Chapter Nine.Salmon-Fishing.“You are a fellow!” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Here, what are you going to do?”“Return to the castle and change them,” said Max, as he was about to retrace his steps.“Nonsense! You mustn’t mind a drop of water out here. We’re going salmon-fishing. I daresay you’ll get wetter than that. Come on.”“I’ll put on my shoes and stockings first,” said Max, taking out a pocket-handkerchief to use as a towel.“Get out! Let the wind dry you. It’s all sand and heather along here. Come on.”Max sighed to himself, and limped after his guide, who stepped out boldly over the rough ground, hopping from stone to stone, running his feet well into patches of dry sand, which acted like old-fashioned pounce on ink, and from merry malice picking out places where the sand-thistles grew, all of which Max bore patiently for a few minutes, and then, after pricking one of his toes sharply, he stopped short.“What now?” cried Kenneth, with suppressed mirth.“Hadn’t we better put on our shoes and stockings here?”“What for?”“We might meet somebody.”“Well, of course. Suppose we did?”“It—it looks so indelicate,” said Max hesitatingly.“Oh, I say, don’t!” cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter; “you make my sides ache again.”“Did I say something funny, then?”“Funny! Why, it’s screaming. Why, half the people go bare-legged here. All the children do.”“But the things prick one’s feet so, and we might meet with poisonous snakes.”“Then let’s put them on,” said Kenneth, with mock seriousness. “I did not think about the poisonous snakes.”He set the example of taking possession of a stone, and, slipping on his check worsted socks and low shoes in a few moments, to jump up again and stand looking down at Max, who made quite a business of the matter. Kenneth gave each foot a kick and a stamp to get rid of the sand. Max proceeded very deliberately to wipe away the sand and scraps of heather from between his toes with one clean pocket-handkerchief, and to polish them with another.“Oh, they look beautiful and white now!” said Kenneth, with mock seriousness, as he drew his dirk and stropped it on his hand. “Like to trim your toe-nails and cut your corns?”“No, thank you,” said Max innocently. “I won’t keep you waiting to-day.”“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Kenneth politely.“There, you are laughing at me again,” cried Max reproachfully.“Well, who’s to help it if you will be such a mollycoddle! Slip on your socks and shoes now. I want you to catch that salmon.”“Ah yes, I should like to catch a salmon!” said Max, hastily pulling on his socks and then his too tight shoes. “There, I’m ready now.”Half a mile farther they struck the side of a sea loch, and, after following its shore for a short distance, Kenneth plunged into the heath and began to climb a steep, rugged slope, up which Max toiled, till on the top he paused, breathless and full of wonder at the beauty of the scene. The slope they had climbed was the back-bone of a buttress of the hill which flanked the loch, the said buttress running out and forming a promontory.“There, we have cut off quite half a mile by coming up here.”“How beautiful!” said Max involuntarily, as he gazed at the long stretch of miles of blue water which ran right in among the mountainous hills.“Yes, it’s all right,” cried Kenneth. “There they are half way down to the river.”“Then we are not going to fish in the loch?”“No, no; we’re going to hit the river yonder, a mile from where it enters the sea, and work on up toward the fresh-water loch.”“Where is the river, then?”“You can’t see it. Runs down yonder among the trees and rocks. You can just see where it goes into the loch,” continued Kenneth, pointing. “Hillo! ahoy!”“Ahoy!” came back from the distance; and Scood and the tall forester seated themselves on a great block of granite and awaited their coming.Tavish smiled with his eyes, which seemed to have the same laughing, pleasant look in them seen in those of a friendly setter, the effect being that Max felt drawn toward the great Highlander, and walked on by his side, while Kenneth took the two long rods from Scoodrach, giving him the basket to carry; and, as they dropped behind, with Kenneth talking earnestly to the young gillie in a low tone, the latter suddenly made a curious explosive noise, like a laugh chopped right in two before it quite escaped from a mouth.Kenneth was looking as solemn as Scoodrach as Max turned sharply round, his sensitive nature suggesting at once that he was being laughed at.Tavish evidently thought that there was something humorous on the way, for he gave Max a poke with his elbow, and uttered the one word,—“Cames!”A quarter of an hour’s rough walking brought them to a steep descent among pines and birches, directly they had passed which Max uttered an ejaculation, for the scene which opened out before him seemed a wonder of beauty.Just in front the ground sloped down amidst piled-up, rugged masses of rock to a swiftly-flowing river, whose waters were perfectly black in every deep basin and pool, and one rich, deep, creamy foam wherever it raced and tumbled, and made hundreds of miniature falls among the great boulders and stones which dotted the stream. Right and left he could gaze along a deep winding ravine, while in front, across the river, there was a narrow band of exquisite green, dotted with pale purple gentian and fringed with ragwort, and beyond, the mountain rose up steeply, looking almost perpendicular, but broken by rifts and crevices and shelves, among which the spiring larch and pine towered up, showing their contrast of greens, and the lovely pensile birches drooped down wondrous veils of leaf and lacing delicate twig, as if to hide their silvery, moss-decked stems.“Like it?” cried Kenneth.“Like it!” cried Max enthusiastically. “It is lovely! I didn’t think there could be anything so grand.”“Ferry coot. She knows what is ferry coot,” said Tavish, nodding his head approvingly, as he set down a basket.“Glad you’re satisfied!” cried Kenneth; “but we’ve come to fish.”“To fish?”“Yes, of course.”“Are there salmon here, then?”“Yes; there’s one in every pool, I’ll bet; and I daresay there’s one where the little fall comes down.”“What! There?” cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.“Now then,” said Kenneth, “I’m supposing that you have never tried to catch a salmon.”“Puir laddie!” muttered the great forester; “a’most a man, and never caught a fush! Hey! where are ye gaun wi’ that basket, Scood?”“Never you mind, Tavvy. I sent him,” said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.“I think you had better fish,” said Max shrinkingly, “I have never tried.”“Then you are going to try now. Take this rod. Hold it in both hands, so. There, you see there is a grand salmon fly on.”“Yes, I see.”“Well, now, do just as I do. There’s not much line out. Give it a wave like this, just as if you were making a figure eight in the air, and then try to let your fly fall gently just there.”Max had taken the rod, and stood watching Kenneth, who had taken the other, and, giving it a wave, he made the fly fall lightly on the short grass beside the river.“Is this a salmon leap, then?” asked Max innocently.“No; but there’s one higher up. Why?”“Because I thought the salmon must leap out of the river on to the grass to take the fly.”“Hoo—hoo—hoo! Hoogle—hoogle—hoogle! I beg your pairdon!”Tavish had burst out into a kind of roar, as near to the above as English letters will sound. Perhaps he was laughing in Gaelic, with a cross of Scandinavian; but, whatever it was, he seemed heartily ashamed of his rudeness, and looked as solemn as a judge.“Don’t laugh, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth, to conceal his own mirth. “Why, can’t you see that I was making you practise on the grass before letting you throw in the water.”“She mustn’t splash the watter,” said Tavish sententiously.“Scare the salmon away. Now then, try and throw.”Max made a clumsy effort; the line whistled through the air, and Tavish gave a violent start.“She nearly hookit her in the nose!” he cried.Max stopped short, looking horribly perplexed; but Kenneth urged him on.“Try again,” he said. “Like that, and that, and that. It’s easy enough. Try and throw the fly lightly right away from you.”Max tried and tried, but with very indifferent success, Tavish making him very nervous by shaking his head from time to time.“No, no! not that way; this way!” cried Kenneth.Max tried again.“Now she’s trying to hook her in the eye,” muttered the forester, moving out of range.“Try if you can throw it a little worse,” said Kenneth mockingly.“I couldn’t,” sighed Max.“Try.”Max threw once more.“There, what did I say?” cried Kenneth.“Try to throw a little worse; and I did,” said Max apologetically.“And you threw ten times better. He’ll soon throw a fly, Tavvy.”“Ay, she’ll soon throw a fly,” said the forester.“There; now you shall try and throw one downstream,” said Kenneth.“No, no; I’d rather you would try,” cried Max.“I can try any time. I want you to learn now. Look here! you see those stepping-stones leading out to that big block?”“What! right out there in the rushing water?”“Yes; that’s a splendid stand.”“She’s a coot stand, a ferry coot stand,” said Tavish. “She’s caught manny a coot fush there.”“But it looks so dangerous,” pleaded Max.“Nonsense!”“But suppose I fell in?”“Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff. Now don’t be a coward. Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close in-shore. See where I mean?”“Yes, I see,” said Max dolefully; “but I shall never do it.”“You won’t without you try,” cried Kenneth. “Now go out, and keep on trying to throw till you make the fly fall on the other side of that big block.”“But there’s no watter there,” said Tavish.“Hold your tongue. You can’t see behind it,” said Kenneth. “How do you know?”“She knows there’s no watter there, and if there was it wouldn’t hold a fush. You let him throw the flee yonder.”“Am I to fish with a flea?” said Max.“No, no, no!” cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below. “Tavvy means a fly. You go on and do as I say.”“But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there.”“You Tavvy, if you say another word, I’ll pitch you into the river.”The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand, like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw the fly, which fell almost at his feet.“There’s no watter on the far side,” muttered Tavish.Whish went the line again.“Well done, Max. Go on. You’ll soon do it, and catch a salmon,” cried Kenneth.“It’s very awkward standing here,” said Max appealingly.“You’re all right. Throw away. Get your fly the other side of the stone.”“Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o’ the stane?” muttered Tavish, tugging at his beard.“Now, another, Max. Go on.”“Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie.”Whizz!Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying close to the shore.“Is that right?” said Max.“Yes. Bravo! capital! You’ll have one. Don’t strike too hard if you have a touch.”“Stanes and spates!” roared the great Highlander, leaping from the ground in his excitement. “Strike, laddie, strike! That’s gran’! Haud oop yer rod. Keep the point o’ yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o’ yer rod, laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin! Hech! but it does a man’s hairt gude to see.”“It’s tugging so, it will pull me in,” cried Max, whose face was flushed with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.“No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line,” cried Kenneth, who seemed just as excited. “It’s a rare big one, Max.”“Ay, it’s a fine fush,” cried the forester. “It’s nae kelt. Shall I go and help the laddie?”“No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself. Look how it pulls!”“But it don’t rin. Has she hookit a stane? Na it’s a fush, and a gude fush. Dinna be hasty, laddie. I’ll be ready wi’ the gaff. Let her rin, and—Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o’ that, Maister Kenneth? She’s caught a watter-hen!”For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it ashore.“Sure eneuch, it’s a watter-hen,” cried Tavish excitedly. “Ye’ve caught a watter-hen, maister, and it’s no’ a fush. D’ye hear, Maister Kenneth, and did ye ever hear o’ such a thing? It’s a watter-hen.”“No, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,—“no, it isn’t a water-hen; it’s a cock.” The forester took up the bird he had hooked, and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head swing to and fro.“Why, its weam’s all loose,” he cried, “and it’s quite deid! Eh, but it’s ane o’ yer cames, Maister Kenneth. Here,” he cried, running to the rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, “come oot, Scood! They’ve peen making came o’ ye, maister. I thought there was something on the way.”“It’s too bad,” said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt, allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his eyes.“Yes, it was too bad,” he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with mirth. “But never mind; you show him now, Tawy. Make him catch a salmon.”“No,” said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; “you are only making fun of me.”“Nay, I’ll no’ mak’ fun o’ thee, laddie,” said Tavish. “Come wi’ me, and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane. Let them laugh, but bide a wee, and we’ll laugh at them.”Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment’s hesitation, he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.“Now then,” said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, “ye’ll do as I tell ye, and before long we’ll hae a bonnie fush.”
“You are a fellow!” cried Kenneth, laughing. “Here, what are you going to do?”
“Return to the castle and change them,” said Max, as he was about to retrace his steps.
“Nonsense! You mustn’t mind a drop of water out here. We’re going salmon-fishing. I daresay you’ll get wetter than that. Come on.”
“I’ll put on my shoes and stockings first,” said Max, taking out a pocket-handkerchief to use as a towel.
“Get out! Let the wind dry you. It’s all sand and heather along here. Come on.”
Max sighed to himself, and limped after his guide, who stepped out boldly over the rough ground, hopping from stone to stone, running his feet well into patches of dry sand, which acted like old-fashioned pounce on ink, and from merry malice picking out places where the sand-thistles grew, all of which Max bore patiently for a few minutes, and then, after pricking one of his toes sharply, he stopped short.
“What now?” cried Kenneth, with suppressed mirth.
“Hadn’t we better put on our shoes and stockings here?”
“What for?”
“We might meet somebody.”
“Well, of course. Suppose we did?”
“It—it looks so indelicate,” said Max hesitatingly.
“Oh, I say, don’t!” cried Kenneth, roaring with laughter; “you make my sides ache again.”
“Did I say something funny, then?”
“Funny! Why, it’s screaming. Why, half the people go bare-legged here. All the children do.”
“But the things prick one’s feet so, and we might meet with poisonous snakes.”
“Then let’s put them on,” said Kenneth, with mock seriousness. “I did not think about the poisonous snakes.”
He set the example of taking possession of a stone, and, slipping on his check worsted socks and low shoes in a few moments, to jump up again and stand looking down at Max, who made quite a business of the matter. Kenneth gave each foot a kick and a stamp to get rid of the sand. Max proceeded very deliberately to wipe away the sand and scraps of heather from between his toes with one clean pocket-handkerchief, and to polish them with another.
“Oh, they look beautiful and white now!” said Kenneth, with mock seriousness, as he drew his dirk and stropped it on his hand. “Like to trim your toe-nails and cut your corns?”
“No, thank you,” said Max innocently. “I won’t keep you waiting to-day.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Kenneth politely.
“There, you are laughing at me again,” cried Max reproachfully.
“Well, who’s to help it if you will be such a mollycoddle! Slip on your socks and shoes now. I want you to catch that salmon.”
“Ah yes, I should like to catch a salmon!” said Max, hastily pulling on his socks and then his too tight shoes. “There, I’m ready now.”
Half a mile farther they struck the side of a sea loch, and, after following its shore for a short distance, Kenneth plunged into the heath and began to climb a steep, rugged slope, up which Max toiled, till on the top he paused, breathless and full of wonder at the beauty of the scene. The slope they had climbed was the back-bone of a buttress of the hill which flanked the loch, the said buttress running out and forming a promontory.
“There, we have cut off quite half a mile by coming up here.”
“How beautiful!” said Max involuntarily, as he gazed at the long stretch of miles of blue water which ran right in among the mountainous hills.
“Yes, it’s all right,” cried Kenneth. “There they are half way down to the river.”
“Then we are not going to fish in the loch?”
“No, no; we’re going to hit the river yonder, a mile from where it enters the sea, and work on up toward the fresh-water loch.”
“Where is the river, then?”
“You can’t see it. Runs down yonder among the trees and rocks. You can just see where it goes into the loch,” continued Kenneth, pointing. “Hillo! ahoy!”
“Ahoy!” came back from the distance; and Scood and the tall forester seated themselves on a great block of granite and awaited their coming.
Tavish smiled with his eyes, which seemed to have the same laughing, pleasant look in them seen in those of a friendly setter, the effect being that Max felt drawn toward the great Highlander, and walked on by his side, while Kenneth took the two long rods from Scoodrach, giving him the basket to carry; and, as they dropped behind, with Kenneth talking earnestly to the young gillie in a low tone, the latter suddenly made a curious explosive noise, like a laugh chopped right in two before it quite escaped from a mouth.
Kenneth was looking as solemn as Scoodrach as Max turned sharply round, his sensitive nature suggesting at once that he was being laughed at.
Tavish evidently thought that there was something humorous on the way, for he gave Max a poke with his elbow, and uttered the one word,—
“Cames!”
A quarter of an hour’s rough walking brought them to a steep descent among pines and birches, directly they had passed which Max uttered an ejaculation, for the scene which opened out before him seemed a wonder of beauty.
Just in front the ground sloped down amidst piled-up, rugged masses of rock to a swiftly-flowing river, whose waters were perfectly black in every deep basin and pool, and one rich, deep, creamy foam wherever it raced and tumbled, and made hundreds of miniature falls among the great boulders and stones which dotted the stream. Right and left he could gaze along a deep winding ravine, while in front, across the river, there was a narrow band of exquisite green, dotted with pale purple gentian and fringed with ragwort, and beyond, the mountain rose up steeply, looking almost perpendicular, but broken by rifts and crevices and shelves, among which the spiring larch and pine towered up, showing their contrast of greens, and the lovely pensile birches drooped down wondrous veils of leaf and lacing delicate twig, as if to hide their silvery, moss-decked stems.
“Like it?” cried Kenneth.
“Like it!” cried Max enthusiastically. “It is lovely! I didn’t think there could be anything so grand.”
“Ferry coot. She knows what is ferry coot,” said Tavish, nodding his head approvingly, as he set down a basket.
“Glad you’re satisfied!” cried Kenneth; “but we’ve come to fish.”
“To fish?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Are there salmon here, then?”
“Yes; there’s one in every pool, I’ll bet; and I daresay there’s one where the little fall comes down.”
“What! There?” cried Max, as he looked up and up, till about two thousand feet above them a thread of glancing silver seemed to join other threads of glancing silver, like veins of burnished metal, to come gliding down, now lost to sight among the verdure of the mountain, now coming into view again, till they joined in one rapid rivulet, which had cut for itself a channel deep in the mountain side, and finally dashed out from beneath the shade of the overhanging birches, to plunge with a dull roar into the river nearly opposite where they stood.
“Now then,” said Kenneth, “I’m supposing that you have never tried to catch a salmon.”
“Puir laddie!” muttered the great forester; “a’most a man, and never caught a fush! Hey! where are ye gaun wi’ that basket, Scood?”
“Never you mind, Tavvy. I sent him,” said Kenneth sharply, as Scoodrach plunged in among the rocks and bushes behind them, and disappeared.
“I think you had better fish,” said Max shrinkingly, “I have never tried.”
“Then you are going to try now. Take this rod. Hold it in both hands, so. There, you see there is a grand salmon fly on.”
“Yes, I see.”
“Well, now, do just as I do. There’s not much line out. Give it a wave like this, just as if you were making a figure eight in the air, and then try to let your fly fall gently just there.”
Max had taken the rod, and stood watching Kenneth, who had taken the other, and, giving it a wave, he made the fly fall lightly on the short grass beside the river.
“Is this a salmon leap, then?” asked Max innocently.
“No; but there’s one higher up. Why?”
“Because I thought the salmon must leap out of the river on to the grass to take the fly.”
“Hoo—hoo—hoo! Hoogle—hoogle—hoogle! I beg your pairdon!”
Tavish had burst out into a kind of roar, as near to the above as English letters will sound. Perhaps he was laughing in Gaelic, with a cross of Scandinavian; but, whatever it was, he seemed heartily ashamed of his rudeness, and looked as solemn as a judge.
“Don’t laugh, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth, to conceal his own mirth. “Why, can’t you see that I was making you practise on the grass before letting you throw in the water.”
“She mustn’t splash the watter,” said Tavish sententiously.
“Scare the salmon away. Now then, try and throw.”
Max made a clumsy effort; the line whistled through the air, and Tavish gave a violent start.
“She nearly hookit her in the nose!” he cried.
Max stopped short, looking horribly perplexed; but Kenneth urged him on.
“Try again,” he said. “Like that, and that, and that. It’s easy enough. Try and throw the fly lightly right away from you.”
Max tried and tried, but with very indifferent success, Tavish making him very nervous by shaking his head from time to time.
“No, no! not that way; this way!” cried Kenneth.
Max tried again.
“Now she’s trying to hook her in the eye,” muttered the forester, moving out of range.
“Try if you can throw it a little worse,” said Kenneth mockingly.
“I couldn’t,” sighed Max.
“Try.”
Max threw once more.
“There, what did I say?” cried Kenneth.
“Try to throw a little worse; and I did,” said Max apologetically.
“And you threw ten times better. He’ll soon throw a fly, Tavvy.”
“Ay, she’ll soon throw a fly,” said the forester.
“There; now you shall try and throw one downstream,” said Kenneth.
“No, no; I’d rather you would try,” cried Max.
“I can try any time. I want you to learn now. Look here! you see those stepping-stones leading out to that big block?”
“What! right out there in the rushing water?”
“Yes; that’s a splendid stand.”
“She’s a coot stand, a ferry coot stand,” said Tavish. “She’s caught manny a coot fush there.”
“But it looks so dangerous,” pleaded Max.
“Nonsense!”
“But suppose I fell in?”
“Then Tavvy would fish you out with the gaff. Now don’t be a coward. Go out there, and try and throw your fly just over that big rock close in-shore. See where I mean?”
“Yes, I see,” said Max dolefully; “but I shall never do it.”
“You won’t without you try,” cried Kenneth. “Now go out, and keep on trying to throw till you make the fly fall on the other side of that big block.”
“But there’s no watter there,” said Tavish.
“Hold your tongue. You can’t see behind it,” said Kenneth. “How do you know?”
“She knows there’s no watter there, and if there was it wouldn’t hold a fush. You let him throw the flee yonder.”
“Am I to fish with a flea?” said Max.
“No, no, no!” cried Kenneth, stamping about with mirth, while another chopped-off laugh seemed to come from below. “Tavvy means a fly. You go on and do as I say.”
“But, Master Ken, there shall not be a fush there.”
“You Tavvy, if you say another word, I’ll pitch you into the river.”
The great Highlander chuckled softly, like a big turkey practising a gobble, and took off his bonnet to rub his head, while Kenneth hurried Max on, and stood on the shore, while the visitor walked out over the stones amongst which the river ran and foamed, Max looking, rod in hand, like a clumsy tight-rope dancer balancing himself with his pole.
Kenneth held up his hand to Tavish, who stared wonderingly, and took off his cap to look inside it as if he expected an explanation there, but he put it on again, and stood watching his young master and the visitor wonderingly, as the latter, urged by Kenneth, made an attempt to throw the fly, which fell almost at his feet.
“There’s no watter on the far side,” muttered Tavish.
Whish went the line again.
“Well done, Max. Go on. You’ll soon do it, and catch a salmon,” cried Kenneth.
“It’s very awkward standing here,” said Max appealingly.
“You’re all right. Throw away. Get your fly the other side of the stone.”
“Phwhat for will she get the flee the other side o’ the stane?” muttered Tavish, tugging at his beard.
“Now, another, Max. Go on.”
“Noo anither, she says to the puir feckless laddie.”
Whizz!
Max made a desperate throw, and, to his own wonderment, the line, with the fly at the end, passed right over the great block of stone lying close to the shore.
“Is that right?” said Max.
“Yes. Bravo! capital! You’ll have one. Don’t strike too hard if you have a touch.”
“Stanes and spates!” roared the great Highlander, leaping from the ground in his excitement. “Strike, laddie, strike! That’s gran’! Haud oop yer rod. Keep the point o’ yer rod oop. Noo, Master Kenneth laddie, ye shall see what tooks place. Keep oop the point o’ yer rod, laddie. Dinna haud on by the reel. Let the fush rin! let the fush rin! Hech! but it does a man’s hairt gude to see.”
“It’s tugging so, it will pull me in,” cried Max, whose face was flushed with excitement as his rod bent nearly double.
“No, no; stand fast. Keep a tight line,” cried Kenneth, who seemed just as excited. “It’s a rare big one, Max.”
“Ay, it’s a fine fush,” cried the forester. “It’s nae kelt. Shall I go and help the laddie?”
“No, no, Tav; let him catch it himself. Look how it pulls!”
“But it don’t rin. Has she hookit a stane? Na it’s a fush, and a gude fush. Dinna be hasty, laddie. I’ll be ready wi’ the gaff. Let her rin, and—Stanes and spates! did ye ever see the like o’ that, Maister Kenneth? She’s caught a watter-hen!”
For at that moment, after the rod had bent double nearly, and been jerked and tugged till Max could hardly keep his footing, the invisible fish behind the rock suddenly seemed to dart upward, and, as the rod straightened, the captive to the hook flew right up in the air and fell with a splash on the side of the stone nearest to where Max stood staring at Tavish who waded into the water knee-deep, and with a dexterous jerk of the gaff hook got hold of the captive and dragged it ashore.
“Sure eneuch, it’s a watter-hen,” cried Tavish excitedly. “Ye’ve caught a watter-hen, maister, and it’s no’ a fush. D’ye hear, Maister Kenneth, and did ye ever hear o’ such a thing? It’s a watter-hen.”
“No, Tavvy,” cried Kenneth, who had fallen back on the heather, and was kicking up his heels, as he roared with laughter,—“no, it isn’t a water-hen; it’s a cock.” The forester took up the bird he had hooked, and examined its drenched feathers and comb before letting its head swing to and fro.
“Why, its weam’s all loose,” he cried, “and it’s quite deid! Eh, but it’s ane o’ yer cames, Maister Kenneth. Here,” he cried, running to the rock and making a dab with the gaff, which hooked something, “come oot, Scood! They’ve peen making came o’ ye, maister. I thought there was something on the way.”
“It’s too bad,” said Max reproachfully, as Scood, hooked by the kilt, allowed himself to be dragged forward, grinning with all his muscular force, while Kenneth lay back roaring with laughter, and wiping his eyes.
“Yes, it was too bad,” he said feebly, and in a voice half choked with mirth. “But never mind; you show him now, Tawy. Make him catch a salmon.”
“No,” said Max, stepping back and laying down the rod; “you are only making fun of me.”
“Nay, I’ll no’ mak’ fun o’ thee, laddie,” said Tavish. “Come wi’ me, and ye shall get a saumon, and a gude ane. Let them laugh, but bide a wee, and we’ll laugh at them.”
Max shook his head, but the great forester seemed to be so thoroughly in earnest, and to look so disappointed, that, after a moment’s hesitation, he stooped and picked up the rod once more, while Tavish took hold of his arm and led him toward another stone, upon which whosoever stood had the full command of a broad deep pool, into which the waters of the river surged and were slowly eddied round and round.
“Now then,” said Tavish, making a careful examination of the fly, “ye’ll do as I tell ye, and before long we’ll hae a bonnie fush.”
Chapter Ten.Max’s first “Fush.”If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, “No, thank you, I would rather see you fish,” but, with a strong feeling upon him that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughed at or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, with the line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hang down by his hand.“Ye’ll tak’ haud o’ the flee, or maybe ye’ll hae the hook in your han’,” cried Tavish. “That’s richt. Noo ye’ll throw the flee richt oot yonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast. I’ll tell ye whaur to throw. Noo then, tak’ your stan’ richt oot on that big stane whaur the watter comes doon.”“But it looks so wet and slippery.”“The watter always mak’s the stanes wet.”“But it’s dangerous.”Tavish looked at him with astonishment. He could not conceive the possibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock to rock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes opened widely.“I mean,” faltered Max, “that it would be so easy to slip in.”“Oh, I ken the noo,” cried Tavish. “Dinna be skeart, laddie. Ye think she’ll catch a cold. Hey, but ye needna be feart o’ that. The watter comes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, let alane a bonnie young laird like you.”Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking to Scoodrach. So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on to the first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still, for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.“Noo the next,” said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself with the idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemed shallower farther out than close in-shore, where it looked very black and deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next, wondering the while that nothing had happened to him. Then on and on from stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous state which impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedy taking place before his eyes—of one Max Blande, visitor from London, slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and being rolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there against projecting masses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth black whirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold, and with his clothes clinging to him.He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeral being conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of the forester made him start.“Gude—gude—gude!” he cried. “Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane as weel as young Scood.”The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of the rocks till he came to the last, quite a buttress nearly in the middle of the stream.“Ye’ll no’ go farther,” cried Tavish.Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into the cold boiling water.“Got one yet, Max?” shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faint in the roar of the hurrying stream.Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with the foaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting all about the object for which he had come, his one idea being that his object there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.“Noo,” shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly dropped the rod. “That’s the way, laddie. Tak a good grip o’ the butt and mak’ your first cast ahint that black stane. She shall hook a fush there. Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?”Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone “ahint” which he was to throw his “flee,” and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod a wave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, or whether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.“A coot cast!” cried Tavish; “richt for the spot, but not long eneuch. Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do’t again.”Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blind fashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the forester had pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round before carrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.“There, she will hae the fush directly. See her rise?”Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and, without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silently ask if that was right.To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon the shore, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.“Have I done anything very stupid?” said Max to himself.“Ye winna catch a fush like that,” cried Tavish; and the next moment Max looked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, and in the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlong into the water.Nothing of the kind. Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed as a goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down to take his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at the fisher.“What have I done?” Max’s lips parted to say, but they did not utter the words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the moment ideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southrons flashed into the lad’s brain and faded away.“She’ll never catch a fush like that,” cried Tavish.“But I did try,” said Max in remonstrance.“She says she did try,” cried Tavish scornfully. “Turn roond, she’s got ta flee in her pack.”“A flee? Back? Oh, I see!” cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the Highlander’s hand, and turning half round.“Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?”But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut loose.“Why didn’t you leave it, Tav?” Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his mouth.“There, now, she’ll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She’ll soon find ta way.”Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.“Look, laddie, she’s rising,” he shouted. “Noo cast yonder ahint that stane.”Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fish was supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the line first, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with a splash.“Acain! cast acain!” cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly, never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon was patiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and into the great hole behind the stone.As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was that he ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, was saved from entanglement.“It’s of no use,” he said at last despondently, after nearly overbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.The remark was meant for the forester’s ears, but the sound drowned it, and the forester shouted,—“Noo acain, laddie! Get a good grip o’ the butt, and send the flee close under the stane; ta fush is there.”Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rod two or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind, and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whose effect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the black stone, where it caught and held on.“Drop your rod!” roared Tavish. “Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!”Tavish was just in time. Another moment, and the rod would have all been in the river. As it was, only the point splashed in, and as the line was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowly down the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool, to go gliding round.Splash!“Up wi’ the rod, laddie! up wi’ the point o’ your rod, laddie!” cried Tavish excitedly. “She’s cot ta fush—she’s cot ta fush!”Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendous tug, which sent an electric shock through him.“She’s cot him! she’s cot him!” cried Tavish, dancing about on the shore and waving the gaff hook he held. “Noo, my laddie, never let the fush rin without feeling your han’.”Max heard the forester’s shout, but hardly comprehended his words in the excitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there from side to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line that all at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leaped right out of the water and fell with a great splash.“Ah, she’s gone!” cried Tavish, stamping with rage. “Nay, hold on! Let her rin the noo. An’ dinna catch haud too tight o’ the line.”Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he did the right thing. For the fish darted away so furiously that the lad loosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himself by keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked a good deal in running through his hand. But all the same the winch began to sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out of the pool and down the stream.The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out by an experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down about forty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailed round two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, and a dead weight hung at the end of the line.“She’s got the line around a stane,” cried Tavish, running over the stepping-stones, gaff in hand. “She’ll lose the fush! she’ll lose the fush.”“Has it gone?” asked Max rather piteously.“Let her tak’ a grip o’ the rod, my lad,” said the forester; and, catching the long supple wand from the boy’s hand, he stood thinking for a few moments winding in a few yards of the line.“Nay, she’s on safe,” he cried, handing the rod back to Max.“What shall I do now?” said Max nervously.“She shall play ta fush till she’s tired, and then she will use the gaff.”“But I’m tired now.”“But ta fush isna tired, laddie. Wind in, and keep a tight line.”To Max’s wonder, Tavish went back ashore, and ran down the bank past Kenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them right into the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which lay sulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.Tavish’s efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement the forester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rod bent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece of slaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzag down through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched the fish on the flank and started it off once more.“Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!” cried Tavish.“Hooray, Max! you’ll have it now,” cried Kenneth; and all watched the fisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here and there, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite of Tavish’s adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward the holder of the butt, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max’s excitement increased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upper pool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free, from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prize turned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with its tail, and then darted off down the river.“Haud your rod up! Haud your rod up!” cried Tavish frantically; but Max did not respond this time, and the result was that there came a sudden snatch, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Max tried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there was a sharp snatch and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before he could recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into the pool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream, which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before the boy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly down toward the sea loch a couple of miles below.
If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, “No, thank you, I would rather see you fish,” but, with a strong feeling upon him that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughed at or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, with the line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hang down by his hand.
“Ye’ll tak’ haud o’ the flee, or maybe ye’ll hae the hook in your han’,” cried Tavish. “That’s richt. Noo ye’ll throw the flee richt oot yonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast. I’ll tell ye whaur to throw. Noo then, tak’ your stan’ richt oot on that big stane whaur the watter comes doon.”
“But it looks so wet and slippery.”
“The watter always mak’s the stanes wet.”
“But it’s dangerous.”
Tavish looked at him with astonishment. He could not conceive the possibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock to rock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes opened widely.
“I mean,” faltered Max, “that it would be so easy to slip in.”
“Oh, I ken the noo,” cried Tavish. “Dinna be skeart, laddie. Ye think she’ll catch a cold. Hey, but ye needna be feart o’ that. The watter comes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, let alane a bonnie young laird like you.”
Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking to Scoodrach. So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on to the first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still, for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.
“Noo the next,” said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself with the idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemed shallower farther out than close in-shore, where it looked very black and deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next, wondering the while that nothing had happened to him. Then on and on from stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous state which impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedy taking place before his eyes—of one Max Blande, visitor from London, slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and being rolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there against projecting masses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth black whirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold, and with his clothes clinging to him.
He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeral being conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of the forester made him start.
“Gude—gude—gude!” he cried. “Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane as weel as young Scood.”
The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of the rocks till he came to the last, quite a buttress nearly in the middle of the stream.
“Ye’ll no’ go farther,” cried Tavish.
Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into the cold boiling water.
“Got one yet, Max?” shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faint in the roar of the hurrying stream.
Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with the foaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting all about the object for which he had come, his one idea being that his object there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.
“Noo,” shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly dropped the rod. “That’s the way, laddie. Tak a good grip o’ the butt and mak’ your first cast ahint that black stane. She shall hook a fush there. Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?”
Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone “ahint” which he was to throw his “flee,” and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod a wave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.
That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, or whether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.
“A coot cast!” cried Tavish; “richt for the spot, but not long eneuch. Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do’t again.”
Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blind fashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the forester had pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round before carrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.
“There, she will hae the fush directly. See her rise?”
Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and, without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silently ask if that was right.
To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon the shore, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.
“Have I done anything very stupid?” said Max to himself.
“Ye winna catch a fush like that,” cried Tavish; and the next moment Max looked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, and in the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlong into the water.
Nothing of the kind. Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed as a goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down to take his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at the fisher.
“What have I done?” Max’s lips parted to say, but they did not utter the words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the moment ideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southrons flashed into the lad’s brain and faded away.
“She’ll never catch a fush like that,” cried Tavish.
“But I did try,” said Max in remonstrance.
“She says she did try,” cried Tavish scornfully. “Turn roond, she’s got ta flee in her pack.”
“A flee? Back? Oh, I see!” cried Max, yielding to the pressure of the Highlander’s hand, and turning half round.
“Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?”
But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off the rock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erring foot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of his tweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cut loose.
“Why didn’t you leave it, Tav?” Kenneth shouted, with his hands to his mouth.
“There, now, she’ll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She’ll soon find ta way.”
Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his brow wrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.
“Look, laddie, she’s rising,” he shouted. “Noo cast yonder ahint that stane.”
Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fish was supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the line first, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with a splash.
“Acain! cast acain!” cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly, never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon was patiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and into the great hole behind the stone.
As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was that he ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, was saved from entanglement.
“It’s of no use,” he said at last despondently, after nearly overbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.
The remark was meant for the forester’s ears, but the sound drowned it, and the forester shouted,—
“Noo acain, laddie! Get a good grip o’ the butt, and send the flee close under the stane; ta fush is there.”
Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rod two or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind, and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whose effect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the black stone, where it caught and held on.
“Drop your rod!” roared Tavish. “Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!”
Tavish was just in time. Another moment, and the rod would have all been in the river. As it was, only the point splashed in, and as the line was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowly down the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool, to go gliding round.
Splash!
“Up wi’ the rod, laddie! up wi’ the point o’ your rod, laddie!” cried Tavish excitedly. “She’s cot ta fush—she’s cot ta fush!”
Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendous tug, which sent an electric shock through him.
“She’s cot him! she’s cot him!” cried Tavish, dancing about on the shore and waving the gaff hook he held. “Noo, my laddie, never let the fush rin without feeling your han’.”
Max heard the forester’s shout, but hardly comprehended his words in the excitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there from side to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line that all at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leaped right out of the water and fell with a great splash.
“Ah, she’s gone!” cried Tavish, stamping with rage. “Nay, hold on! Let her rin the noo. An’ dinna catch haud too tight o’ the line.”
Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he did the right thing. For the fish darted away so furiously that the lad loosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himself by keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked a good deal in running through his hand. But all the same the winch began to sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out of the pool and down the stream.
The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out by an experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down about forty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailed round two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, and a dead weight hung at the end of the line.
“She’s got the line around a stane,” cried Tavish, running over the stepping-stones, gaff in hand. “She’ll lose the fush! she’ll lose the fush.”
“Has it gone?” asked Max rather piteously.
“Let her tak’ a grip o’ the rod, my lad,” said the forester; and, catching the long supple wand from the boy’s hand, he stood thinking for a few moments winding in a few yards of the line.
“Nay, she’s on safe,” he cried, handing the rod back to Max.
“What shall I do now?” said Max nervously.
“She shall play ta fush till she’s tired, and then she will use the gaff.”
“But I’m tired now.”
“But ta fush isna tired, laddie. Wind in, and keep a tight line.”
To Max’s wonder, Tavish went back ashore, and ran down the bank past Kenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them right into the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which lay sulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.
Tavish’s efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement the forester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.
At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rod bent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece of slaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzag down through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched the fish on the flank and started it off once more.
“Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!” cried Tavish.
“Hooray, Max! you’ll have it now,” cried Kenneth; and all watched the fisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here and there, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite of Tavish’s adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward the holder of the butt, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.
Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max’s excitement increased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.
The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upper pool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free, from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prize turned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with its tail, and then darted off down the river.
“Haud your rod up! Haud your rod up!” cried Tavish frantically; but Max did not respond this time, and the result was that there came a sudden snatch, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Max tried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.
He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there was a sharp snatch and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before he could recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into the pool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream, which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before the boy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly down toward the sea loch a couple of miles below.
Chapter Eleven.“Twa-an’-Twenty Pun’.”It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande felt no fear. One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in some shallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here and there. He was conscious of catching at the masses of rock against which he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the river surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away as something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred streams.And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone, while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.“Oh, she’s cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak’ a grip o’ the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an’ she’ll have her oot.”The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, as Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon which Tavish stood.“He’s all right, Tav,” cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew mirthful. “Give us hold.”The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to wade.“Keep a tight haud,” he cried.“I’ve got him,” said Kenneth. “Look here, Scood, here’s a fish.”“Ye canna see the fush,” said Tavish excitedly. “She wouldna lose that saumon now for twa pun’.”Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging at him, to get him free.Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and passed his arm about his waist.“Got the line, Tav?” cried Kenneth.“Ay, she’s cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she’s in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we’ve cot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak’ haud o’ ta rod, while we ket him on ta stane.”Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.“Hae a care, laddie—hae a care!” cried Tavish. “Cot ta rod, Scood?”“Yes; but ta line’s all about him.”“Never mind tat. Noo I’ll help ye. Let’s ket her on to ta rock.”Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.“Noo she’s richt,” cried Tavish.“No, no; let’s get him ashore.”“Without ta fush!” cried Tavish indignantly. “D’ye think ta laddie would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?”He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max sat shivering on the rock.“Why, ta line’s doon here aboot ta laddie’s legs,” cried Tavish, rising up with the strong fine plait in his hand. “Noo, Scood, stan’ awa. She’s richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below to yon stane. She’ll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Or would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?”“No, no,” said Max, with a shiver. “I want to get ashore.”“I wouldn’t lose a fush like that for twa pun’!” cried Tavish again; and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore, and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing it through his hands.“See him yet, Tav?” cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream. “Sure he’s on?”“Ay, she can feel her. It’s a gran’ fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole hundred yairds o’ line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fush for twa pun’.”As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand, ready to strike.“Oh, it’s a gran’ fush!” cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from freeing Max from the line, and looked on.For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawn towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon’s tether grew more short.“Hey, but she’s well hookit!” cried Tavish; “and she wouldna lose that fush for ten pun’.”There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with foam.“Leuk at that, maister,” cried Scood excitedly.It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly more in-shore.“That will do it, Tavvy,” shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very close to the rock upon which he stood. “No, he’s off again.”“Ay, she’s a gran’ fush,” cried the forester; “and she wouldna lose her noo for fifty pun’.”Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper’s fingers, as the fine silk plait ran through his hands.“Can ye set any more free, Scood?” he cried.“Na; it’s a’ of a tangly twiss,” cried Scood.“Then we’ll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She’s coming richt.”Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well within Kenneth’s reach.Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause, Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water and run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon right up on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a few spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.“Hooray!” shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.“Hey, hey, hey!” roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing Max.“Hey hi!” roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated. “She’s a gran’ fush, and she wouldna ha’ lost her for twa hundert pun’. There, laddie,” he continued, as he reached Max, “ye heukit her wunnerful; and ye’ve caught the gran’est fush this year. She’s twa-an’-twenty pun’. Come along.”“How shall I get ashore?” said Max, with a shiver.“Stan’ up, laddie, and get on my pack. Nivver mind a drap o’ watter. Maister Ken there’s got the whusky, and we’ll christen ta fush and troon a’ ta colds in ta old kintra.”Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up, and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander’s back.“I shall make you so wet,” he said apologetically.“Ant ta whusky’ll mak’ us poth try,” cried Tavish, laughing. “Why, ye’re tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye’ve proke ta pest rod; and pring it along, Scoody lad, and ton’t get ta line roond ta stanes.”“I’m very sorry I broke the rod,” said Max apologetically again.“Nivver mind ta rod; it’s her nainsel’ as can ment any rod. We’ve caught a wunnerfu’ saumon, laddie. She’s a gran’ fush. There, noo, we’ll get ye oot o’ the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth—twa-an’-twenty pun’?”“Five-and-twenty,” cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.“Na, na; twa-an’-twenty pun’. I ken the size,” cried Tavish. “Noo, laddie, stan’ still; and you, Scoody, tak’ a haud of the reel, and walk roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go.”Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.“Ye’ll tak’ joost a sma’ taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold,” said the forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who shook his head.“Mebbe ye’re richt,” said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; “it’s a fine hailsome trink for a grown man, but—Na, na, Scood, if ye’re thirsty, laddie, there’s plenty coot watter in the river.”“Yes, don’t give Scoody any,” said Kenneth.“Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye’ll be takkin’ a wee drap yersel’, I’m thenking?”“Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it’s a twenty-five pounder, isn’t it?”Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.“Nay,” he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of the fish with great deliberation, “I said twa-an’-twenty pun’, Maister Ken, but I’ll gie ye anither pun’. She’s three-an’-twenty pun’ barely.”“Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!”“Nay, sir, three-an’-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie’s caught the best fush this year. Noo then, I’m thenking I can show him where there’s anither. Ye’ll lend her your rod?”“Oh yes. Here you are, Max!”“I think I would rather go home and change my wet things,” said Max.“Nivver mind a drap o’ watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie you cauld. Have a gude rin, and then—”“Not to-day, Tav,” said Kenneth. “We’re all wet through, so let’s go back. Who’s going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?”“Ta fush weighs three-an’-twenty pun’ and nae mair, Maister Kenneth.”“Ah, well, we’ll see as soon as we get back,” said Kenneth; and back they tramped to Long Shon’s bothy, that worthy sitting at the door smoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching with the goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased away the sensation of cold.“Here, Shon, weigh this fish,” cried Kenneth imperiously.“Ask Tavish,” was the reply. “He’ll tell you to a pound, sir.”“I tell you I want you to weigh it,” cried Kenneth and Shon rose to his feet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, he bore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches of venison. There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of the steelyard.“Now, Tavish, look,” cried Kenneth triumphantly. “Five-and-twenty pounds if it’s an ounce.”“Three-an’-twenty, and hardly that,” said Tavish firmly. “Noo, Shon, what does she scale?”“Twa-an’-twenty pun’ an’ three-quairters,” said Long Shon.“Oh!” exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone.“An’ ta finest fush o’ the season, laddie,” cried Tavish triumphantly. “And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak’ aff the wat claes, for too much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter’s coot.”
It was a curious sensation, but, in spite of the danger, Max Blande felt no fear. One moment he was below the surface, the next he was in some shallow, being rolled over by the rushing water and carried here and there. He was conscious of catching at the masses of rock against which he struck, but they were slippery, and his hands glided over them.
Now he had his head above water for a few moments, and caught a few panting breaths as, in the wild confusion, noise of the water, and the dizzy, wildering state of his brain, he fought for life. Then the river surged against, and seemed to leap at him, as if to sweep him right away as something which cumbered the easy flow, and proved more manageable than the blocks of stone which broke up the river into a hundred streams.
And all through his rapid progress downward, Max was conscious of something tugging at, and jerking him away whenever he strove to catch hold of the nearest stone, till, what with the scalding, strangling sensation in his nostrils, the deadening feeling of helplessness and weakness coming over him rapidly, all seemed to be darkening into the semblance of a feverish dream, from which he was roused by a fresh jerk.
As soon as he could draw a breath which did not choke and make him cough painfully, he found that he was gazing up in the face of the great forester, who was holding him in some way, as he stood upon a stone, while the water kept on dragging and striving to bear him away.
“Oh, she’s cot the puir laddie richt. You come here and tak’ a grip o’ the gaff handle, Master Kenneth, an’ she’ll have her oot.”
The confusion was passing over, and Max could see more clearly, as Kenneth came wading out through the rushing water to the stone upon which Tavish stood.
“He’s all right, Tav,” cried Kenneth, whose serious face gradually grew mirthful. “Give us hold.”
The forester passed the gaff handle, and, as soon as Kenneth had it tightly, stepped down into the torrent up to his waist, and began to wade.
“Keep a tight haud,” he cried.
“I’ve got him,” said Kenneth. “Look here, Scood, here’s a fish.”
“Ye canna see the fush,” said Tavish excitedly. “She wouldna lose that saumon now for twa pun’.”
Max was thoroughly awake now to the fact that the gaff hook was through the collar of his jacket, and that the stream seemed to keep on tugging at him, to get him free.
Perilous as was his position, seeming as it did to him that his life depended on the secure hold of the hook in the cloth of his jacket, he could not help feeling some annoyance that Kenneth and the forester should talk laughingly about him, as if he were a fish.
But he had no time to think of self, for Tavish had waded below him, and passed his arm about his waist.
“Got the line, Tav?” cried Kenneth.
“Ay, she’s cot ta line, and ta fush is on, but what a sorry tangle she’s in, wrapped roond and roond the laddie, and ta most peautiful rod we’ve cot proke in twa. Here, Scood, come and tak’ haud o’ ta rod, while we ket him on ta stane.”
Scood came wading toward them, holding on by the rocks, for the pressure of the water was sufficient to have taken him off his legs; and now, for the first time, Max awoke to the fact that he was holding tightly to the rod, which had snapped in two just above the bottom joint, and that the stout salmon line was about his body, while the top portion of the rod was some distance away along the line, kept in place by the rings.
“Hae a care, laddie—hae a care!” cried Tavish. “Cot ta rod, Scood?”
“Yes; but ta line’s all about him.”
“Never mind tat. Noo I’ll help ye. Let’s ket her on to ta rock.”
Max made some effort to help himself, but he was tied up, and he had to submit while the forester lifted and Kenneth pulled him out.
“Noo she’s richt,” cried Tavish.
“No, no; let’s get him ashore.”
“Without ta fush!” cried Tavish indignantly. “D’ye think ta laddie would like to lose ta fush aifter a rin like tat?”
He shook his head and thrust his bared arm down into the water, as Max sat shivering on the rock.
“Why, ta line’s doon here aboot ta laddie’s legs,” cried Tavish, rising up with the strong fine plait in his hand. “Noo, Scood, stan’ awa. She’s richt noo, Maister Kenneth; so rin ashore again, and go below to yon stane. She’ll try to bring ta fush in for ye to gaff her there. Or would ta Southron chentleman like to gaff her fush her nainsel?”
“No, no,” said Max, with a shiver. “I want to get ashore.”
“I wouldn’t lose a fush like that for twa pun’!” cried Tavish again; and, as Kenneth stepped down into the water, gaff in hand, waded ashore, and ran downward among the rocks, dripping like an otter, Tavish slowly waded to bank, drawing the line slowly and carefully, and passing it through his hands.
“See him yet, Tav?” cried Kenneth from where he stood out in the stream. “Sure he’s on?”
“Ay, she can feel her. It’s a gran’ fush, Maister Kenneth, but ta whole hundred yairds o’ line was rin off ta reel. She wouldna lose ta fush for twa pun’.”
As he spoke he manipulated the line very cleverly, drawing it in foot by foot, and then letting it go again as the fish made a rush, but only for the line to be steadily drawn upon again, so as if possible to manoeuvre the captive close to the rock where Kenneth stood, gaff hook in hand, ready to strike.
“Oh, it’s a gran’ fush!” cried Scood excitedly, as he ceased from freeing Max from the line, and looked on.
For the fish was not yet wearied out, and made a brave struggle for freedom, but, in spite of its efforts and the chances in its favour, the forester only having the line, and no springy rod with its playing power, the end seemed to be drawing nigh. Again and again it was drawn towards Kenneth, and again and again it dashed away, the man letting the line run; but every time he had more line in hand, and the salmon’s tether grew more short.
“Hey, but she’s well hookit!” cried Tavish; “and she wouldna lose that fush for ten pun’.”
There was another rush, and a great bar of silver flashed out into the sunshine and fell with a splash upon a black stone half covered with foam.
“Leuk at that, maister,” cried Scood excitedly.
It was a momentary look, for the fish gave a flap with its tail and glided off into deep water, and made a fresh dash for liberty.
There was a steady draw of the line, though, and Tavish waded slowly more in-shore.
“That will do it, Tavvy,” shouted Kenneth, as the fish was drawn very close to the rock upon which he stood. “No, he’s off again.”
“Ay, she’s a gran’ fush,” cried the forester; “and she wouldna lose her noo for fifty pun’.”
Away went the salmon, taking out more line than ever this time, the water dripping like a shower of diamonds from the keeper’s fingers, as the fine silk plait ran through his hands.
“Can ye set any more free, Scood?” he cried.
“Na; it’s a’ of a tangly twiss,” cried Scood.
“Then we’ll hae her the noo. Leuk oot, Maister Ken. She’s coming richt.”
Tavish steadily drew in the line, and this time the salmon came well within Kenneth’s reach.
Max, in spite of his chilly sensations, sat watching intently, the excitement gaining upon him, and, in the midst of a breathless pause, Kenneth was seen to bend a little lower with outstretched hands, to straighten himself suddenly, and then step down into the shallow water and run splashing ashore, dragging after him a glistening salmon right up on to the rugged, grassy shore, where the silvery prize made a few spasmodic leaps, and then lay shining in the sun.
“Hooray!” shouted Kenneth, waving the gaff.
“Hey, hey, hey!” roared Scood, dancing about in the water and splashing Max.
“Hey hi!” roared Tavish, wading toward the rock where Max was seated. “She’s a gran’ fush, and she wouldna ha’ lost her for twa hundert pun’. There, laddie,” he continued, as he reached Max, “ye heukit her wunnerful; and ye’ve caught the gran’est fush this year. She’s twa-an’-twenty pun’. Come along.”
“How shall I get ashore?” said Max, with a shiver.
“Stan’ up, laddie, and get on my pack. Nivver mind a drap o’ watter. Maister Ken there’s got the whusky, and we’ll christen ta fush and troon a’ ta colds in ta old kintra.”
Max hesitated for a moment, and then, with some assistance, stood up, and let himself be drawn on to the Highlander’s back.
“I shall make you so wet,” he said apologetically.
“Ant ta whusky’ll mak’ us poth try,” cried Tavish, laughing. “Why, ye’re tied up in a knot, laddie, and ye’ve proke ta pest rod; and pring it along, Scoody lad, and ton’t get ta line roond ta stanes.”
“I’m very sorry I broke the rod,” said Max apologetically again.
“Nivver mind ta rod; it’s her nainsel’ as can ment any rod. We’ve caught a wunnerfu’ saumon, laddie. She’s a gran’ fush. There, noo, we’ll get ye oot o’ the tangle. What is she, Maister Kenneth—twa-an’-twenty pun’?”
“Five-and-twenty,” cried Kenneth, as Max was deposited on the grass.
“Na, na; twa-an’-twenty pun’. I ken the size,” cried Tavish. “Noo, laddie, stan’ still; and you, Scoody, tak’ a haud of the reel, and walk roond and roond till ye get all the line, and wind her up as ye go.”
Scood took the reel, and went round, releasing Max from the bonds the river had thrown about him in rolling him over and over, after which he forgot his dripping state, and walked to where the salmon lay.
“Ye’ll tak’ joost a sma’ taste, sir, to keep oot ta cold,” said the forester, offering the cup from the bottom of the flask to Max, who shook his head.
“Mebbe ye’re richt,” said Tavish, tossing off the spirit; “it’s a fine hailsome trink for a grown man, but—Na, na, Scood, if ye’re thirsty, laddie, there’s plenty coot watter in the river.”
“Yes, don’t give Scoody any,” said Kenneth.
“Nay, Maister Kenneth, I winna gie him a taste. Ye’ll be takkin’ a wee drap yersel’, I’m thenking?”
“Not I, Tavvy. Now then, it’s a twenty-five pounder, isn’t it?”
Tavish wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gazing thoughtfully down at the salmon, after which he laid the butt of one of the fishing-rods beside it, and compared the captive with a nick on the side before drawing a piece of knotted string from his sporran, which had to be taken off and drained, for it was half full of water.
“Nay,” he said, as he knelt on one knee, after measuring the girth of the fish with great deliberation, “I said twa-an’-twenty pun’, Maister Ken, but I’ll gie ye anither pun’. She’s three-an’-twenty pun’ barely.”
“Five-and-twenty, Tavvy!”
“Nay, sir, three-an’-twenty, and not an ounce ower, and the laddie’s caught the best fush this year. Noo then, I’m thenking I can show him where there’s anither. Ye’ll lend her your rod?”
“Oh yes. Here you are, Max!”
“I think I would rather go home and change my wet things,” said Max.
“Nivver mind a drap o’ watter, laddie. Watter like this winna gie you cauld. Have a gude rin, and then—”
“Not to-day, Tav,” said Kenneth. “We’re all wet through, so let’s go back. Who’s going to carry the twenty-five pound salmon?”
“Ta fush weighs three-an’-twenty pun’ and nae mair, Maister Kenneth.”
“Ah, well, we’ll see as soon as we get back,” said Kenneth; and back they tramped to Long Shon’s bothy, that worthy sitting at the door smoking a pipe, and smiling broadly as he saw his son approaching with the goodly fish, the circulation brought by the walk having chased away the sensation of cold.
“Here, Shon, weigh this fish,” cried Kenneth imperiously.
“Ask Tavish,” was the reply. “He’ll tell you to a pound, sir.”
“I tell you I want you to weigh it,” cried Kenneth and Shon rose to his feet, to stand not much higher than he sat, and, taking the fish, he bore it into the place where he cut up and packed the haunches of venison. There the capture was hung upon one of the hooks of the steelyard.
“Now, Tavish, look,” cried Kenneth triumphantly. “Five-and-twenty pounds if it’s an ounce.”
“Three-an’-twenty, and hardly that,” said Tavish firmly. “Noo, Shon, what does she scale?”
“Twa-an’-twenty pun’ an’ three-quairters,” said Long Shon.
“Oh!” exclaimed Kenneth, in a disappointed tone.
“An’ ta finest fush o’ the season, laddie,” cried Tavish triumphantly. “And noo, if ye winna hae a drappie, go and tak’ aff the wat claes, for too much watter is bad for a man, even if the watter’s coot.”
Chapter Twelve.A Lesson from Max.“Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?” said The Mackhai, looking up from a letter he was reading.“He thinks he caught it, father,” said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the mountain slope, and chased the hares. “Well, be civil to him, Ken. Remember we are gentlemen. And even if he is the son of a miserable shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good for evil.”Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father’s face. “What does it all mean?” he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more.“My father must hate his father,” thought Kenneth; “and he is too much of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son. Why does he have him here, then? A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow! One’s obliged to laugh at him, poor beggar!”The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his pocket.“Did that boy hear the gong?” he said peevishly.“I don’t know, father. Shall I run up to his room?”“No, certainly not. Treat him as you would any other visitor, but you are not his gillie. Ring, and send Grant.”The bell was touched: the butler entered directly.“The young gentleman is not down yet, sir.”“Well, I know that,” said his master sharply. “Go and tell him we are waiting dinner.”The butler, as he turned, looked as if he would like to give notice to leave on the spot, but he said nothing, and left the room.“It is a gross want of courtesy!” muttered The Mackhai angrily. “Am I to be kept waiting by the son of a miserable pettifogging scoundrel of a London lawyer? The beginning of the end, Ken, I suppose!” he added bitterly.“I don’t know what you mean, father.”“Wait. You’ll know quite soon enough, my boy. Too soon, I’m afraid, and then—”The door was thrown open by the butler with a flourish, and he stood back holding it wide for Max to enter, looking very thin and scraggy, in a glossy new evening suit, with tight patent leather boots, handkerchief in one hand, new white gloves in the other.The Mackhai’s brow contracted, and Kenneth gave his left leg a kick with his right heel, so as to stop an inclination to laugh.“I—I have—I have not kept you waiting?” faltered Max.“Not very long,” said The Mackhai coldly; “but we always sit down to meals directly the gong has sounded.”The butler left the room.“I am very sorry,” faltered Max; “but I got so wet for the second time to-day, that I thought I had better have a warm bath.”“Indeed!” said The Mackhai coldly. “Oh my, what a molly!” muttered Kenneth. “My father told me to be careful,” continued Max.“Pray follow out your father’s advice,” said The Mackhai, “and consider that you are quite at home here.”“How jolly sarcastic father is!” thought Kenneth.“Thank you,” said Max politely.“While this place is mine, I wish my guests to be quite at their ease,” continued The Mackhai; “but you will excuse me for saying that we never dress for dinner.”“No, I thought not,” said Max confusedly; “but I made myself so wet, and my other suits were in the small portmanteau, and I’ve lost the key.”That dinner was hot, but very cold, and Max felt exceedingly glad when it was over. His host tried to be polite, and asked questions about the salmon-catching, but Max spoke in a hesitating way, and as if he thought he was being laughed at, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that he ceased to hear his host’s voice, and escaped from the stony gaze of the butler, who, under an aspect of the most profound respect, seemed to glare at the visitor with a virulent look of hatred.“They don’t seem to like me at all down here,” thought Max, as they rose from the table.“I wonder what’s the matter,” thought Kenneth. “I never saw father seem so severe before.”Just then, looking very stern and out of temper, The Mackhai left the room, and Kenneth, after a moment’s hesitation, went after him; but changed his mind directly, and returned to Max.“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Father does not seem to be well.”“I am sorry. I’m afraid he was put out because I kept you waiting.”“Oh, never mind that. I say, we can’t go out with you like that, and it’s such a jolly night. I don’t know, though, if you put on an ulster.”“I think I would rather not go out any more tonight,” said Max, hesitating.“All right. Then we’ll go and have a game at billiards. Come along.”This was more to Max’s taste, and, after Grant had been summoned to help light the lamps, Kenneth shut the door, chuckling to himself about the big beating he was going to give the Londoner, who, instead of taking a cue, was gazing round the handsome billiard-room at the crossed claymores, targes, and heads of red deer, whose antlers formed rests for spears and specimens of weapons from all parts of the world.“Are those swords sharp?” asked Max.“Sharp? Yes, I should think they are. They’re the claymores my ancestors used to handle to cut off the heads of the Macleods and Macdougals.”“Used there to be much fighting then?”“Fighting? I should think there was. Every chief lived in a castle and had a galley, and they used to fill them half full of pipers and half full of fighting men, and go to war with their neighbours.”“It must have been very terrible.”“Not a bit of it. Very jolly—much better than living in these tame times. Come along; you break.”Max played first, and handled his cue so easily that Kenneth stared.“Hallo!” he said, “you’ve played before.”“Yes; we have a billiard-table at home.”“Oh!” ejaculated Kenneth, and the big beating did not seem so near. Not that it proved to be more distant, only it was the other way on, for Max played quietly and respectably, keeping up a steady scoring, while Kenneth’s idea seemed to be that the best way was to hit the balls hard, so that they might chance to go somewhere.This they did, but not so as to add to his score, and the consequence was that, when Max marked a hundred, Kenneth was only thirty-three.“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could play like that.”“I often have a game with my father,” said Max. “He always gives me fifty out of a hundred, and he can beat me, but he lets me win sometimes.”Kenneth whistled.“I say,” he said, “your father must be a very clever man.”“Yes,” said Max, in a dull, quiet way, “I think he is very clever.”“You don’t seem very much pleased about it.”“I’m afraid I’m very tired. It has been such a hard day.”“Hard! that’s nothing. You wait till your legs get trained, you won’t think this a hard day.”“I’m afraid I shan’t be down here long enough for that.”“Oh, you don’t know. Let’s have another game, and see if I can’t beat you this time. Only, mind, none of your father’s tricks.”Max started and turned scarlet.“I mean, you will try.”“Of course,” said Max; “I don’t think it would be fair not to try one’s best.”They played, and Kenneth came off worse.They played again, and he was worse still; while, after the fourth game, he threw down his cue pettishly.“It’s of no use for me to play you. Why, you’re a regular out-and-outer.”“Nonsense! These strokes are easy enough. Let me show you. Look at the things you can do that I can’t.”“You show me how to make those strokes, and I’ll show you everything I know.”“I’ll show you without making you promise that,” said Max good-humouredly; and the rest of the evening was spent over the board, which they only quitted to say “good-night” and retire to their rooms; but Kenneth did not go to his until he had been to the butler’s pantry, and then to the kitchen, which was empty, the servants having retired for the night, after banking up the fire with peat, which would go on smouldering and glowing for the rest of the night, and only want stirring in the morning to burst into a blaze.There was something very suspicious in Kenneth’s movements as he crossed the kitchen in the faint glow, and a great tom-cat glowered at him as he stole away to the fireside and watched.At one moment it seemed as if Kenneth was going to the larder to make a raid upon the provisions, but he stopped short of that door, and stood listening, and started violently as a sudden sound smote his ear.It was the start of one troubled with a guilty conscience, for the sound was only a sharp tack made by the great clock, preliminary to its striking eleven.“How stupid!” muttered Kenneth; and then he started again, for he heard a door close rather loudly.“Father!” he muttered, and he ran to the entry and listened again, before going cautiously to the fire, where he suddenly made two or three snatches of a very suspicious character, and hurried out of the kitchen along a stone passage. Then all was silent about the place, save the lapping and splashing of the water among the rocks outside.
“Caught a twenty-two-pound salmon, eh?” said The Mackhai, looking up from a letter he was reading.
“He thinks he caught it, father,” said Kenneth, laughing; and, as they stood waiting in the dining-room, the boy related the adventure of the day, and how they had, after changing, gone for a long tramp across the mountain slope, and chased the hares. “Well, be civil to him, Ken. Remember we are gentlemen. And even if he is the son of a miserable shark of a lawyer, let his father learn that the Mackhais can do good for evil.”
Kenneth stared wonderingly in his father’s face. “What does it all mean?” he thought, and he noted the lines of trouble and annoyance deepening as The Mackhai let his eye fall upon his letter once more.
“My father must hate his father,” thought Kenneth; “and he is too much of a gentleman to show his dislike to his son. Why does he have him here, then? A stupid, girlish muff of a fellow! One’s obliged to laugh at him, poor beggar!”
The Mackhai doubled up his letter angrily, and thrust it into his pocket.
“Did that boy hear the gong?” he said peevishly.
“I don’t know, father. Shall I run up to his room?”
“No, certainly not. Treat him as you would any other visitor, but you are not his gillie. Ring, and send Grant.”
The bell was touched: the butler entered directly.
“The young gentleman is not down yet, sir.”
“Well, I know that,” said his master sharply. “Go and tell him we are waiting dinner.”
The butler, as he turned, looked as if he would like to give notice to leave on the spot, but he said nothing, and left the room.
“It is a gross want of courtesy!” muttered The Mackhai angrily. “Am I to be kept waiting by the son of a miserable pettifogging scoundrel of a London lawyer? The beginning of the end, Ken, I suppose!” he added bitterly.
“I don’t know what you mean, father.”
“Wait. You’ll know quite soon enough, my boy. Too soon, I’m afraid, and then—”
The door was thrown open by the butler with a flourish, and he stood back holding it wide for Max to enter, looking very thin and scraggy, in a glossy new evening suit, with tight patent leather boots, handkerchief in one hand, new white gloves in the other.
The Mackhai’s brow contracted, and Kenneth gave his left leg a kick with his right heel, so as to stop an inclination to laugh.
“I—I have—I have not kept you waiting?” faltered Max.
“Not very long,” said The Mackhai coldly; “but we always sit down to meals directly the gong has sounded.”
The butler left the room.
“I am very sorry,” faltered Max; “but I got so wet for the second time to-day, that I thought I had better have a warm bath.”
“Indeed!” said The Mackhai coldly. “Oh my, what a molly!” muttered Kenneth. “My father told me to be careful,” continued Max.
“Pray follow out your father’s advice,” said The Mackhai, “and consider that you are quite at home here.”
“How jolly sarcastic father is!” thought Kenneth.
“Thank you,” said Max politely.
“While this place is mine, I wish my guests to be quite at their ease,” continued The Mackhai; “but you will excuse me for saying that we never dress for dinner.”
“No, I thought not,” said Max confusedly; “but I made myself so wet, and my other suits were in the small portmanteau, and I’ve lost the key.”
That dinner was hot, but very cold, and Max felt exceedingly glad when it was over. His host tried to be polite, and asked questions about the salmon-catching, but Max spoke in a hesitating way, and as if he thought he was being laughed at, and it was with a feeling of intense relief that he ceased to hear his host’s voice, and escaped from the stony gaze of the butler, who, under an aspect of the most profound respect, seemed to glare at the visitor with a virulent look of hatred.
“They don’t seem to like me at all down here,” thought Max, as they rose from the table.
“I wonder what’s the matter,” thought Kenneth. “I never saw father seem so severe before.”
Just then, looking very stern and out of temper, The Mackhai left the room, and Kenneth, after a moment’s hesitation, went after him; but changed his mind directly, and returned to Max.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Father does not seem to be well.”
“I am sorry. I’m afraid he was put out because I kept you waiting.”
“Oh, never mind that. I say, we can’t go out with you like that, and it’s such a jolly night. I don’t know, though, if you put on an ulster.”
“I think I would rather not go out any more tonight,” said Max, hesitating.
“All right. Then we’ll go and have a game at billiards. Come along.”
This was more to Max’s taste, and, after Grant had been summoned to help light the lamps, Kenneth shut the door, chuckling to himself about the big beating he was going to give the Londoner, who, instead of taking a cue, was gazing round the handsome billiard-room at the crossed claymores, targes, and heads of red deer, whose antlers formed rests for spears and specimens of weapons from all parts of the world.
“Are those swords sharp?” asked Max.
“Sharp? Yes, I should think they are. They’re the claymores my ancestors used to handle to cut off the heads of the Macleods and Macdougals.”
“Used there to be much fighting then?”
“Fighting? I should think there was. Every chief lived in a castle and had a galley, and they used to fill them half full of pipers and half full of fighting men, and go to war with their neighbours.”
“It must have been very terrible.”
“Not a bit of it. Very jolly—much better than living in these tame times. Come along; you break.”
Max played first, and handled his cue so easily that Kenneth stared.
“Hallo!” he said, “you’ve played before.”
“Yes; we have a billiard-table at home.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Kenneth, and the big beating did not seem so near. Not that it proved to be more distant, only it was the other way on, for Max played quietly and respectably, keeping up a steady scoring, while Kenneth’s idea seemed to be that the best way was to hit the balls hard, so that they might chance to go somewhere.
This they did, but not so as to add to his score, and the consequence was that, when Max marked a hundred, Kenneth was only thirty-three.
“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t know you could play like that.”
“I often have a game with my father,” said Max. “He always gives me fifty out of a hundred, and he can beat me, but he lets me win sometimes.”
Kenneth whistled.
“I say,” he said, “your father must be a very clever man.”
“Yes,” said Max, in a dull, quiet way, “I think he is very clever.”
“You don’t seem very much pleased about it.”
“I’m afraid I’m very tired. It has been such a hard day.”
“Hard! that’s nothing. You wait till your legs get trained, you won’t think this a hard day.”
“I’m afraid I shan’t be down here long enough for that.”
“Oh, you don’t know. Let’s have another game, and see if I can’t beat you this time. Only, mind, none of your father’s tricks.”
Max started and turned scarlet.
“I mean, you will try.”
“Of course,” said Max; “I don’t think it would be fair not to try one’s best.”
They played, and Kenneth came off worse.
They played again, and he was worse still; while, after the fourth game, he threw down his cue pettishly.
“It’s of no use for me to play you. Why, you’re a regular out-and-outer.”
“Nonsense! These strokes are easy enough. Let me show you. Look at the things you can do that I can’t.”
“You show me how to make those strokes, and I’ll show you everything I know.”
“I’ll show you without making you promise that,” said Max good-humouredly; and the rest of the evening was spent over the board, which they only quitted to say “good-night” and retire to their rooms; but Kenneth did not go to his until he had been to the butler’s pantry, and then to the kitchen, which was empty, the servants having retired for the night, after banking up the fire with peat, which would go on smouldering and glowing for the rest of the night, and only want stirring in the morning to burst into a blaze.
There was something very suspicious in Kenneth’s movements as he crossed the kitchen in the faint glow, and a great tom-cat glowered at him as he stole away to the fireside and watched.
At one moment it seemed as if Kenneth was going to the larder to make a raid upon the provisions, but he stopped short of that door, and stood listening, and started violently as a sudden sound smote his ear.
It was the start of one troubled with a guilty conscience, for the sound was only a sharp tack made by the great clock, preliminary to its striking eleven.
“How stupid!” muttered Kenneth; and then he started again, for he heard a door close rather loudly.
“Father!” he muttered, and he ran to the entry and listened again, before going cautiously to the fire, where he suddenly made two or three snatches of a very suspicious character, and hurried out of the kitchen along a stone passage. Then all was silent about the place, save the lapping and splashing of the water among the rocks outside.