I lunched off the sandwiches the Broadburys had given me, and in the bright afternoon made my way down the hill, crossed at the foot of a small fresh-water lochan, and pursued the issuing stream through midge-infested woods of hazels to its junction4 with the sea. It was rough going, but very pleasant, and I fell into the same mood of idle contentment that I had enjoyed the previous morning. I never met a soul. Sometimes a roe5 deer broke out of the covert6, or an old blackcock startled me with his scolding. The place was bright with heather, still in its first bloom, and smelt7 better than the myrrh of Arabia. It was a blessed glen, and I was as happy as a king, till I began to feel the coming of hunger, and reflected that the Lord alone knew when I might get a meal. I had still some chocolate and biscuits, but I wanted something substantial.
The distance was greater than I thought, and it was already twilight8 when I reached the coast. The shore was open and desolate9 — great banks of pebbles10 to which straggled alders11 and hazels from the hillside scrub. But as I marched northward12 and turned a little point of land I saw before me in a crook13 of the bay a smoking cottage. And, plodding14 along by the water’s edge, was the bent15 figure of a man, laden16 with nets and lobster17 pots. Also, beached on the shingle18 was a boat.
I quickened my pace and overtook the fisherman. He was an old man with a ragged20 grey beard, and his rig was seaman’s boots and a much-darned blue jersey21. He was deaf, and did not hear me when I hailed him. When he caught sight of me he never stopped, though he very solemnly returned my good evening. I fell into step with him, and in his silent company reached the cottage.
He halted before the door and unslung his burdens. The place was a two-roomed building with a roof of thatch22, and the walls all grown over with a yellow-flowered creeper. When he had straightened his back, he looked seaward and at the sky, as if to prospect23 the weather. Then he turned on me his gentle, absorbed eyes. ‘It will haf been a fine day, sir. Wass you seeking the road to anywhere?’
‘I was seeking a night’s lodging,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a long tramp on the hills, and I’d be glad of a chance of not going farther.’
‘We will haf no accommodation for a gentleman,’ he said gravely.
‘I can sleep on the floor, if you can give me a blanket and a bite of supper.’
‘Indeed you will not,’ and he smiled slowly. ‘But I will ask the wife. Mary, come here!’
An old woman appeared in answer to his call, a woman whose face was so old that she seemed like his mother. In highland25 places one sex ages quicker than the other.
‘This gentleman would like to bide26 the night. I wass telling him that we had a poor small house, but he says he will not be minding it.’
She looked at me with the timid politeness that you find only in outland places.
‘We can do our best, indeed, sir. The gentleman can have Colin’s bed in the loft27, but he will haf to be doing with plain food. Supper is ready if you will come in now.’
I had a scrub with a piece of yellow soap at an adjacent pool in the burn and then entered a kitchen blue with peat-reek. We had a meal of boiled fish, oatcakes and skim-milk cheese, with cups of strong tea to wash it down. The old folk had the manners of princes. They pressed food on me, and asked me no questions, till for very decency’s sake I had to put up a story and give some account of myself.
I found they had a son in the Argylls and a young boy in the Navy. But they seemed disinclined to talk of them or of the war. By a mere28 accident I hit on the old man’s absorbing interest. He was passionate29 about the land. He had taken part in long-forgotten agitations30, and had suffered eviction31 in some ancient landlords’ quarrel farther north. Presently he was pouring out to me all the woes32 of the crofter — woes that seemed so antediluvian33 and forgotten that I listened as one would listen to an old song. ‘You who come from a new country will not haf heard of these things,’ he kept telling me, but by that peat fire I made up for my defective34 education. He told me of evictions in the year. One somewhere in Sutherland, and of harsh doings in the Outer Isles35. It was far more than a political grievance36. It was the lament37 of the conservative for vanished days and manners. ‘Over in Skye wass the fine land for black cattle, and every man had his bit herd38 on the hillside. But the lairds said it wass better for sheep, and then they said it wass not good for sheep, so they put it under deer, and now there is no black cattle anywhere in Skye.’ I tell you it was like sad music on the bagpipes39 hearing that old fellow. The war and all things modern meant nothing to him; he lived among the tragedies of his youth and his prime.
I’m a Tory myself and a bit of a land-reformer, so we agreed well enough. So well, that I got what I wanted without asking for it. I told him I was going to Skye, and he offered to take me over in his boat in the morning. ‘It will be no trouble. Indeed no. I will be going that way myself to the fishing.’
I told him that after the war, every acre of British soil would have to be used for the men that had earned the right to it. But that did not comfort him. He was not thinking about the land itself, but about the men who had been driven from it fifty years before. His desire was not for reform, but for restitution41, and that was past the power of any Government. I went to bed in the loft in a sad, reflective mood, considering how in speeding our newfangled plough we must break down a multitude of molehills and how desirable and unreplaceable was the life of the moles42.
In brisk, shining weather, with a wind from the south-east, we put off next morning. In front was a brown line of low hills, and behind them, a little to the north, that black toothcomb of mountain range which I had seen the day before from the Arisaig ridge43.
‘That is the Coolin,’ said the fisherman. ‘It is a bad place where even the deer cannot go. But all the rest of Skye wass the fine land for black cattle.’
As we neared the coast, he pointed44 out many places. ‘Look there, Sir, in that glen. I haf seen six cot houses smoking there, and now there is not any left. There were three men of my own name had crofts on the machars beyond the point, and if you go there you will only find the marks of their bit gardens. You will know the place by the gean trees.’
When he put me ashore45 in a sandy bay between green ridges46 of bracken, he was still harping47 upon the past. I got him to take a pound — for the boat and not for the night’s hospitality, for he would have beaten me with an oar48 if I had suggested that. The last I saw of him, as I turned round at the top of the hill, he had still his sail down, and was gazing at the lands which had once been full of human dwellings49 and now were desolate.
I kept for a while along the ridge, with the Sound of Sleat on my right, and beyond it the high hills of Knoydart and Kintail. I was watching for the Tobermory, but saw no sign of her. A steamer put out from Mallaig, and there were several drifters crawling up the channel and once I saw the white ensign and a destroyer bustled51 northward, leaving a cloud of black smoke in her wake. Then, after consulting the map, I struck across country, still keeping the higher ground, but, except at odd minutes, being out of sight of the sea. I concluded that my business was to get to the latitude52 of Ranna without wasting time.
So soon as I changed my course I had the Coolin for company. Mountains have always been a craze of mine, and the blackness and mystery of those grim peaks went to my head. I forgot all about Fosse Manor53 and the Cotswolds. I forgot, too, what had been my chief feeling since I left Glasgow, a sense of the absurdity54 of my mission. It had all seemed too far-fetched and whimsical. I was running apparently55 no great personal risk, and I had always the unpleasing fear that Blenkiron might have been too clever and that the whole thing might be a mare’s nest. But that dark mountain mass changed my outlook. I began to have a queer instinct that that was the place, that something might be concealed56 there, something pretty damnable. I remember I sat on a top for half an hour raking the hills with my glasses. I made out ugly precipices57, and glens which lost themselves in primeval blackness. When the sun caught them — for it was a gleamy day — it brought out no colours, only degrees of shade. No mountains I had ever seen — not the Drakensberg or the red kopjes of Damaraland or the cold, white peaks around Erzerum — ever looked so unearthly and uncanny.
Oddly enough, too, the sight of them set me thinking about Ivery. There seemed no link between a smooth, sedentary being, dwelling50 in villas60 and lecture-rooms, and that shaggy tangle61 of precipices. But I felt there was, for I had begun to realize the bigness of my opponent. Blenkiron had said that he spun62 his web wide. That was intelligible63 enough among the half-baked youth of Biggleswick, and the pacifist societies, or even the toughs on the Clyde. I could fit him in all right to that picture. But that he should be playing his game among those mysterious black crags seemed to make him bigger and more desperate, altogether a different kind of proposition. I didn’t exactly dislike the idea, for my objection to my past weeks had been that I was out of my proper job, and this was more my line of country. I always felt that I was a better bandit than a detective. But a sort of awe64 mingled65 with my satisfaction. I began to feel about Ivery as I had felt about the three devils of the Black Stone who had hunted me before the war, and as I never felt about any other Hun. The men we fought at the Front and the men I had run across in the Greenmantle business, even old Stumm himself, had been human miscreants66. They were formidable enough, but you could gauge67 and calculate their capacities. But this Ivery was like a poison gas that hung in the air and got into unexpected crannies and that you couldn’t fight in an upstanding way. Till then, in spite of Blenkiron’s solemnity, I had regarded him simply as a problem. But now he seemed an intimate and omnipresent enemy, intangible, too, as the horror of a haunted house. Up on that sunny hillside, with the sea winds round me and the whaups calling, I got a chill in my spine68 when I thought of him.
I am ashamed to confess it, but I was also horribly hungry. There was something about the war that made me ravenous69, and the less chance of food the worse I felt. If I had been in London with twenty restaurants open to me, I should as likely as not have gone off my feed. That was the cussedness of my stomach. I had still a little chocolate left, and I ate the fisherman’s buttered scones71 for luncheon72, but long before the evening my thoughts were dwelling on my empty interior.
I put up that night in a shepherd’s cottage miles from anywhere. The man was called Macmorran, and he had come from Galloway when sheep were booming. He was a very good imitation of a savage73, a little fellow with red hair and red eyes, who might have been a Pict. He lived with a daughter who had once been in service in Glasgow, a fat young woman with a face entirely74 covered with freckles75 and a pout76 of habitual77 discontent. No wonder, for that cottage was a pretty mean place. It was so thick with peat-reek that throat and eyes were always smarting. It was badly built, and must have leaked like a sieve78 in a storm. The father was a surly fellow, whose conversation was one long growl79 at the world, the high prices, the difficulty of moving his sheep, the meanness of his master, and the godforsaken character of Skye. ‘Here’s me no seen baker’s bread for a month, and no company but a wheen ignorant Hielanders that yatter Gawlic. I wish I was back in the Glenkens. And I’d gang the morn if I could get paid what I’m awed80.’
However, he gave me supper — a braxy ham and oatcake, and I bought the remnants off him for use next day. I did not trust his blankets, so I slept the night by the fire in the ruins of an arm-chair, and woke at dawn with a foul81 taste in my mouth. A dip in the burn refreshed me, and after a bowl of porridge I took the road again. For I was anxious to get to some hill-top that looked over to Ranna.
Before midday I was close under the eastern side of the Coolin, on a road which was more a rockery than a path. Presently I saw a big house ahead of me that looked like an inn, so I gave it a miss and struck the highway that led to it a little farther north. Then I bore off to the east, and was just beginning to climb a hill which I judged stood between me and the sea, when I heard wheels on the road and looked back.
It was a farmer’s gig carrying one man. I was about half a mile off, and something in the cut of his jib seemed familiar. I got my glasses on him and made out a short, stout82 figure clad in a mackintosh, with a woollen comforter round its throat. As I watched, it made a movement as if to rub its nose on its sleeve. That was the pet trick of one man I knew. Inconspicuously I slipped through the long heather so as to reach the road ahead of the gig. When I rose like a wraith83 from the wayside the horse started, but not the driver.
‘So ye’re there,’ said Amos’s voice. ‘I’ve news for ye. The Tobermory will be in Ranna by now. She passed Broadford two hours syne84. When I saw her I yoked85 this beast and came up on the chance of foregathering with ye.’
‘How on earth did you know I would be here?’ I asked in some surprise.
‘Oh, I saw the way your mind was workin’ from your telegram. And says I to mysel’— that man Brand, says I, is not the chiel to be easy stoppit. But I was feared ye might be a day late, so I came up the road to hold the fort. Man, I’m glad to see ye. Ye’re younger and soopler than me, and yon Gresson’s a stirrin’ lad.’
‘There’s one thing you’ve got to do for me,’ I said. ‘I can’t go into inns and shops, but I can’t do without food. I see from the map there’s a town about six miles on. Go there and buy me anything that’s tinned — biscuits and tongue and sardines86, and a couple of bottles of whisky if you can get them. This may be a long job, so buy plenty.’
‘Whaur’ll I put them?’ was his only question.
We fixed87 on a cache, a hundred yards from the highway in a place where two ridges of hill enclosed the view so that only a short bit of road was visible.
‘I’ll get back to the Kyle,’ he told me, ‘and a’body there kens59 Andra Amos, if ye should find a way of sendin’ a message or comin’ yourself. Oh, and I’ve got a word to ye from a lady that we ken19 of. She says, the sooner ye’re back in Vawnity Fair the better she’ll be pleased, always provided ye’ve got over the Hill Difficulty.’
A smile screwed up his old face and he waved his whip in farewell. I interpreted Mary’s message as an incitement88 to speed, but I could not make the pace. That was Gresson’s business. I think I was a little nettled89, till I cheered myself by another interpretation90. She might be anxious for my safety, she might want to see me again, anyhow the mere sending of the message showed I was not forgotten. I was in a pleasant muse91 as I breasted the hill, keeping discreetly92 in the cover of the many gullies. At the top I looked down on Ranna and the sea.
There lay the Tobermory busy unloading. It would be some time, no doubt, before Gresson could leave. There was no row-boat in the channel yet, and I might have to wait hours. I settled myself snugly93 between two rocks, where I could not be seen, and where I had a clear view of the sea and shore. But presently I found that I wanted some long heather to make a couch, and I emerged to get some. I had not raised my head for a second when I flopped94 down again. For I had a neighbour on the hill-top.
He was about two hundred yards off, just reaching the crest95, and, unlike me, walking quite openly. His eyes were on Ranna, so he did not notice me, but from my cover I scanned every line of him. He looked an ordinary countryman, wearing badly cut, baggy96 knickerbockers of the kind that gillies affect. He had a face like a Portuguese97 Jew, but I had seen that type before among people with Highland names; they might be Jews or not, but they could speak Gaelic. Presently he disappeared. He had followed my example and selected a hiding-place.
It was a clear, hot day, but very pleasant in that airy place. Good scents99 came up from the sea, the heather was warm and fragrant100, bees droned about, and stray seagulls swept the ridge with their wings. I took a look now and then towards my neighbour, but he was deep in his hidey-hole. Most of the time I kept my glasses on Ranna, and watched the doings of the Tobermory. She was tied up at the jetty, but seemed in no hurry to unload. I watched the captain disembark and walk up to a house on the hillside. Then some idlers sauntered down towards her and stood talking and smoking close to her side. The captain returned and left again. A man with papers in his hand appeared, and a woman with what looked like a telegram. The mate went ashore in his best clothes. Then at last, after midday, Gresson appeared. He joined the captain at the piermaster’s office, and presently emerged on the other side of the jetty where some small boats were beached. A man from the Tobermory came in answer to his call, a boat was launched, and began to make its way into the channel. Gresson sat in the stern, placidly101 eating his luncheon.
I watched every detail of that crossing with some satisfaction that my forecast was turning out right. About half-way across, Gresson took the oars102, but soon surrendered them to the Tobermory man, and lit a pipe. He got out a pair of binoculars103 and raked my hillside. I tried to see if my neighbour was making any signal, but all was quiet. Presently the boat was hid from me by the bulge104 of the hill, and I caught the sound of her scraping on the beach.
Gresson was not a hill-walker like my neighbour. It took him the best part of an hour to get to the top, and he reached it at a point not two yards from my hiding-place. I could hear by his labouring breath that he was very blown. He walked straight over the crest till he was out of sight of Ranna, and flung himself on the ground. He was now about fifty yards from me, and I made shift to lessen105 the distance. There was a grassy106 trench107 skirting the north side of the hill, deep and thickly overgrown with heather. I wound my way along it till I was about twelve yards from him, where I stuck, owing to the trench dying away. When I peered out of the cover I saw that the other man had joined him and that the idiots were engaged in embracing each other.
I dared not move an inch nearer, and as they talked in a low voice I could hear nothing of what they said. Nothing except one phrase, which the strange man repeated twice, very emphatically. ‘Tomorrow night,’ he said, and I noticed that his voice had not the Highland inflection which I looked for. Gresson nodded and glanced at his watch, and then the two began to move downhill towards the road I had travelled that morning.
I followed as best I could, using a shallow dry watercourse of which sheep had made a track, and which kept me well below the level of the moor109. It took me down the hill, but some distance from the line the pair were taking, and I had to reconnoitre frequently to watch their movements. They were still a quarter of a mile or so from the road, when they stopped and stared, and I stared with them. On that lonely highway travellers were about as rare as roadmenders, and what caught their eye was a farmer’s gig driven by a thick-set elderly man with a woollen comforter round his neck.
I had a bad moment, for I reckoned that if Gresson recognized Amos he might take fright. Perhaps the driver of the gig thought the same, for he appeared to be very drunk. He waved his whip, he jiggoted the reins110, and he made an effort to sing. He looked towards the figures on the hillside, and cried out something. The gig narrowly missed the ditch, and then to my relief the horse bolted. Swaying like a ship in a gale111, the whole outfit lurched out of sight round the corner of hill where lay my cache. If Amos could stop the beast and deliver the goods there, he had put up a masterly bit of buffoonery.
The two men laughed at the performance, and then they parted. Gresson retraced112 his steps up the hill. The other man — I called him in my mind the Portuguese Jew — started off at a great pace due west, across the road, and over a big patch of bog113 towards the northern butt70 of the Coolin. He had some errand, which Gresson knew about, and he was in a hurry to perform it. It was clearly my job to get after him.
I had a rotten afternoon. The fellow covered the moorland miles like a deer, and under the hot August sun I toiled114 on his trail. I had to keep well behind, and as much as possible in cover, in case he looked back; and that meant that when he had passed over a ridge I had to double not to let him get too far ahead, and when we were in an open place I had to make wide circuits to keep hidden. We struck a road which crossed a low pass and skirted the flank of the mountains, and this we followed till we were on the western side and within sight of the sea. It was gorgeous weather, and out on the blue water I saw cool sails moving and little breezes ruffling115 the calm, while I was glowing like a furnace. Happily I was in fair training, and I needed it. The Portuguese Jew must have done a steady six miles an hour over abominable116 country.
About five o’clock we came to a point where I dared not follow. The road ran flat by the edge of the sea, so that several miles of it were visible. Moreover, the man had begun to look round every few minutes. He was getting near something and wanted to be sure that no one was in his neighbourhood. I left the road accordingly, and took to the hillside, which to my undoing117 was one long cascade118 of screes and tumbled rocks. I saw him drop over a rise which seemed to mark the rim40 of a little bay into which descended119 one of the big corries of the mountains. It must have been a good half-hour later before I, at my greater altitude and with far worse going, reached the same rim. I looked into the glen and my man had disappeared.
He could not have crossed it, for the place was wider than I had thought. A ring of black precipices came down to within half a mile of the shore, and between them was a big stream — long, shallow pools at the sea end and a chain of waterfalls above. He had gone to earth like a badger120 somewhere, and I dared not move in case he might be watching me from behind a boulder121.
But even as I hesitated he appeared again, fording the stream, his face set on the road we had come. Whatever his errand was he had finished it, and was posting back to his master. For a moment I thought I should follow him, but another instinct prevailed. He had not come to this wild place for the scenery. Somewhere down in the glen there was something or somebody that held the key of the mystery. It was my business to stay there till I had unlocked it. Besides, in two hours it would be dark, and I had had enough walking for one day.
I made my way to the stream side and had a long drink. The corrie behind me was lit up with the westering sun, and the bald cliffs were flushed with pink and gold. On each side of the stream was turf like a lawn, perhaps a hundred yards wide, and then a tangle of long heather and boulders122 right up to the edge of the great rocks. I had never seen a more delectable123 evening, but I could not enjoy its peace because of my anxiety about the Portuguese Jew. He had not been there more than half an hour, just about long enough for a man to travel to the first ridge across the burn and back. Yet he had found time to do his business. He might have left a letter in some prearranged place — in which case I would stay there till the man it was meant for turned up. Or he might have met someone, though I didn’t think that possible. As I scanned the acres of rough moor and then looked at the sea lapping delicately on the grey sand I had the feeling that a knotty124 problem was before me. It was too dark to try to track his steps. That must be left for the morning, and I prayed that there would be no rain in the night.
I ate for supper most of the braxy ham and oatcake I had brought from Macmorran’s cottage. It took some self-denial, for I was ferociously125 hungry, to save a little for breakfast next morning. Then I pulled heather and bracken and made myself a bed in the shelter of a rock which stood on a knoll126 above the stream. My bed-chamber was well hidden, but at the same time, if anything should appear in the early dawn, it gave me a prospect. With my waterproof127 I was perfectly128 warm, and, after smoking two pipes, I fell asleep.
My night’s rest was broken. First it was a fox which came and barked at my ear and woke me to a pitch-black night, with scarcely a star showing. The next time it was nothing but a wandering hill-wind, but as I sat up and listened I thought I saw a spark of light near the edge of the sea. It was only for a second, but it disquieted129 me. I got out and climbed on the top of the rock, but all was still save for the gentle lap of the tide and the croak130 of some night bird among the crags. The third time I was suddenly quite wide awake, and without any reason, for I had not been dreaming. Now I have slept hundreds of times alone beside my horse on the veld, and I never knew any cause for such awakenings but the one, and that was the presence near me of some human being. A man who is accustomed to solitude131 gets this extra sense which announces like an alarm-clock the approach of one of his kind.
But I could hear nothing. There was a scraping and rustling132 on the moor, but that was only the wind and the little wild things of the hills. A fox, perhaps, or a blue hare. I convinced my reason, but not my senses, and for long I lay awake with my ears at full cock and every nerve tense. Then I fell asleep, and woke to the first flush of dawn.
The sun was behind the Coolin and the hills were black as ink, but far out in the western seas was a broad band of gold. I got up and went down to the shore. The mouth of the stream was shallow, but as I moved south I came to a place where two small capes133 enclosed an inlet. It must have been a fault in the volcanic134 rock, for its depth was portentous135. I stripped and dived far into its cold abysses, but I did not reach the bottom. I came to the surface rather breathless, and struck out to sea, where I floated on my back and looked at the great rampart of crag. I saw that the place where I had spent the night was only a little oasis136 of green at the base of one of the grimmest corries the imagination could picture. It was as desert as Damaraland. I noticed, too, how sharply the cliffs rose from the level. There were chimneys and gullies by which a man might have made his way to the summit, but no one of them could have been scaled except by a mountaineer.
I was feeling better now, with all the frowsiness washed out of me, and I dried myself by racing108 up and down the heather. Then I noticed something. There were marks of human feet at the top of the deep-water inlet — not mine, for they were on the other side. The short sea-turf was bruised137 and trampled138 in several places, and there were broken stems of bracken. I thought that some fisherman had probably landed there to stretch his legs.
But that set me thinking of the Portuguese Jew. After breakfasting on my last morsels139 of food — a knuckle140 of braxy and a bit of oatcake — I set about tracking him from the place where he had first entered the glen. To get my bearings, I went back over the road I had come myself, and after a good deal of trouble I found his spoor. It was pretty clear as far as the stream, for he had been walking — or rather running — over ground with many patches of gravel24 on it. After that it was difficult, and I lost it entirely in the rough heather below the crags. All that I could make out for certain was that he had crossed the stream, and that his business, whatever it was, had been with the few acres of tumbled wilderness141 below the precipices.
I spent a busy morning there, but found nothing except the skeleton of a sheep picked clean by the ravens142. It was a thankless job, and I got very cross over it. I had an ugly feeling that I was on a false scent98 and wasting my time. I wished to Heaven I had old Peter with me. He could follow spoor like a Bushman, and would have riddled143 the Portuguese Jew’s track out of any jungle on earth. That was a game I had never learned, for in the old days I had always left it to my natives. I chucked the attempt, and lay disconsolately144 on a warm patch of grass and smoked and thought about Peter. But my chief reflections were that I had breakfasted at five, that it was now eleven, that I was intolerably hungry, that there was nothing here to feed a grasshopper145, and that I should starve unless I got supplies.
It was a long road to my cache, but there were no two ways of it. My only hope was to sit tight in the glen, and it might involve a wait of days. To wait I must have food, and, though it meant relinquishing146 guard for a matter of six hours, the risk had to be taken. I set off at a brisk pace with a very depressed147 mind.
From the map it seemed that a short cut lay over a pass in the range. I resolved to take it, and that short cut, like most of its kind, was unblessed by Heaven. I will not dwell upon the discomforts148 of the journey. I found myself slithering among screes, climbing steep chimneys, and travelling precariously149 along razor-backs. The shoes were nearly rent from my feet by the infernal rocks, which were all pitted as if by some geological small-pox. When at last I crossed the divide, I had a horrible business getting down from one level to another in a gruesome corrie, where each step was composed of smooth boiler-plates. But at last I was among the bogs150 on the east side, and came to the place beside the road where I had fixed my cache.
The faithful Amos had not failed me. There were the provisions — a couple of small loaves, a dozen tins, and a bottle of whisky. I made the best pack I could of them in my waterproof, swung it on my stick, and started back, thinking that I must be very like the picture of Christian151 on the title-page of Pilgrim’s Progress.
I was liker Christian before I reached my destination — Christian after he had got up the Hill Difficulty. The morning’s walk had been bad, but the afternoon’s was worse, for I was in a fever to get back, and, having had enough of the hills, chose the longer route I had followed the previous day. I was mortally afraid of being seen, for I cut a queer figure, so I avoided every stretch of road where I had not a clear view ahead. Many weary detours152 I made among moss-hags and screes and the stony153 channels of burns. But I got there at last, and it was almost with a sense of comfort that I flung my pack down beside the stream where I had passed the night.
I ate a good meal, lit my pipe, and fell into the equable mood which follows upon fatigue154 ended and hunger satisfied. The sun was westering, and its light fell upon the rock-wall above the place where I had abandoned my search for the spoor.
As I gazed at it idly I saw a curious thing.
It seemed to be split in two and a shaft155 of sunlight came through between. There could be no doubt about it. I saw the end of the shaft on the moor beneath, while all the rest lay in shadow. I rubbed my eyes, and got out my glasses. Then I guessed the explanation. There was a rock tower close against the face of the main precipice58 and indistinguishable from it to anyone looking direct at the face. Only when the sun fell on it obliquely156 could it be discovered. And between the tower and the cliff there must be a substantial hollow.
The discovery brought me to my feet, and set me running towards the end of the shaft of sunlight. I left the heather, scrambled157 up some yards of screes, and had a difficult time on some very smooth slabs158, where only the friction159 of tweed and rough rock gave me a hold. Slowly I worked my way towards the speck160 of sunlight, till I found a handhold, and swung myself into the crack. On one side was the main wall of the hill, on the other a tower some ninety feet high, and between them a long crevice161 varying in width from three to six feet. Beyond it there showed a small bright patch of sea.
There was more, for at the point where I entered it there was an overhang which made a fine cavern162, low at the entrance but a dozen feet high inside, and as dry as tinder. Here, thought I, is the perfect hiding-place. Before going farther I resolved to return for food. It was not very easy descending163, and I slipped the last twenty feet, landing on my head in a soft patch of screes. At the burnside I filled my flask164 from the whisky bottle, and put half a loaf, a tin of sardines, a tin of tongue, and a packet of chocolate in my waterproof pockets. Laden as I was, it took me some time to get up again, but I managed it, and stored my belongings165 in a corner of the cave. Then I set out to explore the rest of the crack.
It slanted166 down and then rose again to a small platform. After that it dropped in easy steps to the moor beyond the tower. If the Portuguese Jew had come here, that was the way by which he had reached it, for he would not have had the time to make my ascent167. I went very cautiously, for I felt I was on the eve of a big discovery. The platform was partly hidden from my end by a bend in the crack, and it was more or less screened by an outlying bastion of the tower from the other side. Its surface was covered with fine powdery dust, as were the steps beyond it. In some excitement I knelt down and examined it.
Beyond doubt there was spoor here. I knew the Portuguese Jew’s footmarks by this time, and I made them out clearly, especially in one corner. But there were other footsteps, quite different. The one showed the rackets of rough country boots, the others were from un-nailed soles. Again I longed for Peter to make certain, though I was pretty sure of my conclusions. The man I had followed had come here, and he had not stayed long. Someone else had been here, probably later, for the un-nailed shoes overlaid the rackets. The first man might have left a message for the second. Perhaps the second was that human presence of which I had been dimly conscious in the night-time.
I carefully removed all traces of my own footmarks, and went back to my cave. My head was humming with my discovery. I remembered Gresson’s word to his friend: ‘Tomorrow night.’ As I read it, the Portuguese Jew had taken a message from Gresson to someone, and that someone had come from somewhere and picked it up. The message contained an assignation for this very night. I had found a point of observation, for no one was likely to come near my cave, which was reached from the moor by such a toilsome climb. There I should bivouac and see what the darkness brought forth168. I remember reflecting on the amazing luck which had so far attended me. As I looked from my refuge at the blue haze3 of twilight creeping over the waters, I felt my pulses quicken with a wild anticipation169.
Then I heard a sound below me, and craned my neck round the edge of the tower. A man was climbing up the rock by the way I had come.
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1
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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2
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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3
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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4
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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5
roe
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| n.鱼卵；獐鹿 | |
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6
covert
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| adj.隐藏的；暗地里的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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8
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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9
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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10
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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11
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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12
northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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13
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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14
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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15
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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16
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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17
lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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18
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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19
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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20
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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21
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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22
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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23
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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24
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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25
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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26
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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27
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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28
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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29
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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30
agitations
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| （液体等的）摇动( agitation的名词复数 )； 鼓动； 激烈争论； （情绪等的）纷乱 | |
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31
eviction
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| n.租地等的收回 | |
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32
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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33
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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34
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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35
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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36
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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37
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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38
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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39
bagpipes
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| n.风笛；风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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40
rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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41
restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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42
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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43
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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44
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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45
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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46
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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47
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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48
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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49
dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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50
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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51
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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52
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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53
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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54
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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55
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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56
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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57
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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58
precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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59
kens
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| vt.知道（ken的第三人称单数形式） | |
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60
villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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61
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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62
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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63
intelligible
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| adj.可理解的，明白易懂的，清楚的 | |
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64
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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65
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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66
miscreants
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| n.恶棍，歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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67
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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68
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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69
ravenous
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| adj.极饿的，贪婪的 | |
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70
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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71
scones
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| n.烤饼，烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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72
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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73
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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74
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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75
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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76
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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77
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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78
sieve
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| n.筛，滤器，漏勺 | |
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79
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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80
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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83
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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84
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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85
yoked
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| 结合（yoke的过去式形式） | |
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86
sardines
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| n. 沙丁鱼 | |
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87
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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88
incitement
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| 激励； 刺激； 煽动； 激励物 | |
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89
nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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90
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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91
muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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92
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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93
snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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94
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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95
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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96
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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97
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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98
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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99
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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100
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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101
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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102
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103
binoculars
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| n.双筒望远镜 | |
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104
bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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105
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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106
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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107
trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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108
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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109
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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110
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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111
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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112
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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113
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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115
ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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117
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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118
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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121
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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122
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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123
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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124
knotty
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| adj.有结的，多节的，多瘤的，棘手的 | |
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125
ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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126
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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127
waterproof
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| n.防水材料；adj.防水的；v.使...能防水 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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disquieted
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| v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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131
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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132
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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133
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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oasis
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| n.（沙漠中的）绿洲，宜人的地方 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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138
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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139
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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140
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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143
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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146
relinquishing
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的现在分词 )； 放弃 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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discomforts
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| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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150
bogs
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| n.沼泽，泥塘( bog的名词复数 )；厕所v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的第三人称单数 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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151
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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152
detours
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| 绕行的路( detour的名词复数 )； 绕道，兜圈子 | |
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153
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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154
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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155
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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156
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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157
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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158
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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160
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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161
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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162
cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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163
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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164
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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165
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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166
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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167
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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168
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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