Deep Moat Grange

  CHAPTER II

  POACHER DAVIE

  There was no more thought of school that day--neither on the part ofMr. Mustard nor of any of his scholars. All the world (but not hiswife--by no means his wife) must needs go in search of Harry Foster andhis probable murderer. It was the first real mystery ever known inBreckonside.

  Now the missing carrier and postman had no open enemies. He was aquiet, middle-aged man who had lived long in the village, a widowerwithout children; no man's foe, not even his own; a steady,trustworthy, kindly man, "and," said Miss Harbishaw, the postmistress,"to be trusted with untold gold," or, what was much more(departmentally), with unsealed mail bags.

  The telegraph was no doubt working hard to bring up officers from EastDene, Clifton, and Thorsby, the big towns to the south. Meantime,however, all the male population of Breckonside poured northward. ButElsie and I got away the very first.

  I wanted her to stay at home, but she would not. She would be morefrightened alone in that house by the Bridge End, she said, than withme. So as I could not refuse Elsie many things, of course she had tohave permission to come. Besides, she would have come at any rate,permission or no permission. It was difficult to be even with Elsie.So I was very gracious and let her.

  As soon as we were clear of the village and across the bridge, Elsieand I came out upon Brom Common. This is a rare place for Saturdays atall times of the year, but specially in autumn, because of the bramblesthat grow there. Now it was all green and yellow with gorse bushes.Artists painted it, coming all the way from East Dene and Thorsby to doit. And Elsie and I found it good to bird-nest in. There were tworoads across the waste. One to the left struck off just past Elsie'scottage, and the other went to the right; that was the road which HarryFoster must have taken the night before. He had no calls to make onthe way. The letters for that district would be delivered by thewalking post carriers going to Bewick Upton, and taking the farms andhouses on their way.

  "Let's take the short cut--you know--the footpath over Moor Clint,"said Elsie, pointing with her finger to a long low heathery ridgethrough which the grey stone peeped. A pale grey thing, like a pieceof twine, wimpled up it and ducked over the top.

  "Very likely," I cried, "and miss anything that is on the road."

  "We shan't miss anything," she said, giving me a look of disdain;"don't you remember the leaves in the cart? Where do you suppose theycame from?"

  I had not thought of that. Yes, of course, there was nothing of thatsort on the Bewick Upton road nearer than Sparhawk Wood, where the bigMoat Forest throws a spur across the Bewick road. On the left-handroad it was quite different. There were trees nearly all the way,right from the Bridge End of Breckonside. But then, as officialpostman, Harry Foster had his route marked out for him, and there wasnothing to take him toward the left--indeed, nothing but farms andtrout streams all the way to the Cheviots.

  So, like dogs on a live scent, Elsie and I stretched across the moor bythe Moor Clint footpath as fast as our legs would carry us. The restof the search parties from the village kept to the road, going slowlyand searching minutely. But I was sure that Elsie was right, and thatwhatever there was to find would lie beyond the array of dark-green firtrees which stood like an army across our path.

  It was kind of quaky, too, I admit, going along, getting nearer andnearer all the time. For, when you came to think about it, there mightbe a murderer any where about there, waiting for you. But Elsie didnot seem to mind. Elsie always knew just what to do, and wasn't at allbackward about telling a fellow, either.

  I forget if I have ever told you what Elsie Stennis was like. Well,nothing very particular at that time--only a tallish slip of a girl,who walked like a boy, a first-rate whistler, and a good jumper at aditch. She always had her hair tied behind her head with a blueribbon, and then falling all in a mess about her shoulders. Itwouldn't stop still, but blew out every way with the wind, and was sucha nuisance. I would have had it cut off, but Elsie wouldn't. It wasyellowy coloured.

  In spite of this, Elsie was a first-rate companion, nearly as good as aboy, and just no trouble at all. Indeed, I generally did what shesaid, not because I didn't know as well, but because it kept her in abetter temper. Her temper was like kindling wood, and I hate beingbothered, unless, of course, it is something serious.

  You mustn't think we were so very brave going off like that to find outabout Harry Foster. Only, you see, we had always lived in the country,and didn't think that any one could run faster than we could. In townI was scared out of my life lest I should slip in front of a tramcar,and even Elsie went pale the first time she went on one of the ferrysteamers. But in the country we were all right.

  Well, nothing happened till we got to the edge of Sparhawk Wood, wherewe came to the road again, the road along which poor Harry had comewith his load of letters and parcels very early that morning, andwhere, no doubt, the village people were even then searching for hisbody. I do not deny that when we felt our feet on its smooth, whitedust we went a bit slower, Elsie and I. So would you. We didn'treally mind, of course, but just we went slower. And we saw to it thatthe back track was clear. Elsie picked up her skirts. She was a goodrunner--better than I was. She said, after, she would have waited forme, but--well, no matter.

  We saw the long road like a gray ribbon laid across the brown andyellow moor. There was nobody there--no black heap, nothing. Beforeus we could not see far. The highway took a turn and plunged intoSparhawk Wood very suddenlike, and got dark and gloomy. We stood onthe stile a while in the sunshine--I don't know why, and presently wegot an awful start. For Elsie declared, and stuck to it, that she sawsomething move among some bracken down by the burnside.

  I got ready to run. Perhaps I had even started, when Elsie called meback.

  "It is only Davie Elshiner, the night poacher," she cried. "I can seethe patch on the left knee of his trousers. Nance Edgar sewed it on.I saw her."

  And as neither of us were in the least afraid of Davie Elshiner, alive,dead, asleep, awake, drunk, sober, or in any intermediate state, wehailed him. But he did not answer our shouts. So we went to look.And as we went I said to Elsie, "What if he has been a witness to thedeed and they have killed him, too!"

  "Come on," she said, grabbing me, "let's see, any way--we can't stopnow!"

  "_But suppose they should kill us!_" I could hardly get the words out.I was not frightened, only I seemed to lose my voice. Funny, wasn'tit? Elsie hushed me down quick, and said, nastily, that if I wasafraid I could take her hand or go home to nursie.

  Afraid! Me afraid! Likely! Would I have been there if I had beenafraid? But it was Davie, right enough, and we were both relieved. Hehad a good backful of fish, regular preserved water beauties that nevercould have been got except in the Duke's pools on the Bram Burn. Theywere all done up in fern leaves, as nice as ninepence, and as frecklyas Fred Allen's nose. But Davie had stopped by the way after catchingthem. A flask and the remains of a loaf told why.

  "Davie," said Elsie, shaking him; "wake up, man, we have something toask you!"

  Davie opened his eyes. He was dazed, not so much at the bright sun andthe heather--he was used to that--but at seeing us. And he looked allround about him to take his bearings.

  "What are you doing so far from home?" he asked, sitting up on hiselbow. "The dominie will thrash you!"

  "Davie," said Elsie, "did you see Harry Foster this morning?"

  Davie laughed with a funny chuckle he had, but which sounded awful justthen. "Aye," he said, "I was in his cart, lassie. He gied me a liftto kirk or market--I will not be telling you which!"

  "Davie," I said, "tell us. This is no joke. Harry Foster is verylikely murdered, and all the Queen's mail bags stolen. A lot of money,too, they were sending from the bank in East Dene to the new branch inBewick."

  I knew that because I had heard my father say so.

  Never did I see a man so struck as Davie. His face changed. The smirkwent out of it and it
got gray, with the blue watery eyes sticking outlike gooseberries.

  "Then if I cannot prove myself innocent," he gasped, "they will hangme!"

  "But you are innocent?" I asked eagerly.

  "Ow, aye, I'm innocent enough," he said, "but can I prove it? That'sthe question. There's a deal of folk, gameys and landlords, that has apick at poor Davie for the odd snare he sets and the big trout hecatches. They'll nail this on him. And I gave Harry two--three fliesnewly busked," he added hoarsely, "did you hear?..."

  "Yes," said I, "I saw them. They were stuck in the leather apron."

  Davie the poacher raised his hand in a discouraged way to his throat,and caressed it, feeling it all over like a doctor.

  "I'm feared ye are no worth thrippens!" he said.