool, causing the reel tospin furiously as the line ran out, and finishing off with anothersplendid jump.

  "A few more bursts like that will soon exhaust him," said Jackman, as hewound in the line again and drew the fish steadily towards him.

  "Yes, but _don't_ let him go down," said the boy earnestly.

  It seemed almost as if the creature had heard the warning, for it turnedat the moment and made a straight rush for the head of the rapid.

  When a large salmon does this it is absolutely impossible to stop him.Only two courses are open to the fisher--either to hold on and let himbreak the tackle; or follow him as fast as possible. The formeralternative, we need hardly say, is only adopted when following isimpracticable or involves serious danger. In the present case it wasneither impossible nor dangerous, but it was difficult; and the way inwhich Giles Jackman went after that fish, staggering among pebbles,leaping obstructions, crashing through bushes and bounding overboulders, causing Quin to hold his sides with laughter, and littleJunkie to stand transfixed and staring with admiration, wasindescribable.

  For Junkie had only seen his old father in such circumstances, andsometimes the heavy, rather clumsy, though powerful Ivor Donaldson. Hehad not till that day seen--much less imagined--what were the capacitiesof an Indian "Woods and Forester" of athletic build, superb training,and fresh from his native jungles!

  "I say! _what_ a jumper he is!" exclaimed Junkie, recovering presence ofmind and dashing after him.

  The rapid was a short though rough one. The chief danger was that theline might be cut among the foam-covered rocks, or that the hook, if notfirmly fixed, might tear itself away; also that the fisher might fall,which would probably be fatal to rod or line, to say nothing of elbowsand shins.

  But Jackman came triumphantly out of it all. The salmon shot into thepool below the rapid, and turned into the eddy to rest. The fisher, atthe same moment, bounded on to a strip of sand there--minus only hat andwind--and proceeded to reel in the line for the next burst.

  But another burst did not occur, for the fish was by that time prettywell exhausted, and took to what is styled sulking; that is, lying atthe bottom of a hole with its nose, probably, under a stone. While inthis position a fish may recover strength to renew the battle. It istherefore advisable, if possible, to drive him or haul him out of hisrefuge by all or any means. A small fish may be hauled out if thetackle be strong, but this method is not possible with a heavy one suchas that which Jackman had hooked.

  "What's to be done now, Junkie?" he said, after one or two vain effortsto move the fish.

  "Bomb stones at him," said the urchin, without a moment's hesitation.

  "Bomb away then, my boy!"

  Junkie at once sent several large stones whizzing into the pool. Theresult was that the salmon made another dash for life, but gave inalmost immediately, and came to the surface on its side. The battle isusually about ended when this takes place, though not invariably so, forlively fish sometimes recover sufficiently to make a final effort. Inthis case, however, it was the close of the fight. Slowly and carefullythe fisher drew the fish towards the shelving bank, where Junkie stoodready with the gaff. Another moment, and the boy bounded into thewater, stuck the hook into the salmon's shoulder, and laid it like a barof glittering silver on the bank.

  "A twenty-pounder," said Junkie, with critical gravity.

  "Twinty an' three-quarters," said Quin, as he weighed it.

  "And a good job, too," returned the practical urchin; "for I heardmother say we'd have no fish for dinner to-morrow if somebody didn'tcatch something."