HE SMUGGLERS 
 
 S. R. CROCK h:TT
 
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 THE SMUGGLERS
 
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 London: HODDER & STOUGHTON
 
 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 THE ODYSSEY OF ZIPPORAH KATTI 
 
 BEING SOME CHRONICLES OF THE LAST RAIDERS 
 
 OF SOLWAY 
 
 BY 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the RAIDERS " 
 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON 
 
 LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
 
 Richard Clay & Sons, Limited 
 
 bkunswick stkeet, siamfokd street, s.e.. 
 
 and (jungay, suffolk.
 
 PR 
 
 To 
 MJJOR MCLJUCHLJN HJRPER 
 
 Author of " Rambles in Galloiuay," 
 
 who alone knows what of this book is true, 
 
 in memory of 
 
 a Lifetime of Faithful Friendship, 
 
 I dedicate this book. 
 
 Cancale, Brittany, 
 
 August 21, 19H. 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 «HAP. 
 
 I THE DULSE-EATERS 
 
 II " THOU SHALT NOT STEAL ! " 
 
 III THE SURGES OP SOLWAY 
 
 IV THE gipsies' PURSUIT 
 V THE SECOND EXIT 
 
 VI BARBARA SIMPSON's WELCOMING 
 
 VII THE STRIFE OF TONGUES 
 
 VIII THE SALVING OF GLENKENS 
 
 IX THE housekeeper's SECRET 
 
 X THE SMOKE IN BED HAVEN DELL 
 
 XI THE HOWE OP THE RED HAVEN 
 
 XII THE GAUGEr's HOLE . 
 
 XIII TEE GLORY OP SUMMER . . 
 
 XIV THE MAGIC STIRRING . 
 
 XV LAZUN PALAFOX . 
 
 XVI BABBy'S FIGHT AGAINST TIIK BLACK BLOOD 
 
 XVII A BLEAK WORLD .... 
 
 XVIII THE WRATH OF JOHNSTONE 
 
 XIX CARRIAGE WHEELS ON THE GRAVEL . 
 
 vii 
 
 PACK 
 1 
 
 e 
 
 12 
 
 17 
 
 23 
 
 31 
 
 38 
 
 44 
 
 51 
 
 56 
 
 66 
 
 74 
 
 83 
 
 90 
 
 100 
 
 106 
 
 110 
 
 117 
 
 122
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XX THE UNCONSCIOUS LOVER 
 
 XXI THE RETURN OF YOUTH . 
 
 XXII SPYING OUT THE LAND . 
 
 XXIII THE EYE OF THE MASTER 
 
 XXIV TWO INTERVIEWS . 
 
 XXV GOBELET 
 
 XXVI " THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME " 
 
 XXVII THE NEW REGIME . 
 
 XXVIII THE LION AND THE LAMB LIE DOWN 
 
 XXIX SMUGGLING BROUGHT UP TO DATE . 
 
 XXX THE KIDNAPPING OF ZIPPORAH KATTI 
 
 XXXI FATHER AND DAUGHTER . 
 
 IXXII THE MUTINY ON THE " GOLDEN FLAGON " 
 
 XXXIII ON BOARD THE " NEPTUNE " . 
 
 XXXIV A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 
 XXXV THE NIGHT ATTACK 
 
 XXXVI THE SACK OF SOUK 
 
 XXXVII THE CONVERSION OF ABd' AMARA 
 
 XXXVIII ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 
 
 XXXIX FORT EZA .... 
 
 PA OK 
 
 128 
 132 
 140 
 146 
 151 
 160 
 170 
 179 
 193 
 200 
 209 
 215 
 224 
 235 
 252 
 266 
 276 
 286 
 299 
 308
 
 . CHAPTER I 
 
 THE DULSE-EATEES 
 
 It was the first time that Paul Wester had been 
 called a liar by a girl. Hitherto, his self-conceit had 
 not conceived the possibility of such a thing. 
 
 He was the minister's nephew and even more spoilt 
 than if he had been the minister's son. The minister 
 spoilt him, even in his prayers — and then did mental 
 penance for it all next day, for fear the boy should 
 turn out like his father. The minister's housekeeper, 
 who was supposed to have a heart that had been 
 tanned by half-a-century of protecting her master 
 from tramps, spoiled him more than anybody else. 
 And, following her lead, all the village of Orraland 
 tried its hand. But on the whole Paul, as far as was 
 visible to the public eye, remained unspoilt and 
 unspoilable. 
 
 So he was immensely taken aback, having been 
 thus nurtured in the best of conceits with himself, to 
 be called plainly " a liar," and that by a bare-legged, 
 rag-and-tag, red-frocked, black-haired gipsy lass 
 whose big dusky eyes had pupils which varied in 
 size with her feelings — a precious inheritance, or the 
 reverse, according to the toss of Fate's halfpenny. 
 
 They had encountered on the sands, these two, and 
 he was so pleased with the " liar " business, that to 
 prove his good faith, he had promptly showed her 
 his most precious asset — a cave where she would be 
 safe from pursuit, from observation, and from inter- 
 ference. He taught her also how to pick and eat 
 " dulse," till she waggled her brown legs in great 
 content and enjoyed to the full the clean wrinse of 
 the salt in her mouth. She said he was not half bad 
 and thus peace was made. 
 
 B
 
 2 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Yet it was the day of Orraland Fair. All the Green 
 was one big hurly-burly. There, frontispieced by 
 appalling pictures and a real brass band, was Professor 
 Pepper's Original Ghost Illusion. Then came Lord 
 Tommy's Monster Circus — a ringmaster, a clown, a 
 lady who did tumbling and took the money at the 
 door, a cornet and a drummer, besides an imposing 
 young person in spangles who jumped through hoops. 
 For her the young person eating dulse in Paul Wester's 
 cave had a pronounced and virulent contempt, because 
 she would back herself to do as much — not on a saddle 
 padded out to the size of a barndoor, but barebacked. 
 That is, the horse was bare of back. The dulse-eater 
 was a capable young person with an ease of manner 
 and a freedom of tongue to which, in Galloway, well- 
 looking ministers' nephews are wholly unaccustomed. 
 
 " What's your name ? " Paul Wester demanded, 
 after they had got far enough on with the dulse — a 
 purple tangle of sea-weed beloved of children, and by 
 those along Solway shore believed to seal friendship 
 and heal all diseases. 
 
 " Zipporah Katti Lee, just now," said the girl, biting 
 off another portion from the handful Paul tossed her. 
 " Mostly they call me Zip, and the ' Lee ' doesn't 
 matter. Before that I was called ' Smith,' and before 
 that again ' Palafox.' But it's Zipporah Katti any- 
 way ! '' 
 
 Paul Wester gasped. 
 
 " Then you don't know your own name ? " he asked. 
 
 " What's the blessed good ? " the eater of dulse 
 answered, with a careless wave of the hand, " when 
 you are learning the business you get passed on from 
 one lot to the other, just as they have need of you. 
 Our men are horse-coping over in the corner yonder, 
 and old Sarah Lee has on the family dress with the 
 real gold coins and is telling fortunes in the tent. 
 She is the Gipsy Queen. But one day — maybe soon, 
 / shall be the Queen — that is, if I like, and then I shall 
 send her round the houses to beg." 
 
 " But how can you be a Gipsy Queen if you are a 
 ' Lee ' one day and a ' Smith ' another ? "
 
 THE DULSE-EATERS 3 
 
 4( 
 
 Oh, it doesn't come so close together as that, 
 changing your name, I mean," broke in Zipporah 
 Katti ; " sometimes you stay a long time with one 
 band. Only if the police get after you, it is best to 
 scatter. And from what I heard this morning they 
 are going to borrow somebody's horse " 
 
 " Oh, ' borrow,' are they ? " Paul agreed doubtfully, 
 " but whose ? " 
 
 " That's telling," said Zipporah Katti, presently 
 Lee. " But if I swear you to silence with blood — no, 
 not finger blood, nor ball-of-my-thumb blood. That 
 is for kids of the village. But I will swear you with 
 the heart's blood of the Romany which is in their lip. 
 And then if you tell, you shall surely die — remember, 
 there's poison, hemlock, monkshood, bloody-finger, 
 and distilled deadly nightshade — oh, and lots more to 
 finish off a traitor. But if you swear, you are not the 
 sort to tell, I can see that." 
 
 " No," said Paul, led on by something about the 
 girl, as well as the eager hope of initiation into the 
 unknown, " I am not the sort to tell." 
 
 " Not if it was your own father's horse ? " said the 
 girl. 
 
 " I have got no father — no, nor any mother either." 
 
 " Same as me," said Zipporah Katti, cheerfully, 
 " bad when you're young, I dare say, but ever so 
 much better when vou come to my age — nobody to 
 bother ! See ? " 
 
 She was sixteen, and as for Paul he alwavs referred 
 to himself " going nineteen." 
 
 She took a little sliver of hard wood from her pocket 
 and just touched her short upper lip with the sharp 
 end. A tiny speck of blood started out. She came 
 up to Paul, and stood very close to him, deep-blooming, 
 warm, and toothsome as a ripe peach. Her dark eyes 
 expanded with excitement. 
 
 " Hold," she said, " stand very steady. This is 
 holy wood. It comes from India or Persia or some- 
 where. The Palafoxes brought it to Spain, and they 
 got it from the Moors and the Moors from the Arabs, 
 and the Arabs (who go everywhere) got it from the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Persians. And everything really holy has come 
 from Persia or India one time or another. So at least 
 Lazun Palafox says, and he knows if anybody does. 
 Now stand still. Don't wriggle — because it is only 
 the point that does any good. Keep your great 
 clumping feet still. Fancy a boy wearing boots and 
 a girl going barefoot ! It's not manly." 
 
 The little straw-coloured spike barely touched Paul's 
 lip. He stood firm, though the prick of the wood was 
 certainly painful. 
 
 " There now," said Zipporah Katti, " think hard 
 and pray that the great-god-of-all-the-peoples may 
 grind you between his two millstones of the heavens 
 and the earth if you break your vow ! " 
 
 She brought her lip close to his face, not laughingly 
 but with a deep seriousness. 
 
 " Now," she whispered, " thus we mingle our 
 hearts' blood and are for ever bound to be true the 
 one to the other. Say that after me." 
 
 Their lips met, as it seemed, almost sacramentally, 
 and at the faint sweetish taste and wild-fruit flavour 
 Paul Wester trembled. This might be some kind of 
 witchcraft. 
 
 But already Zipporah Katti had stowed away her 
 sacred splinter, and was again eating dulse — though, 
 perhaps in memory of the vow, she had kept Paul's 
 hand in hers. 
 
 " You mav call me Zip, now, brother. What shall 
 I call you ? '^' 
 
 " Paul . . . Paul Wester ! " he answered, his heart 
 beating quaintly. 
 
 The girl stopped and sat a long moment still. Then 
 she said, " Not the son of the parson with the white 
 hair who lives down the Manse avenue and has the 
 fields above the Fair-ground ? His name is Laird." 
 
 " Not his son, but his nephew," said Paul, and he 
 added, " He has been like a father to me." 
 
 " Ah, traded something else off to get you," said 
 the girl promptly. " I was changed for a little mule 
 with one eye — a mule that kicked — last time ! " 
 
 Then she mused again, and laying her finger on her
 
 THE DULSE-EATERS 5 
 
 lip she pressed the sHght perforation till the tip of her 
 finger grew ruddy, when she laid it on Paul's mouth. 
 There was some secret doubling of the symbol in this, 
 which at the time Paul Wester did not understand. 
 
 " Well, brother," she said, " it is your uncle's ponj'^ 
 that the Lees are after, and you and I 
 
 " Not Glenkens ! " cried Paul, getting up from his 
 seat — " why Glenkens is worth half my uncle's 
 stipend to him in his work. He can carry him about 
 anywhere, and it was Lady Maxwell who gave him to 
 my uncle." 
 
 " Yes," nodded the girl, helping herself to a new 
 handful of dulse pendant from the roof of the cave and 
 putting it to her red-stained mouth, " He is a good 
 pony. That is why the Lees want him. But to-night 
 you and I, brother Paul, will steal Glenkens ! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 TnOU SHALT NOT STEAL ! 
 
 All the day, to the accompaniment of braying horns 
 and thundering drums down at Orraland Fair, Paul 
 Wester went about, his head full of the strange elastic 
 eyes of the gipsy girl, two filmy dark pupils which 
 waxed and waned to the beating of her heart under 
 the thin sprigged gown. He was back again in the 
 cave. He saw her red lips suck in the purple tangles 
 of dulse. He quivered as he thought of his mouth 
 pressed on hers and of the faint sweet surprising 
 flavour which had moved him to his soul. He sucked 
 his lips inwards as often as he thought about it, in 
 the hope that a little of it might remain. But, except 
 the stinff of the slight wound which the small sliver of 
 blond foreign wood had made, his experiment had no 
 result. Yes, perhaps a slight perfume, elusive at the 
 best, and utterly absent as soon as he tried to realize 
 it. And then the inconceivable thought came back. 
 
 To please this girl, he was to help her to steal Glen- 
 kens that very night ! What an absurdity ! He 
 would go immediately and warn his uncle. They 
 would get in Danny the beadle and Rob Johnston 
 the stalwart joiner of Orraland village. They 
 would sit up all night and then let the Lees come if 
 they dared. Oh, he would be ready for them. 
 
 Paul Wester went to his uncle's study full of his 
 confession. The Reverend Septimus Laird ceased to 
 rustle the leaves of his concordance. He used up 
 one every two years, since his memory was not what 
 it had been, and this one was " pretty far through," 
 as he said. But for the sake of Paul's education, he 
 made it do longer, eking it out with curiously written 
 
 6
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT STEAL' 7 
 
 tags on which the missing chapters and verses were 
 indicated in script fine as the point of a needle. 
 
 Paul stood uneasily, shifting from foot to foot, 
 uncertain how to begin. 
 
 " Well, Paul, my lad," said the minister at last, " has 
 Cicero been too much for you, or is it the Greek ? " 
 
 This he said because it was his favourite jest. He 
 knew very well that his boy was more apt to be found 
 out in a broad-buttocked Orraland fishing-smack 
 hauling on a line, or curled up with a book, high in 
 some shy wood corner warmed by the sunshine and 
 over-rustled by the breeze. Paul would not touch 
 his Greek and Latin books till the beginning of the 
 next school term. 
 
 True, when Paul first reached home, the minister 
 would appoint a day when the lad was yet fresh off 
 the irons. The " Pilgrim's Progress," he would call it, 
 because he wished to test his nephew's advance along 
 the highway of letters. 
 
 It was on the tip of Paul's tongue to reveal the 
 threatened incursion of the Lees and the treachery 
 to which, in a moment of madness, he had promised 
 to lend himself. But each time something seemed to 
 seal his tongue. The faint sweetness of the little 
 gipsy's blood glued his lips, together with the admix- 
 ture of his own, while all the time his ears buzzed 
 with the words she had made him say, "Thus we 
 mingle our hearts' blood and are for ever and ever 
 bound one to the other ! " 
 
 He stood dizzy and confounded, till his uncle called 
 him from his daydream by bidding him help himself 
 from the library and be off. The minister was busy 
 that day and could not work while his nephew — yes, 
 even the flower of his heart, stood awkward and un- 
 certain before him. As he always wanted a book 
 himself, he supposed that was what Paul came for. 
 
 So Paul took from the shelves the second volume 
 of Chambers's Ballads of Scotland and departed, the 
 bitterness of a repentant Judas in his heart, but never- 
 theless supremely happy, because conscious of the 
 faint sweet taste on his lips.
 
 8 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 He touched his finger lightly to the spot and dis- 
 covered the cause. 
 
 His lip, pricked by the gipsy's wooden needle, had 
 recommenced to bleed. 
 
 In love ! Emphatically no. Only all Galloway, 
 including even the few scattered towns, scented of 
 spring sweetness. Along every green bank was a 
 riot of pale yellow, broom and gorse and primrose, 
 dotted in the ditches with the deeper orange of butter- 
 cups. Higher up among the hills the fine first leaves 
 quivered on the hazel. The larch trailed its sticky 
 roses, and to the very tops of the hill the heather was 
 sprouting green. 
 
 The birds ? Yes, of course, the birds were behaving 
 (or misbehaving) as they always do at this season of 
 the year. A breath of folly, eye-brightening, heart- 
 dancing folly, breathed over all the southlands from 
 Nith to that wild North Water across which by night 
 shines the steady ray of Donaghadee lighthouse, 
 and in this amorous atmosphere Paul Wester lived, 
 breathed, and for the first time had his being. 
 
 The twilight came, as it seemed, far too quickly. 
 Naphtha flares were kindled down on the noisy Fair- 
 green. Paul, drawn irresistibly that way, saw his 
 girl of the cave waving one merrily about her head. 
 He turned bitterly on his heel and with an eye on the 
 lighted room where his uncle was working edged 
 silently round till he came abreast the stable, through 
 the door of which he could hear the restless hoofs of 
 Glenkens clicking against the sides of his stall as he 
 fidgeted at his headrope. 
 
 Paul went in, and assuring himself that the little 
 horse had eaten his oats and was now biting nervously 
 at the wood of his stall, he undid the rope and led him 
 by the mane into their only loose-box, the door of which 
 had a key. This Paul secured, and put the key in his 
 pocket. It was a simple lock and a poor protection 
 enough, but somehow for the moment, the touch of 
 the cold iron gave Paul confidence. 
 
 But as he stood there in the stillness of the dim
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT STEAL' 9 
 
 stable, seeing only Glenkens a ghostly shadow nosing 
 about in his new liberty, a slim dark figure suddenly 
 filled up the low oblong of the stable door behind him. 
 
 " Hist, brother ! " the words came startlingly clear, 
 " time to get the beast out of that. We have an 
 hour — no more ! And barely that ! " 
 
 " Zipporah Katti," he gasped, " I — I have changed 
 my mind — I cannot steal Glenkens ! " 
 
 " But you must — you shall. The blood of the oath 
 is not gone from your lips. You and I, brother, will 
 do the trick — unless, that is, you prefer that it should 
 be Toby Lee or Raif Palafox ! They both want to 
 marrj^ me, brother, but our chief Lazun, away at 
 Cancale, has not yet decided. Besides, one of them 
 would surely have to kill the other first." 
 
 All this kept Paul Wester silent. It seemed the 
 wildest of wild talk to him. Nobody was ever killed 
 in Galloway now, except sometimes a stray keeper 
 in a free fight with armed poachers, and he stood still, 
 acutely conscious of Zipporah's small hand laid with 
 the freedom of comradeship on his shoulder and the 
 restless shaggy head of Glenkens sniffing at them both 
 over the partition. 
 
 " Be quiet," she said ; " unlock the door and let us 
 get him away ! " 
 
 Somehow Paul found the door unlocked, vet he did 
 not remember to have given her the key. He saw 
 Zipporah move within. The soft buzz of her whisper 
 came to his ear, like the hum of a tired bee. Instantly 
 the quick nervous patter of Glenkens' hoofs ceased 
 upon the stones. She was fastening something soft 
 and silent to his shod feet. 
 
 Presently she led Glenkens out, the little horse 
 nosing and sidling against her as he had never done 
 to Paul in all their years of comradeship. 
 
 Zipporah led him down the tiny avenue arched by 
 the tall Manse ashes, a landmark from afar, and bul- 
 warked by a dense shrubbery of laurel and holly. 
 The sounds of the Fair came fainter to their ears. 
 Now they were on the little track which led up the 
 valley. Still the tall trees bent about them, but now
 
 10 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 there was no more underbrush. It behoved them to 
 go softly. Zipporah kept Glenkens as much as pos- 
 sible in the shelter of the rough stone dyke, her bare 
 arm thrown lightly about his neck. 
 
 Paul followed miserably. She seemed to have cast 
 the spell of the gipsy upon him also. His treachery 
 to his uncle and the thought of the loss of Glenkens 
 tugged at his heart-strings. But the lips pressed 
 to his in the sacredness of the oath, the words he had 
 repeated after her, seemed to cut him altogether 
 adrift from his past. 
 
 For that night at least he was Zipporah's, and hers 
 only. 
 
 She led him in the direction of a little walled " park," 
 the gcxte of which she opened, and whistled very low. 
 A herd of rough ponies, Shetlands and Icelanders 
 mainly, swarmed out, thrusting, nosing, and biting 
 to get near her. 
 
 " Raif and Gipsy Lee are away on their business," 
 she whispered, " we are not a moment too soon. They 
 may be at the Manse stable door even now." 
 
 And she led them all forth in her train, swarming 
 and kicking up their heels, till the cavalcade came out 
 upon the barren sands of Solway side with the tide 
 lapping and creeping inwards not a hundred yards 
 away. 
 
 " That will do," she said in a satisfied tone, " you 
 hold Glenkens ! " 
 
 Paul Wester took him by the mane and the little 
 horse sniffed upwards, finishing by nosing him moistly 
 under the chin. They stood quite still under the 
 brow of a darkling cliff while Zipporah convoyed the 
 other ponies up to the road from which they could 
 see the lights of the circus ground. 
 
 Then with a sharp, surprising cry and a clapping of 
 the hands she dismissed them. Evidently they under- 
 stood. For having bit and kicked each other a little 
 amicably, they threw up their hindquarters and 
 started in a neighing ruck towards the lights — perhaps 
 to find the little walled " park " from which they had 
 escaped.
 
 'THOU SHALT NOT STEAL' 11 
 
 " Now we will go find the cave," said Zipporah 
 Katti, " or the tide will be too fast for us ! " 
 
 " But we cannot stop there," said Paul anxiously, 
 " I know. Wherever there is dulse on the roof of a 
 cave, the tide washes it out twice a day." 
 
 " True, oh brother, most true," mocked the maid, 
 who had resumed her hold of Glenkens ; " art a wise 
 lad, Paulo, but all things are not yet known to you 1 
 For instance, have you ever gone to the end of the 
 cave ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Paul, " and there is a well of 
 water there which no one has ever crossed." 
 
 " Then you shall cross it to-night, by the light of 
 the lantern I have under my cloak. Yes, and Glen- 
 kens too ! He would follow his mistress anywhere. 
 There is a stable for him with oats and straw — enough 
 to make him comfortable till the Lees are a hundred 
 miles upon the York Road, with the fear of the police 
 at their tails." 
 
 Fain would Paul have asked another question, but 
 Zipporah hushed him with the same curious noise as 
 she had used to quiet Glenkens. He obeyed just as 
 readily, the more so, perhaps, that with a gesture of 
 her free hand she pointed to the white foam licking 
 up the level sand only half-a-score of yards away. 
 
 Glenkens sniffed curiously as they turned into the 
 low entrance of the sea-cave. The salt smell of the 
 dulse frightened him. He set his feet and " stelled " 
 back. But a light hand pushed across and across his 
 eyes, a whisper in his ear, and he followed Zipporah 
 obediently into the dense dark. Paul stood a moment 
 and then did the same, the sea wrack pushing sullenly 
 forward a tongue of yellowish-white froth that filled 
 his heel -tracks as he made them.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE SURGES OF SOLWAY 
 
 The tangles of dulse waved sullenly in the salt 
 wind from off the sea. Paul was the taller, and the 
 thin, cool edges tickled his hot cheek. Zipporah 
 paid no attention, save to the piloting of Glenkens. 
 The little horse was exceedingly nervous, striking the 
 damp sides of the cavern with his shod hoofs, tossing 
 up his head and whisking his tail. But Zipporah 
 went before him, stepping backwards with his nose 
 close against her breast, and whispering into his 
 pricked ears. Glenkens was clearly uncertain. Never- 
 theless he followed, often pawing tentatively with a 
 forefoot before he placed his weight upon the spot. 
 
 " He will never cross the well at the end of the 
 passage," Paul thought to himself. They were now 
 in a complete darkness and behind him the minister's 
 nephew could hear the roaring suck of the surges in 
 the mouth of the Dulse Cave. 
 
 He did not in the least see how they were to get 
 Glenkens into a place of safety, nor indeed how they 
 were to save their own lives. He put his hand up 
 and still the seaweedy tangles, green and clammy 
 (purple dulse no more), were dripping with the salt 
 water from the last tide that had filled the cave from 
 floor to roof. 
 
 But they went carefully, and Paul could hear 
 Glenkens shaking his head with nervous impatience, 
 when suddenly a match spurted blue and was held 
 up like a lamp, in the hollow of a hand, so as to throw 
 the light forward and yet shelter the eyes. The hand 
 was small and rosy where the fingers came together, 
 and through the sunburnt gipsy skin, the blood 
 showed red and warm within. 
 
 32
 
 THE SURGES OF SOLWAY 13 
 
 Zipporah lit a candle, and instantly the cave was 
 bright as with a fierce light. Paul could see the 
 clammy black walls, the tangle of seaweed short and 
 colourless, and underneath the hard damp sand of the 
 pathway. 
 
 Zip passed the light back to him. 
 " Hold it high — higher than that — above your head, 
 silly I I shall have more than enough to do with my 
 hands in a moment." 
 
 The route continued. They seemed to be rising. 
 The passage became contracted, and Glenkens had 
 some difficulty in adjusting himself to the constant 
 windings. But there was still the pallid seaweed 
 along the walls, though perhaps this did not grow 
 quite so high, and Paul knew well that the tide, now 
 sullenly roaring in the arched mouth of the cave, 
 would not be long in following them even thus 
 far. 
 
 " Up with the light ! Higher yet ! " cried Zip. 
 They had come to the oblong irregular piece of 
 water, which Paul had named the " well " of the cave. 
 It was mostly of good clean water — only slightly 
 brackish after each tide, but of such abundant gush 
 that it soon cleared itself and became drinkable again.. 
 As they went, the little horse stepped more and 
 more gingerly, and Zipporah kept soothing him more 
 and more with continuous whispering. Then at the 
 edge of the well, standing before Glenkens, she slipped 
 off her apron, tied it over his ej^es and leaping lightly 
 across the yard-wide water, pulled gently at the 
 apron-strings. 
 
 But the little beast held back. Glenkens could not 
 see and he was not satisfied. He knocked his hard 
 little hoofs on the ground. It was of brittle shale and 
 splintered under the shoe-iron. 
 
 " Change places," said Zipporah brusquely to Paul 
 Wester. And after he had leaped to her side she gave 
 him the strings of the apron in which the pony's head 
 was hidden. She herself returned to the left ear of 
 Glenkens, put her arm about his neck, and what they 
 said one to the other no one knows but themselves.
 
 14 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 There was a consultation, an assurance given and 
 received. 
 
 " NoAv, Glenkens ! " cried Zip, " j^ou, Paul Wester, 
 pull ! Over with you ! " 
 
 And the little horse lifted himself over the black 
 water as easily as he would have overleaped a tiny 
 brook in the daytime with the certainty of better 
 pasture on the farther side. 
 
 " Now," said Zipporah Katti, " give me back the 
 candle. It ought to be not far from here." And 
 leaving the main cave to narrow into a mere black 
 chink in the rock, she turned sharp to the left up a 
 pathway where the tool of men must certainly have 
 aided nature. It was as rough a flight of steps as 
 ever Paul trod, and the marvel of it was that in all the 
 history of the village of Orraland not one of the hoys 
 had ever thought of following this side-track. But 
 for this there was a reason. 
 
 The tale of the wandering piper who had wagered 
 that he would play his pipes till he came to the Devil's 
 Cauldron, a deep pit on the edge of the granite hills 
 half-a-dozen miles inland, had scared the boldest of 
 them. This piper (so ran the legend) had been heard 
 playing his pipes underground for fully two miles. 
 " Roy's Wife of Aldevalloch " was the tune. But 
 when two miles were accomplished, with a wild shriek 
 of the chanter and a last fearsome bray of the drones, 
 the end came. Pipes and piper, tune and player were 
 alike engulfed. No more was heard or seen of this 
 tempter of Providence. Some blamed the water 
 kelpie, some a concealed crevasse, some the foulness 
 of the air. But at any rate the laurels of the vanished 
 piper remained green all along Solway-side, and no 
 one has had the courage to follow his footsteps for 
 fear of the terrors which the cave holds in its belly. 
 
 But Glenkens, his head in the apron, followed with 
 docility the nervous brown hand on his mane. And 
 as for Paul, he once more held aloft the candle and 
 marched chest-forward like one who leads a forlorn 
 hope. 
 
 There was no longer any doubt about it. It grew
 
 THE SURGES OF SOLWAY 15 
 
 drier as they mounted. The salt dankness dis- 
 appeared from the walls. The sand underfoot gave 
 place to rock, waterworn it is true, but with the 
 pavement smooth as that which a burn wears in the 
 granite slabs of its bed. They were above the reach 
 of the tide now, and immediately the air smelt differ- 
 ent. There was an out-of-doors breath in it — of 
 heather and the winds that blow keen about the crests 
 of Ben Gairn and Screel. 
 
 " Halt ! " said Zipporah, whose little brown palm 
 had been slapping eagerly the left of the widening 
 passage-way as they ascended. 
 
 " If the old man said truth, it must be somewhere 
 here," she murmured to herself. " Nobody knew 
 but Lazun and he told only me. He made me 
 promise not to tell Raif." 
 
 Paul Wester turned sharply round. At the sight 
 of the candle shining in his eyes through the thin stuff 
 of the apron, Glenkens swerved sideways and striking 
 with his heels, brought out a hollow clang which 
 echoed down the passages. 
 
 " The Cove of the Last Smugglers," said the girl, 
 triumphantly. " Old Lazun Palafox spoke the truth 
 after all. Here with the candle ! Quick ! " 
 
 They stood before an ancient wooden door, half 
 buried in a drift of sand and pebbles. It was fastened 
 with a couple of cross-bars of solid oak which swivelled 
 into niches cut in the rock. 
 
 Paul wrenched one of them off and with it began 
 to clear away the sand and stones. Zipporah laid 
 her strength to the other, and between them, they 
 were not long in opening the great door, two inches 
 thick of hard wood and the inside plated with solid 
 sheets of green copper like a ship's bottom, bossed with 
 brass nails as big as Zipporah's fist. 
 
 The hinge groaned reluctantly and then a short 
 passage brought them to a neat small chamber hewn 
 in the rock. A sort of manger or stone trough 
 occupied one end, and above was a worn hole for the 
 headstall. On each side were others, but these seemed 
 in less good repair. Here Glenkens was soon at his
 
 16 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 ease. There was plenty of hard dry sand to bed him 
 out, and when the apron was taken from his eyes, 
 the httle horse instantly indulged in a good roll — bad, 
 perhaps, for the coat, but an excellent indication of 
 temper. 
 
 The gipsy girl took from her plaid a provision of 
 oats, half of which she gave to Glenkens now, saying 
 as she rubbed her finger between his eyes, " To 
 morrow we shall see ! " 
 
 " And now, brother," she went on, turning to 
 Paul Wester, " go down to the first spring and bring 
 up this flask full of water. Taste it first. I brought 
 a small mutton-ham with me from the wagon. I 
 shall see that it is cut when you return." 
 
 Paul had brought nothing but himself and a toler- 
 able hunger, so he felt stupid and strangely forlorn. 
 But at least he conducted himself as a man under 
 authority, for he took the tin flask and groped his 
 way back into the darkness again. And as he went 
 the roaring of the tide in the throat of the rock tunnel 
 sounded more guttural and menacing.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE gipsies' pursuit 
 
 As Zipporah and Paul arranged their meal of plain 
 water and blackfaced Galloway mutton-ham, they 
 made a cheerful couple. It was not in life that it 
 should be otherwise — Paul's uncle was safe in his den 
 among his folios. Only the old housekeeper, Barbara 
 Simpson, would be remembering about him, and he 
 could so easily, in the presence of Zipporah, forget 
 about Barbara. For Paul had come to the ungrateful 
 age when the skip of a foot on the stair, the swish of 
 a skirt, the shapeliness of a small head, close-buckled 
 and crisp, weigh more with young men than all the 
 benefits of uncles and housekeepers, past, present, or 
 to come. 
 
 Quickly the little feast was dispatched amid whis- 
 pering and smothered laughter — to which may be 
 added the occasional touching of hands by accident 
 (as it were) across the slab of rock which served as a 
 table. 
 
 Then Zipporah rose, bade him follow her and be 
 very still. " I will show you something," she said, 
 putting out the candle. 
 
 She took his hand in hers, and led him through the 
 confined russet darkness into a fresher air and a rosier 
 light. 
 
 Quite without warning they came out upon a kind 
 of terrace in a niche under the beetling black sea-cliffs. 
 In front was a wall to lean upon, not built of stone and 
 lime, but cut out of the solid rock. Zipporah swept 
 Paul's cap off, and taking him to a spot near the corner 
 motioned him to look over. 
 
 What he saw was the sea breaking in a dim froth 
 of foam like daintiest lace all along the cliff edge. 
 C 17
 
 18 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 There was not now a vestige of the entrance of the 
 Smugglers' Cove. When the waves retreated farther 
 than usual, little snorts and spouts of foam alone 
 showed how they had entered, and where Glenkens 
 had trodden. 
 
 But away to the left towards the village where the 
 tide had not covered the rim of sand, under the dulling 
 afterglow of a gorgeous sunset, many lanterns twinkled, 
 weaving and scattering. 
 
 " The}'^ are looking for us," whispered Zipporah 
 gleefully — " looking for Glenkens, at any rate. They 
 found the stable empty, so they followed as far as the 
 herd of ponies led them. There — they have come to 
 the place where I ordered them back ! Yonder they 
 go, searching over the sea-common and short grass 
 back to the road. Oh, I know they are clever, speci- 
 ally Raif Palafox, but his chief Lazun said nothing 
 to him about the wooden door bound with copper, 
 where the Last Smugglers stowed their cargoes ! " 
 
 Then she set off in a long monologue while they 
 watched together the lanterns losing themselves 
 among the tangled sea-grass country about the peaty 
 delta of the Auchen Water. 
 
 " Of course " (she said, talking as much to herself 
 as to Paul), "smuggling is not what it was in old Lazun 
 Palafox's young days. Then there were armed con- 
 voys, gathered from all the farm lads of the country, 
 sometimes two hundred strong, each with a couple of 
 good pack-horses, going openly through the country 
 with the clear clanking of bridle irons and the clash 
 of anker-chains. The trade with the Isle of Man is 
 finished and done with. There are no riding pre- 
 ventive men any more, and the old coast-guardsmen 
 spying along the cliffs with a glass under their left 
 anns, get fewer and blinder all the time. The little 
 whitewashed houses, with the square tower and flag- 
 staff, where Lazun told me they used to live, are 
 falling into ruin, and the whole coast lies open." 
 
 Zipporah laughed a little, spread out her arms 
 contemptuously and leaned one hand lightly on Paul 
 Wester's shoulder.
 
 THE GIPSIES' PURSUIT 19 
 
 " If only I could write a book " (she went on, more 
 familiarly), " I would surprise some wise people ! " 
 Her ej^es followed the vanishing lanterns up the road 
 by which the ponies had gone. 
 
 " The trade is dead, they say. All goods come by 
 railway. Pot-stills are only to be seen in the West 
 of Ireland, Connemara-way, where I went once with 
 the Smiths. There is just a coal sloop or two about 
 Palnackie, and some few fishing-smacks at Garlieston. 
 For the rest, Solway is as bare of ships as the palm 
 of my hand. The land lies open from Annan water- 
 foot to the ' back shore ' of Leswalt. And it never 
 crosses their minds that there are men as bold as ever 
 there were in the days of Yawkins and Captain Gulden 
 Van Brunt." 
 
 " You don't mean to say," interjected Paul Avith 
 sudden anxiety, " that there are smugglers out on 
 the seas to-day ? " 
 
 " And why not ? " said the girl, removing her hand 
 and turning sharp upon him, " not so many perhaps. 
 Nor is the thing done in the light of day, with ringing 
 bells and a procession as long as from here to the town 
 head of Orraland. But in the seaboard parishes you 
 will find little dutiable drink except beer. That, and 
 that alone, comes by rail. Tell me why, if you please." 
 
 " True," said Paul, thoughtfully, " there may be 
 something in what you say." He began to put this 
 and that together in his mind. 
 
 " And where," the girl's whisper grew more em- 
 phatic, " where are the people who drink the beer ? 
 A few English quarrymen and a good many natives 
 who are interested in seeing that the traffic in other 
 matters does not fall off. But most of it is given to 
 the pigs. Why in Borgue " 
 
 " They give it to the bees " interjected Paul 
 
 Wester, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, you may laugh, but they do, mixed with 
 sugar, and all day there is a small boy with a stick at 
 every feeding trough to help the drunkards out and 
 lay them on the grass till they have got over their 
 headache and are able to fly home ! Oh, it is true, 
 c 2
 
 20 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 They do it to keep them near home away from the 
 heather, for that would spoil the light green of the 
 honey. Why, I have been a Borgue beeguard myself 
 for ten days in the middle of the season. Keeping off 
 the wasps is the worst of it. I had gloves and a mask 
 with gauze eyeholes. But the wasps stung through 
 in spite of all. 
 
 " They crawled down my neck. They hid in tucks 
 of my dress. Nothing could keep them away from 
 the smell of the beer and the sugar." 
 
 Paul Wester wanted information upon greater 
 matters. 
 
 " But how is it managed — this smuggling ? I have 
 seen gangers watching the disloading of coal luggers 
 on the sands or at the quay at Palnackie." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say — sitting on a pile of planks smoking 
 a pipe," snapped Zipporah, " but you never saw one 
 go below, brother. No, and if they had, what would 
 they have found — a little coaldust in a comer, a pile 
 of empty boxes which they would turn disparagingly 
 over with their sticks. Then a stamp or two with the 
 foot, perhaps a stray measurement in search of double 
 bottoms in which they do not for a moment believe, 
 and ashore they go — to the ' Quarryman's Arms,' with 
 the captain of the Good Intent to drink smuggled 
 spirit and smoke smuggled tobacco." 
 
 Zipporah's sniff of contempt was directed against all 
 men in authority who permitted themselves to be so 
 greenly cheated. 
 
 " And so on they go till they get their pensions. 
 But never, never do they grapple for the nests of 
 chained kegs sunk out yonder in three-fathom water, 
 and lifted by yachts carrying the flag of the Clyde 
 Squadron. Yachts can do more in this line than all 
 the great smuggling captains put together. Nobody 
 suspects them ! 
 
 " And for the hiding places, when once the stuff is 
 got on land — are they not here just as they were a 
 hundred years ago ? Why, only the other day Sir 
 Herbert turned out one at Monreith under a cottage 
 which he was meaning to rebuild ! "
 
 THE GIPSIES' PURSUIT 21 
 
 " But, this one is empty," said Paul a little 
 wistfully, for his father's blood stirred within 
 him. 
 
 The girl laughed lightly. 
 
 " That's as may be," she said, " at least nothing 
 has entered here since the days of old Lazun. . . . 
 But " (she jerked her head over her right shoulder to 
 indicate the dark interior behind them) " I warrant 
 there will be walls yonder upon which the iron heels 
 of Glenkens would ring hollow as a drum ! " 
 
 " But come," she spoke hastily after a pause, filled 
 with the wash of Solway sea-water against the cliffs 
 underneath, "it is time for all good little boys to be 
 thinking of getting home — lest they be locked out 
 and whipped in the morning," 
 
 " It seems to me," Paul answered, " that unless I 
 could swim like a fish, we are both rather securely 
 locked out as it is." 
 
 " There is your uncle — and the housekeeper," 
 Zipporah went on ; " what in the world would they 
 say if they knew that you were up here with a stolen 
 horse, and keen as mustard to go off smuggling with 
 old Lazun and a brown gipsy wench from the Fair- 
 grounds ? " 
 
 " You are no gipsy," said Paul Wester knowingly, 
 " you have the good education. I can hear by your 
 accent that you have been brought up in foreign parts, 
 and there is a little medal in gold and blue enamel 
 about your neck — I have heard that they wear such 
 in papistical countries." 
 
 " What an observant lad," she answered, pouting 
 her lips mockingly at him. " I had not dreamed 
 that you would pa}'^ so much attention to my neck 
 and what was about it. I have not asked you con- 
 cerning your creed or the lock of hair in the silver 
 locket that is about your neck ! " 
 
 Paul was taken wholly by surprise. 
 
 "There is no mystery about that," he said; "I 
 am a good Presbyterian, and I will teach you the 
 Catechism for saving Glenkens." 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl airily, " but you have
 
 22 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 not explained about the silver locket and the fair 
 hair that is in it." 
 
 She paused a moment and then added, " Not that 
 I care — it is a woman's hair." 
 
 " It is my mother's " said Paul Wester gravely, 
 " she was unhappy. She is dead." 
 
 Zipporah made one leap towards him. At first 
 he thought she was going to fling her arms about his 
 neck. From this he would not have shrunk — at 
 least in private. But instead the girl stood a moment 
 looking up into his face, her eyes brimming with 
 penitent tears. 
 
 Then she seized his hand and kissed it before he 
 was aware — at which he was hugely taken aback, 
 such kissing being uncommon in Galloway, and Paul 
 Wester (though of small experience) would have 
 preferred a more ordinary sort. 
 
 " What a little beast I am ! " she said, stamping 
 her foot, " how can you ever forgive me ? " And 
 she dabbed her eyes furiously with her apron, the 
 same in which had been wrapped up the head of 
 Glenkens, at the passage of the cave-well. 
 
 The tender mercies of Zipporah's temper were 
 sometimes cruel, but anything more beautiful and 
 comforting than her swift repentances, Paul Wester 
 had yet to encounter.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SECOND EXIT 
 
 So far Paul Wester had not considered at all what 
 his uncle and Barbara Simpson the housekeeper 
 would think of his absence. He had saved Glenkens 
 — ^that was the way he regarded the matter, and the 
 rest would easily be forgiven. 
 
 And now that he found himself in a real smugglers' 
 cave, apparently not half or quarter explored, the 
 waves lashing the solid cliffs fifty feet beneath him, 
 and a pretty gipsy girl kissing his hand, the situation 
 was so novel that Paul was in no hurry to put an end 
 to it. For which, small blame to him. 
 
 He became nervous about possible secret exits 
 which he might never find again. How could he 
 leave Glenkens with any justice to his uncle ? It 
 would be quite unheard of that he, a gentleman, 
 should forsake a lonely maiden, one who for his sake 
 had exposed herself to the certain hatred of her kin, 
 and cast herself upon the world friendless and alone 
 — save for him, Paul Wester, then present. He 
 remembered what he had read and the dewy darkness 
 of Zipporah Katti's eyes reinforced the lecture — a 
 second lesson tending to the same purport as the first. 
 
 Let his uncle say what he would, think what he 
 would, do what he would ! Let Barbara Simpson 
 rage after her kind, never would he forsake the girl 
 who had left all to follow him — that is to say Zipporah 
 Katti Palafox-Smith-Lee, also present and with hair 
 that blew in his eyes. A very noble young man was 
 Paul Wester at that moment. 
 
 Vague memories of the Book of Ruth, heard half 
 drowsy, half asleep during his uncle's nightly readings 
 
 23
 
 24 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " in his ordinary " — that is to say, going steadily 
 through the Bible from Genesis to the Revelation — 
 moved within him as Spring moves in the blood of a 
 young man. 
 
 lie would never betray the heart that trusted him. 
 By this thought he felt himself inexpressibly en- 
 nobled, glorified, aureoled. His life was too little, 
 too mean to give for a girl with such splendid liquid 
 eyes, the same that had looked into his but a minute 
 before — which (though he would have been surprised 
 to know it) were the cause of all this volcanic out- 
 break of nobility in the heart of Paul Wester. 
 
 The only difficulty was that Paul had counted with- 
 out his Zipporah Katti ! He was the older in years, 
 but in experience of life he was a babe to her. 
 
 They marry early in Gipsyland, and begin to pre- 
 pare for this even earlier. Zipporah was pretty. 
 Better still, she was " clever." That is, she could 
 earn money readily at fortune-telling, and with her 
 quick retorts which stung like nettles, she had become 
 a fashion among the tawny clans of Lee and Smith, 
 of Bailie and Stanle3^ Besides, there was a certain 
 Raif Palafox, dwelling in a " tan " that was not his 
 own that he might keep her in sight and be on hand 
 to cull the flower at the first symptom of ripening. 
 He was as clever at the knife-play as he was unequalled 
 at the horse-coping. So it was no small addition to 
 the attractions of Zipporah Katti, that it had become 
 an understood thing, that whoever pretended to her 
 hand must first stand up to Raif Palafox in single 
 combat. 
 
 So it came about that Zipporah Katti early knew 
 her own value. And now she was going to impress 
 that value on Paul Wester. 
 
 " Paul," she said, abruptly, " you are a good boy, 
 but there is no use for you here to-night. I want to 
 stay good friends with your uncle, and possibly with 
 Barbara Simpson as well. To-morrow you can come 
 back with all the news you can gather, and . . . some 
 scraps of good eating for Glenkens and me. We eat 
 out of one manger at present, he and I."
 
 THE SECOND EXIT 25 
 
 (( 
 
 Am I to swim for it, then ? " said Paul dis- 
 gustedly. 
 
 " And what should that matter to a shore-lad ? 
 Could you not swim to the Silver Beach yonder ? " 
 
 " Aye," said Paul, " maybe I could — if there were 
 any Silver Beach to swim to ! " 
 
 Here he took advantage of his knowledge of the tides 
 in Maxwellton Bay. Zipporah Katti looked hastily 
 over the breastwork, and saw with astonishment 
 that the sands from which her late companions' 
 lanterns had disappeared was a pallid sluice of churn- 
 ing waters. The tide had just passed its highest 
 point, though of the two only Paul knew that, and 
 the ebb-race was setting away to the south-west, 
 sucking the packed waters out of the bay backward 
 into the gut of Solway. 
 
 But Zipporah Katti was not to be beaten so easily. 
 
 " A pretty gipsy girl," Paul had said. But was 
 she ? 
 
 An olive-pale face, features regular and fine, 
 shadowed by a crisp mass of black curls which in the 
 light of the lantern showed of that deep blue-black 
 of the moonlight sky — say, in the great Square of 
 Pegasus where the stars are thinnest sown. 
 
 Gipsy — well, perhaps Zipporah Katti had a right 
 to the name. But again she had tented with too 
 many families for one to be sure of even so much. 
 But she showed the promise of a great attractiveness, 
 as was no doubt obvious to Raif Palafox and other 
 eligibles who passed over well-dowered and much 
 ornamented maidens of their own folk to demand in 
 just Romany marriage the hand of this waif of 
 many " tans." 
 
 But already in the slipsy lithe girl, watched jeal- 
 ously by the eyes of the women-folk, they divined 
 the matchless whisperer who in time would gentle 
 the wildest stallion, the velvet of whose eye would 
 decide the most reluctant purchaser, with his hand 
 fluttering undecided about the flap of his money- 
 wallet. Other matters also there were. And the 
 sulkiest and least imaginative lad of the gipsy-folk
 
 26 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 saw possibilities in a little solitary camp in the glade, 
 the water running by, the horses tethered to their 
 pickets, the fire of twigs glittering among the dewy 
 summer grass, and between him and the caravan 
 the slender flitting of Zipporah Katti preparing the 
 evening meal. He ought, by all rights, to have lain 
 on his back, smoking and shouting commands, but 
 in his imagination he was willingly harrying the woods 
 for fur and feather, under the pretext of bringing back 
 an armful of faggots for the slim girl's fire. 
 
 Then he licked his lips and thought that with such 
 a gloaming vision in a nook he knew of, Hfe would 
 be worth living. 
 
 But as to Zipporah Katti herself, the imaginations 
 of her heart were widely different. 
 
 She confided some of these to Paul. 
 
 " It is nothing to me to run wild, as folk reproach 
 me with doing. I have defied the tribe. It is the 
 unpardonable sin, though they are only Lees after all. 
 Perhaps some day they will come back and kill me for 
 it. Well, that can't be helped. I shall stay on in 
 the cave with Glenkens there after you are gone (and 
 in a minute more you are going) with no more fear 
 than I would sleep in a feather bed. I have never 
 slept half-a-dozen times in one spot in my life, except 
 when Lazun Palafox sent me to school at the convent. 
 But then I was hardly asleep good and sound, before 
 clang the bell would go for prayers in the chapel and 
 down we must troop in the chill dark. But though 
 I prayed, it never seemed to do much good." 
 
 " Oh Zip," cried Paul, " I wish uncle could speak 
 to you ! " 
 
 Zipporah Katti flung up her hands with a little 
 sob. 
 
 " Oh, I wish so too," the words came impetuously, 
 " I want to grow up like other girls — like everybody — 
 not wild or different, whatever I pretend. I want to 
 wear white aprons — no, not to be a servant, but that 
 rather than be thought wild and a gipsy. I want the 
 boys not to pelt me through the villages — though they 
 dare not do that if any of our men are by — nor the
 
 THE SECOND EXIT 27 
 
 girls to swing their green baize bags and put out their 
 tongues at me. I want to be friends with them — 
 with everybody. You understand ? " 
 
 Paul did not fully understand though he said he 
 did. He himself was tasting the first draught of 
 stolen waters and the sweetness of them lingered 
 entrancingly upon his tongue. It seemed impossible 
 that any free agent, with the woods wide and open, 
 and the fields and sky all about, with caves full of 
 mysterious effects and unexplored doors leading to 
 chambers of treasure, should wish to change all this 
 for the dulness of life within four walls — going to 
 school, sitting in a pew on Sundays and " behaving " 
 — from all which things the recently emancipated 
 Paul Wester had suffered in his time. 
 
 And his conscience smote him so hard that he could 
 not let another give up this wild and glorious liberty 
 — at least not without a warning, 
 
 " Zip," he said, " you think now you would like all 
 that — being fussed over indoors, checked outside, 
 told you must not do this, and must do that ! Why, 
 you would be hiding among the ferns again in a fort- 
 night." 
 
 " No," said Zipporah Katti, " I wasn't sick of the 
 convent — in spite of the prayers in a language I did 
 not understand. Besides, if things got too bad the 
 bracken and the heather are always there, and at 
 any rate I should like to try. So if you can say a 
 good word for me to your uncle — he might know of 
 some one — some one who would take me in. I could 
 work. I know a lot — more than you think, grammar 
 even and about the infinitive mood — and what I don't 
 know I could learn. You would be astonished how 
 quick I can pick up when I like. And now " (Zipporah 
 Katti suddenly changed her tone) " it is time for you 
 to go." 
 
 " To go— ah, but how ? " thought Paul Wester. 
 And he smiled triumphantly as he thought of the 
 many hours which must elapse before the Solway 
 surges would cease to sweep the cave-mouth and 
 break themselves furiously in charges of white galloping
 
 28 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 horses all along the coast from Portowarren to 
 Maxwellton Bay, 
 
 And so, without further word spoken, but witk 
 much authority in the gesture, Zipporah made Paul 
 follow her. 
 
 " You are to go home the straightest way," she 
 said, strenuously as if she had been Barbara Simpson 
 herself, " you are not to stop by the road, nor tell 
 any one of the cave, lest it be searched. And what 
 is within is neither yours nor mine, but belongs to 
 Lazun Palafox. So when you speak of Glenkens or 
 me, say that we are ' in a safe place and will appear 
 in due time, when the coast is clear.' You hear, 
 Paul Wester ? " 
 
 " I fear that will but ill satisfy my uncle — and 
 Barbara Simpson not at all." 
 
 " It will have to serve for both, however," quoth 
 Zipporah. " You have your instructions and you 
 must get out of it as best you can, or never more set 
 eyes on Glenkens again — nor on me either, if that 
 matters to you." 
 
 " // that matters ! " he exclaimed, passing his hand 
 in careless fashion about her shoulders. The arm 
 followed, but instantly, as if used to the operation, 
 Zipporah Katti stood clear. 
 
 " Hands off ! " she cried in her foreign way, neither 
 surprised nor abashed, " fingers to yourself, my lad ! 
 You are not linking home a sonsy byre-lass from the 
 Fair yonder. Behave as a minister's nephew, and a 
 man that is friendly with the Greek and the Latin ! " 
 
 [x\s if these ever helped a man to behave in such a 
 case !] 
 
 But at any rate, though I will not deny that embrac- 
 ing was hot in Paul's mind, he followed Zipporah 
 meekly enough, as candle in hand she led him by 
 strange ways. Sometimes he was out on the bare 
 face of the cliff and could see stretching for miles 
 beneath him the smother of the surge, then the heady 
 swing and tumble as the big black waves prepared to 
 break solidly in the dim light. 
 
 The stars showed overhead and in front, looking
 
 THE SECOND EXIT 29 
 
 strangely unfamiliar, like the faces of friends met 
 unawares in crowded far-off cities. 
 
 Then back again they clambered into the rock, 
 which at this place must have been tunnelled like a 
 rabbit warren ! And he wondered at the girl's readi- 
 ness till he saw that she held in her hand, quite close 
 to the lantern, a kind of chart or plan — no doubt 
 traced for her by old Lazun himself. 
 
 And then Paul remembered with shame how he 
 had brought that same girl to the cave mouth to eat 
 dulse, and how grateful she had been. It was small 
 wonder that she knew of a stable for Glenkens and 
 safe hiding for herself. 
 
 " You are sure," said the young man, carefully 
 concealing his feelings, *■' that old Palafox only gave 
 away one copy of the smuggling chart — that which 
 you have in your hand ? " 
 
 " I am sure," Zipporah answered, " but do not 
 speak so loud — we are near the skylight entrance 
 now ! " 
 
 " And how about the gipsy they call Raif Palafox ? " 
 queried Paul suspiciously. 
 
 " They call him Raif Palafox because that is his 
 name," said Zipporah Katti calmly. " But be easy, 
 brother. Old Lazun would sooner give him a knife 
 between the ribs. There is an old blood feud yet 
 unstaunched." 
 
 And Zipporah went forward steadily, mounting all 
 the time, till at last she crawled out into a kind of 
 shelter where the sheep hide on snowy, drifty days 
 (the herds call them " pents "). She pivoted a flat 
 stone easily with her hands, pushed Paul out with 
 never a good-night, and shut close the trap 
 again. 
 
 But Paul Wester was determined that at least he 
 should be able to find his way back on the morrow. 
 So he sat still where he was, one hand on the " pent " 
 of the cavelet, while with the other he blazed with 
 his private starfish mark every stone and rock slab 
 within reach. Also he trailed a way through 
 the heather, pulling up tufts and setting them root
 
 30 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 upwards where they would be easily found, their 
 peaty fibres bare to the sun and the wind. 
 
 Paul had no chart like that of Lazun Palafox, but 
 now he knew the cave, both entrance and exit, and 
 he was resolved that, come what might, he would 
 find his way back to Glenkens in his rock stable — 
 and to the daughter of the gipsies, Zipporah Katti 
 Lee-Smith-Palafox, whose face for some reason to him 
 unknown, began just then to trouble his peace. 
 
 He had forgotten what she was like. Her features, 
 when he tried to recall them, melted into one another, 
 and the vision of Zipporah Katti as a whole would 
 by no means come at his call. 
 
 Paul had not the least idea what this phenomenon 
 portended.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BARBARA SIMPSON's WELCOMING 
 
 Then Paul Wester fell suddenly lonely. The mon- 
 strous indigo of the vault above, the keen air filling 
 his lungs and, as it were, cleansing his whole blood, 
 did not make up for the despairing sense of loss — 
 the appalling inability of Nature to help a merely 
 human need. 
 
 His youth had been calling upon him ever since he 
 had first seen Zipporah. Now she was shut away 
 from him. A chance turn, and all at once he seemed 
 sliding down the long unhappy slope of life. His ill 
 time had begun. For him the summer was past, 
 the harvest ended while his grain of hope was still 
 only in the sowing. 
 
 However, his way being blazed and his return not 
 only practicable but certain (he made Glenkens 
 his excuse), Paul Wester had his uncle to face, and not 
 his uncle only, but Barbara Simpson. From her he 
 could expect no mercy. At least so he thought. 
 
 As he neared the Manse, he could see before him 
 the dark tunnel of the avenue trees, criss-crossed by 
 the white bars of the gate. He could discern also a 
 shadow that went and came, patrolling ghost-white 
 in the dusky ambush of the leaves. His heart beat 
 faster, for this was not his uncle come to reproach 
 him. It was the woman who had brought him up, 
 even old Barbara Simpson. And Paul Wester, 
 though as they said in that countryside, " man- 
 muckle," kept a great deal of his childish respect for 
 Barbara. He would not have been greatly surprised 
 if she had cuffed his ears soundly without a word 
 spoken. Nor was he sure that he would have resented 
 the indignity in spite of his years and stature. 
 
 31
 
 32 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 But Paul Wester was not long in discovering that 
 there were quite other ideas and intentions under the 
 respectable black cap of the Manse housekeeper. 
 
 " Oh laddie, laddie," she whispered, taking him in 
 her arms as far as he would go, shaking him and croon- 
 ing over him at once, "" your uncle is neither to hold 
 nor to bind. He is walking up and down the library 
 like a man distracted. Almost he cursed you at the 
 ' Taking of the Book,' and the passage from the Holy 
 Writ which he read was about the sins of the fathers 
 being punished in the third and fourth generations. 
 It was your faither he meaned. I kenned by the way 
 he blattered with his hand on the Blessed Scriptures 
 of the Auld Testament as he was reading. He can 
 never abide thinkin' on your faither. It drives him 
 fair wild, and when he gets to prophesying that ye 
 will turn out like him, I can see his fingers twitching 
 to throttle somebody. Oh, I'm saying no wrong. 
 He's a grand man, the minister, but there are more 
 spots of the Auld Adam about him than he kens of. 
 But oh, Maister Paul, ye will be canny wi' him, and 
 no anger him — for his heart is sore set on ye ! As 
 mine is, more than on my prayers, I misdoubt — God 
 forgive me ! " 
 
 " I will tell him the truth ! " said Paul, trying to 
 disengage himself and stride on past her. But she 
 held him fast. 
 
 " If it be aught to do with a lassie," she pleaded, 
 " do not tell him, laddie. Tell me instead. There is 
 something that stirs under these wizened breasts that 
 never suckled even the babe I bore. Paul, I have 
 yearned over you more than the mother of many over 
 her brood. So if you must tell the Truth — oh, tell 
 it to me. For Truth is not a thing to be handled 
 between angry men. But between a young man and 
 an auld world-weary woman like me — then there is 
 room for patience and understanding — aye, and for- 
 giveness. Lord, forgie me that ever I should have 
 used such a word to the nephew of my master. But 
 ye are to me as the son of my old age." 
 
 Here she wept so softly that, save for the ghnt of
 
 BARBARA SIMPSON'S WELCOMING 33 
 
 tears in the light of stars, Paul Wester would never 
 have known. But he saw something drop, and it 
 was as if they fell heavy on his heart one by one. 
 
 " I will charge myself with your uncle, if need be to 
 tell him anything. But he is a strict man and a just, 
 and before I had time to turn him to the kindlier way, 
 you and he might have spoken words that would 
 sunder you for ever. P^'or I know the blood of your 
 father, and of a surety it runs in your veins. The 
 blood of the Westers is most like gipsy blood, far- 
 wandering, ill to tame, and for ever breaking out in 
 new places. Tell me quietly, lad, and auld Babby 
 will tell the minister the truth. Aye, but not all the 
 truth — Oh no, not all — and the rest she will dress out 
 so fine, ye will never be faulted for it. A house divided 
 against itself cannot stand, and what is the dab o' 
 limewash here, and the crack puttied up yonder, when 
 it is done to prevent the shelter of our age from coming 
 about our ears ? " 
 
 " But my uncle may find out," Paul Wester ob- 
 jected; " and besides I am old enough to answer for 
 my own faults, if faults they be ! " 
 
 " That is juist it," said Barbara, shaking him by 
 the arm in her eagerness to enforce conviction, " it 
 will not be your fault. I myself will take all upon 
 my conscience, and if so be there is a God who prefers 
 discord in a manse to a bit innocent arrangement of 
 the truth — then so much the worse for the poor useless 
 soul of Barbara Simpson, for forty years a faithful, 
 if faulty, handmaid in the house of His servant." 
 
 They could see down the dark arch of the Manse 
 avenue the figure of Paul's uncle going to-and-fro, 
 passing and repassing in front of the study lamp. 
 
 " He has been at it ever since Worship," whispered 
 Barbara. " I will watch that he does not come down 
 while you are telling me." 
 
 So Barbara Simpson, being what she was, a 
 mother and more to Paul Wester, little by little decided 
 him to confide in her. And when he came to tell of 
 the stealing of Glenkens and how for his sake the 
 theft had been prevented and Glenkens put in a 
 
 D
 
 34 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 place of safety, somehow Barbara was vaguely 
 disappointed. 
 
 " And ye left the lass like that, with your fmger in 
 your mouth?" she cried at last; "faith, maybe it's 
 as well — oh, better, certainly far better. But " (here 
 her voice strengthened) " doom's tak' me if there's as 
 muckle o' the Wester blood in you as auld Barbara 
 gied ye credit for ! " 
 
 Paul felt somehow that he had denied his ancestors 
 — also that in some strange way he had disappointed 
 the hopes and expectations of Barbara Simpson, who 
 (as he had long been aware) looked at many things 
 differently from his uncle. 
 
 "And that's all I've gotten to tell the minister?" 
 she queried. " Here, laddie, come close — let me see ! " 
 And she looked deep into his eyes, breathing slowly 
 and seeming to pierce his most secret heart with her 
 gaze. 
 
 She pushed him a little away. 
 
 " No," she sighed, as if she had looked for something 
 without finding it, " ye speak the truth, laddie, and 
 the morn's morning I will see the lass mysel'. She 
 maun be a wonder. There's a pair o' ye, troth-my- 
 troth ! But the Lord himsel' would be hard put to it 
 to tell what a gipsy would do or not do — and the black 
 blood of Egypt is in you as well, or something little 
 better ! So Paul Wester — mind you that." 
 
 Then Barbara took the young man by the hand, 
 much as Zipporah Katti had done an hour before. 
 Paul was a lad for whom women liked doing things, 
 and of whom (except on occasions of great agitation 
 or danger) they naturally took command. 
 
 He was only beginning to learn the advantages of 
 this. Barbara led him to the stable from which 
 Glenkens had been removed. It had been visited 
 since Paul was last there. The harness had been 
 thrown about. The corn-chest yawned open and the 
 litter of the stalls and loose-box kicked here and there. 
 But only a few halters and a wooden " feed-box,'* 
 used to call up Glenkens from the pasture, had been 
 stolen.
 
 BARBARA SIMPSON'S WELCOMING 35 
 
 " Now," said Barbara Simpson, " there's plenty 
 good straw in the corner and a sack or two Mkewise. 
 I am going to lock j^ou in while I tell the tale to the 
 minister." 
 
 In another moment she had turned in the lock the 
 key she wore on the strong ring at her belt. The 
 solid iron had creaked into place when, through the 
 empty keyhole, she added whisperingly — " All ex- 
 cept about the gipsy lass— mind ye that, lad. In 
 the morning I shall see what is to be done about her ! " 
 
 So Barbara Simpson went her way shaking her 
 head, in great though wholly unnecessary doubt. 
 
 " A fine lad," she was muttering, " oh, a fine lad, 
 and the story he tells may be true. But, och-an-oan, 
 it would have been a weary day and yet a wearier, 
 or his f aither had come back from Orraland Fair Tryst 
 with no better a tale than that. Eh, thirty years 
 and maybe a year or two to the waur o' that, but " 
 (here she sighed deeply) " lads were men in thae 
 days ! " 
 
 In his stable Paul Wester, without a stain on his. 
 conscience and so tired that he had hardly even 
 thought for the morrow, stretched himself on the 
 straw that was to have bedded out Glenkens. He 
 was hardly conscious of drawing the rough dusty 
 warmth of the meal sacks over him. He saw, as it 
 were, Zipporah Katti for an instant profiled against 
 a broad white cloud, bastioned and crenellated. He 
 was aware, moreover, of the scent of wild mint she 
 carried about with her. 
 
 Then a deep blue sea without water cradled him a 
 moment. Into it he sank a million miles deep. Its. 
 name was the Ocean of the Stream of Sleep ! 
 
 After she had made her way back to the rock stable 
 in which she found the little horse, munching com- 
 fortably at his oats, Zipporah Katti bethought her 
 of her own bedding. There was but little to be found 
 in that cave, which had not known the foot of man 
 since old Lazun had bidden good-bye to the Free- 
 trading. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 But Zipporah Katti was no epicure. She stuffed 
 a double handful out of the pony's stall into a petti- 
 coat, tied it about at either end with a bootlace, and 
 for the rest was ready to lay herself down as com- 
 fortably as on the best "made-bed" in the stewartry. 
 First, however, she went out upon the balcony, 
 and leaning her elbows on her palms, gazed into the 
 large uneasy stillness of the sea night — uneasy —   
 because the surges of Solwa}'^ were breaking irregularly 
 beneath. To right and to left the sands were now all 
 covered, though not to any great depth, which ac- 
 counted for the chocolate-coloured turmoil. For 
 almost as regularly as the swinging of a pendulum, 
 some ridge or other, barely awash, would suddenly 
 throw up a white hill of water, spout like a geyser, 
 hold itself a moment white against the blue-black 
 night and then fall with a broken splatter over a good 
 quarter-acre of tossing sea. 
 
 Zipporah was not anyways eager for sleep. She 
 liked to be alone. The faint glow of a ship's light 
 far out kept her watching for the better part of an 
 hour. It seemed as if it were old Lazun coming back 
 again to find his cave occupied. The girl's heart 
 warmed at the thought. Paul, though a boy, was 
 well enough. He would do what she told him, but 
 Lazun Palafox was the greatest and the kindest man 
 she had ever known. He was a gipsy and a smuggler, 
 but Zipporah Katti had never been taught that there 
 was anything dishonourable either in the race or the 
 calling. 
 
 Her idea of bliss was a dainty white and green house 
 on Cancale falaise or along the Concha at St. Sebastian, 
 a cottage with figure-heads and pebbly paths, a flag- 
 staff for Lazun to fly the red and yellow of the country 
 which had discarded him, while she, Zipporah, in 
 a white apron and braided hair knitted and read in 
 the shade of a big hme-tree in which the bees were 
 humming. 
 
 She was not certain where, in this daydream, Paul 
 Wester was to come in, but that he had his place in 
 the picture was certain. Meanwhile the lights of the
 
 BARBARA SIMPSON'S WELCOMING 37 
 
 boat winked themselves out away down channel, leav- 
 ing only Rathan light like a farthing dip straight in the 
 Fair-way, and the reflections from the ironworks about 
 Workington and Beemouth on the Cumberland coast, 
 pulsing upwards like northern hghts in a vain attempt 
 to reach the zenith. 
 
 Zipporah was too young, and took life too much 
 with the zest of a healthy animal to be much 
 affected by the weltering silence of the great estuary. 
 She yawned, shivered, went within and, drawing 
 her cloak about her from shoulders to feet, cuddled 
 down to dreamless sleep on her pillow of petticoat and 
 straw.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE STRIFE OF TONGUES 
 
 Meanwhile within the folio-lined walls of the 
 minister's study in the Manse of Kirkpatrick-Max- 
 wellton, Barbara Simpson strove as none other might 
 dare to strive with Dr. Septimus Laird. 
 
 " How dare ye, placed minister though you be," 
 the old woman demanded, pointing a defiant finger 
 at her master, " take upon yourself to mete out 
 reward and punishment like a God ? " 
 
 " I arrogate to myself no such right," the minister 
 answered, his clenched hand planted firm on the 
 folio Turretin open on the table. " I have greater 
 respect for my Maker. But remember, Barbara 
 Simpson, that you and I have been through all this 
 before. I must keep my house clean, and Paul 
 Wester the Younger shall go elsewhere if he is to 
 copy the life of Paul Wester the Elder." 
 
 " And who," said the old woman fiercely, " made 
 you a Judge or a divider ? You, who break the bread 
 of life among this flock, are become as one who speaks 
 without knowledge ! " 
 
 " Paul Wester," said the minister, like one who 
 poses his conclusions at the bar, " has been absent 
 from this house since midday. It is the day of the 
 Maxwellton Fair. The place is alive with the same 
 sort of vagabonds with whom, to his eternal loss, 
 his father kept company. He was seen by one of my 
 elders (and your own kinsman Peter Edgar), walking 
 seaward, talking familiarly to a girl of the outcast 
 gipsies — what more do you ask ? " 
 
 " What more, Septimus Laird, what more ? " the 
 old woman's voice was sunk as it had never been 
 before where her master was concerned, to an almost 
 
 88
 
 THE STRIFE OF TONGUES 39 
 
 contemptuous scorn, " I take you at your word and 
 I answer from your own preaching — ' outcast/ say 
 you — and pray how often have I heard you in forty 
 years so describe yourself — ' outcast from the grace 
 of God.' Aye, and have you forgotten, minister that 
 you are, Who it was who came to call, not the righteous 
 but sinners to repentance ? " 
 
 The old man, silenced, if not softened, bowed his 
 head. But the wrath, the apparent wrath, that is, 
 of old Babby was not appeased. 
 
 " And this is the boy we have brought up, you and 
 I together. I am ashamed of you, minister, of you 
 and your doctrine. Did ye never hear that ' the great- 
 est of these is charity ' ? Oh, it slipped your memory. 
 It is true the lad spoke to the lass. It is true they 
 walked together. And to-morrow I will bring her 
 here to this house that you, as a Christian man, may 
 ask her pardon " 
 
 " Barbara Simpson," said the minister in a choking 
 voice, " is my boy with her ? Tell me, for I have 
 his father's sins heavy on my soul." 
 
 " The lad is with me," said Barbara with bitter- 
 ness ; " go to your prayers, minister, and ask to be 
 forgiven for hasty judgments and evil thoughts against 
 the lad whose good name ought to be dearest to you 
 on earth." 
 
 They gazed at each other as they had hardly done 
 for forty years. Septimus Laird knew that Barbara 
 told no lie. 
 
 " Then God be thanked ! " he said, and turning 
 quickly on his heel, went to his bedroom above the 
 study. There in the corner by the bed where the 
 carpet was worn threadbare with the print of his 
 knees, we may leave him. 
 
 Barbara hastened to the stable, empty and chill, 
 and with her hand on Paul's shoulder, awakened her 
 boy gently. 
 
 " Come, lad," she said softly, " I have made all 
 ready." 
 
 Paul Wester rubbed his eyes, still brimful of sleep. 
 He sat up and gazed in bewilderment at the stable,
 
 40 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 at the tall gaunt figure with the lantern, and the 
 open door of Glenkens' empty stall. 
 
 He seemed to be searching for something or some 
 one, and Barbara Simpson smiled grimly. For she 
 understood — who indeed should understand if not 
 she? 
 
 " And my uncle ? " said Paul, " is he very angry ? " 
 
 " He is gone to his chamber to indulge in religious 
 meditation," Barbara answered dryly enough. " He 
 is not to be disturbed this night ! " 
 
 " You have spoken to him about — about Zip- 
 porah ? " Paul hesitated. The words seemed to 
 stick in his throat. 
 
 " She shall be here the morrow's morn ! " said old 
 Barbara with authority ; " and now, not another 
 word. Off to bed with you. You will be the fresher 
 for the clean sheets scented with southernwood, and 
 after that we will see about the bit lass in the cave." 
 
 So with that Barbara shooed him before her up- 
 stairs like a brood hen caught wandering where it 
 ought not. And Paul stumbled out, too full of the 
 glamour of sleep to argue or disobey. It was to be 
 all right — all right somehow, because Barbara had 
 said it. The trouble of arguing out the " hows " 
 and the " whys " was too great for him, and he 
 hardly felt the ancient wrinkled hands which had 
 put him to bed when he was a sunny-haired boy (like 
 the child Samuel in the picture) helping him out of 
 his dusty garments. 
 
 He would have knelt as was still his custom, but 
 from somewhere there came a voice in his ear, " Never 
 ye mind, laddie ! This night your uncle is saying 
 them for you." 
 
 And the coolness of the fine bleached bed-linen was 
 like water on his limbs as he crept between the nether 
 and the upper sheets. The pillow wafted him away 
 as soon as he touched it. He felt himself going. 
 
 " 'Night, Babby ! " he murmured as of old, and 
 Paul Wester turned over with a long sigh and left 
 the old woman standing by his bedside.
 
 THE STRIFE OF TONGUES 41 
 
 She might have stood there all night, for all that 
 Paul knew. At least she was there when he came 
 to himself in the morning twilight. Perhaps Barbara 
 had awaked him. There was freshness and silence 
 all about the Manse, broken only by the crowing of 
 cocks and a dog that barked importantly at the heels 
 of a flock of sheep uj^on the market road which led 
 by to Palnackie — and then on and on to Dumfries, 
 where every Wednesday fills the town with the lowing 
 of herds and the bleating of sheep. 
 
 Paul Wester remembered suddenly that his life 
 was changed. Zipporah had come into it. She was, 
 or had been, in the Dulse Cave. There was also 
 something concerning a map, a lantern, and a foolish 
 dream which he had dreamed about a rock balcony 
 and the scent of wild mint. Barbara too ! What 
 had she said — that to-day she would bring Zipporah 
 to the Manse — to his uncle's house ! 
 
 It was all so impossible that he did not dare even to 
 ask a question. For all he knew there might be no 
 Zipporah, and Glenkens might be nibbling restlessly 
 at the wood of his manger in the stable as his wont 
 was when unwatched. 
 
 But the voice of Barbara recalled him to himself 
 and reality. 
 
 " Up with you, lad ! There is water ready in the 
 bath — wash yourself from head to heel and be ready 
 for me in ten minutes. There is your uncle to speak 
 to ! " she added after a pause. And then Paul Wester 
 knew that he had not dreamed. 
 
 " Take a good grip of your courage, boy, and tell 
 the truth — such of it, at least as may safely be 
 trusted to a man of three-score-and-tcn who has 
 never known wife nor child. Be of good heart, Barbara 
 has prepared the way. I will Avager that he has not 
 slept so sound as you — or for that matter the lass in 
 the cave ! " 
 
 " Have you been there ? " Paul inquired anxiously. 
 
 "Been there?" cried the old lady; "where are 
 your eyes ? The sands will not be clear for a good 
 hour. Rob Gavin has not yet awakened to look over his
 
 42 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 nets. Only the minister is up and dressed. He will 
 be waiting with his prayers said and his Greek Testa- 
 ment read. There will be little family worship this 
 morning in the Manse of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, 
 save the thanksgiving of the humble and contrite 
 spirit." 
 
 Old Barbara laughed a little. 
 
 " There am I talking like a minister myself. But 
 what can ye expect after forty year ? All that I 
 meaned was that the maister will not taigle us with 
 wise explanations of the dew of Hermon, and the exact 
 equivalents for ' nard ' and ' cassia ' in the modern 
 pharmacopoeia ! Na, he will have other things on 
 his mind," 
 
 A quarter of an hour, and Barbara was introducing 
 Paul Wester into his uncle's presence. The old man 
 was visibly older and more worn than when Paul 
 had last seen him. At the sight his heart smote 
 him. While he had been sleeping, his uncle had 
 been " watching and praying " — or as he would have 
 said himself, " wrestling for the soul of the young 
 lad with the powers of darkness." 
 
 His very clothes looked fatigued, as though he had 
 not quitted them for long and they too needed a 
 rest. But Barbara Simpson triumphed visibly. 
 
 " I have brought the young master to you, Doctor," 
 she began. " He was tired with a great weariness 
 yestreen, and so I put him to bed at the gloaming 
 and turned the key upon him to keep all safe." 
 
 " And why could you not have told liie, woman ? " 
 said the minister impatiently; "this was ill done of 
 you — when you saw well that my soul was indeed 
 in sore travail for the lad ! " 
 
 " 111 done — well done ! " Barbara declared, folding 
 her arms defiantly. " I acted according to my con- 
 science with which even you dare not meddle. Maybe 
 you would be liking to give me my fee and my leave. 
 If so, I will go and pack my little bit kist. Little do 
 I take out of this house that I brought not into it. 
 But the conscience of forty years of faithful service 
 wiU I not leave behind."
 
 THE STRIFE OF TONGUES 43 
 
 " Sit down, you foolish woman," cried the Doctor. 
 " I see well that you have some excuse or palliative 
 for your conduct, else you would never venture so 
 to cross me." 
 
 "Poor fallible man," said the housekeeper; "if 
 you are not privileged to hear God's wholesome 
 truth once in a way in your own Manse, where and 
 from whom would you be likely to hear it in this 
 parish ? From my lady at the Big House to the cottaj 
 in the clay ' bigging,' they bow down and worship. 
 But Barbara Simpson, so long as she bides within 
 these walls, shall be a sure conscience to you. Hear 
 the lad's story, for which as an honest v/oman, I 
 vouch." 
 
 " The security is good," said the minister grimly; 
 " at least I have to put up with it. Out with it, lad. 
 What have you been doing ? " 
 
 Paul told the tale of his adventures and of the saving 
 of Glenkens, much as he had told it to Barbara — 
 save that, remembering her advice, perhaps the little 
 horse bulked somewhat more and the little woman 
 a trifle less in one recital than in the other. 
 
 The minister listened gravely. Not a quiver about 
 the mouth, not a pucker on the smooth brow, 
 shadowed by the softly falling white locks. But 
 at the end he said — 
 
 " I would rather have lost fifty horses than found 
 one Zipporah. But since the thing is done, go and 
 fetch her, you and that other greater fool, Barbara 
 Simpson — who has not even your excuse of youth ! " 
 
 " Thank you. Doctor," said Barbara, and uncrossed 
 her arms which until now she had held defiantly 
 akimbo. 
 
 " Come, lad, we will see that the Fair-ground is 
 clear, before we make our curtsy at the door of the 
 Smugglers' Cave. If Lazun Palafox knows it well — 
 I, Barbara Simpson, have reason to ken it better, and 
 that without map or plan."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SALVING OF GLENKENS 
 
 On they went, first between the hedgerows, spark- 
 ling with dew, afterwards out upon the short stiff grass 
 of the seaside slopes smooth as the end-greens of a 
 golf-course. Fine little flowers, clutched low to the 
 undergrowth, were to be found here, blue and yellow 
 mostly, as if fearful of being blown away in the great 
 gusts which came beating and roaring up from the 
 Firth of Storms. 
 
 They saw only one solitary dark-blue figure on the 
 Fair-ground. The caravans had vanished, and they 
 who had dwelt in them were scattered to the four 
 winds. Of caged wolf and bear, uneasy elephant and 
 nonchalant camel, there were left only, what might 
 be called, post-quaternary traces. Add to these a 
 broken tent-peg or two, a wire thrown down, formerly 
 posted along the summit of a humble " fail " dyke 
 to make it proof against wicked boys who paid not 
 their pennies at the door, but climbed into the many- 
 coloured fairyland of the circus some other way. 
 
 Paul Wester had always envied this glorious privi- 
 lege of the Orraland urchins. But, of course, the 
 nephew of the Manse must have other manners. So 
 with jealousy in his heart he had forborne. 
 
 The dark-blue figure resolved itself into a stalwart 
 policeman, new lighted from a quite disj^roportionate 
 bicycle. He took notes gravely, his feet planted 
 widely apart. Gipsies or other unlawful persons 
 frequenting the fair of the previous day had (so it 
 seemed) stolen a very valuable horse, belonging to 
 that famous breeder Mr. Quentain Montgomery of 
 the Inch. So he, Constable Cullercoats, had been 
 sent from Cairn Edward to report. 
 
 44
 
 THE SALVING OF GLENKENS 45 
 
 He was reporting — but — taking his time about it. 
 Constable Cullercoats was inclined to be communi- 
 cative. Small blame to him, for local sentiment was 
 dead against foreign intervention, and he had ridden 
 all the way from Cairn Edward without once stopping 
 to consider the scenery. 
 
 He inquired for further particulars, but a house- 
 keeper of the Manse of the parish had naturally none 
 to give him. 
 
 " This is the minister's nephew," she said, indicating 
 Paul with a reverence she was far from feeling; " he 
 kens nothing about the matter, having been all day 
 at his books as a young student should, in the midst 
 of such a pandemony." 
 
 I am told that there were gipsies here or here- 
 abouts," said the officer tentatively; " an old woman 
 who told fortunes in a tent, wearing strings of gold 
 coins about her brow, as also several lads and men 
 who were making a traffic in horses. Besides, there 
 was a lassie — let me see, by the name of Zipporah 
 Katti." 
 
 He spelled out the name rather slowly from his 
 notebook, but Barbara Simpson, all ignorance the 
 moment before, was on him in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 "The like of that is clean impossible," she said; 
 " the girl commonly called Zipporah Katti Palafox 
 had no more to do with the affair than yourself, 
 Sergeant, and the proof of it is that Dr. Septimus 
 Laird, the minister of this parish, will vouch for her." 
 
 The Doctor (so it appeared) had heard that there 
 were evil and suspicious characters in the neighbour- 
 hood, and accordingly he and his nephew had confided 
 his riding-horse Glenkens, a very fine animal, to this 
 very girl for safe keeping. 
 
 " And if you have nothing better to do, Mr. Officer," 
 the wary lady concluded, " you might come up to 
 the Manse kitchen about one-of-the-clock, which is 
 dinner-time, when I myself, Barbara Simpson, forty 
 years housekeeper there, will see to it that you are 
 well attended to. Creature comforts are a fine 
 thing, and I would not have you carry away poor
 
 46 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 impressions of our village, so long as there is plenty 
 of good things in the Manse larder and a broached 
 cask in the Manse cellar. Besides, I will show you 
 the animal in question." 
 
 The cycle-riding constable, who had felt the 
 awkwardness of his position in a village where even 
 his OA\Ti resident brother was strangely silent and 
 suspiciously ignorant as to the names of the stall- 
 holders at the Fair, agreed willingly enough. 
 
 So leaving him to his task Barbara and the " lad 
 of the Manse " set out over the rolling Nitwood 
 downs, making a long detour to avoid the gaze of 
 the policeman. 
 
 " Not that he would ken enough to watch us as 
 to any purpose," said the housekeeper. " He's a 
 puir unobservant landward body, wi' e'en that are 
 little more good to him than to guide the spoon from 
 his plate up under his moustache. I ken the breed 
 brawly. But for that reason I will feed the craitur, 
 and tell him what he is to write in that notebook o' 
 his. For the less we are bothered wi' the like o' him 
 about the Manse, the better will the minister be 
 pleased." 
 
 " But you told him," Paul Wester interjected, not 
 yet returned from his astonishment, " that my uncle 
 would vouch for Zipporah Katti — and he has never 
 seen her." 
 
 " But he will have seen her by the time that yonder 
 gowk comes blundering up the Manse avenue. It 
 was for that I bade him come at dinner-time. Never 
 fear, laddie, he will smell the pint-stoup and the frying- 
 pan a mile off, and we will not see the end of his nose 
 till the emptiness within his wame warns him that 
 the meat is ready and the table spread." 
 
 " But the truth ," said Paul doubtfully, for 
 
 he could not rid himself so quickly of his uncle's 
 moral teachings. 
 
 "The truth is a fine thing," said Barbara; " but 
 unless ye turn its nose to the wind whiles, and whiles 
 gie it a middling strong screw roond wi' the rudder, 
 the ship of state will gang on but ilL For instance,.
 
 THE SALVING OF GLENKENS 47 
 
 there's the bit maitter o' the minister's sarks, noo. 
 The Doctor wad think himsel' disgraced if he did not 
 put on a clean frilled shirt, white and stiff, every 
 morning o' his life. But what sarks wad stand sich 
 constant washing as that ? Forbye the expense I 
 So he gets them day aboot — Monday's sark on 
 Wednesday, and Tuesday's ilke Thursday morn — me 
 being handy wi' the gofferin' iron, and him, manlike, 
 never kennin' the differ. What for should he ? 
 
 " And so a' folk are pleased, and what ye caa a 
 lee is nae lee ava, but just honest forethought to save 
 siller and keep doon din. If there is sic a thing as 
 ' holy lies,' that's the kind I tell. And in ony eventu- 
 ality — for your sake, laddie — I beseech ye no to 
 speak of the minister, Barbara Simpson is brave and 
 willing to take her chance ! " 
 
 By this time they were far out of sight of the 
 village, and the indigo-coloured note-taking officer 
 of justice. But still Barbara kept a vigilant eye 
 about her, till, being reassured, she set her skirts 
 over the edge of the cliff and began to descend with 
 great agility by a series of iron spikes fixed in the 
 rock, alternately on the right and on the left, long 
 enough for hands and feet to reach them readily. 
 
 " This," she said, without looking up, " is ' Lazun's 
 ladder,' and nobody in the village kens about it but 
 me — not even your marvellous Zipporah Katti." 
 
 Then, quickly revising her judgment and making 
 amends for her slight motion of jealousy, she added, 
 " But she will be a very decent lass for a' that, I 
 doubt not. I have kenned the like among the gipsies 
 — for Barbara dwelt among them when she was a 
 deal younger than she is this day." 
 
 It was wonderful how that old woman took the 
 hidden staircase on the cliff. She was readier far at 
 the descent than Paul Wester, who searched pain- 
 fully for what seemed to meet the feet of Barbara 
 Simpson as readily as the stone staircase which led 
 to her own sacred kitchen. 
 
 Zipporah Katti met them at the door of the cave. 
 She sat tranquilly nibbling the purple tangles of the
 
 48 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 dulse, while behind her Glenkens, after one disgusted 
 attempt to imitate her example, gave himself up to 
 the pleasure of rubbing his sand-filled hide against 
 the rocky walls of the cave, and sinking his hoofs 
 ankle-deep in the firm slaked sand of the lately 
 sea-swept floor. 
 
 Paul could see Zipporah Katti flush and thrill at 
 the sight of the staid black dress and well-tended 
 white hair of the Manse housekeeper. Between them 
 took place the usual comprehensive intaking of 
 one woman by the other, far more keen and searching 
 than the laboured investigations of men. Then 
 something masonic passed like a flash between them. 
 Paul Wester became instantly out of it. He felt 
 his loneliness when he heard the two women talking 
 together in an unknown tongue — in which the word 
 " Lazun " recurred with something of curious 
 regularity. 
 
 Paul Wester had heard tell of the gipsy language, 
 but it had been represented to him as mere thieves' 
 patter. Yet here were the two women whom he 
 most honoured talking to each other in Romany 
 and he left on the outside. 
 
 Like all youths who have read much and travelled 
 little, he had an excellent opinion of his own abilities, 
 and the depravity of Zipporah and the secretiveness — 
 he had almost said the duplicity — of Barbara Simpson 
 took him by the throat, till he could have cried like 
 a child who had been tricked. 
 
 He could make out, however, that they were arguing 
 some point of policy with keenness, but without 
 anger. Then Barbara Simpson turned upon him 
 and said, " Persuade this headstrong lass that it is 
 quite safe to go back with me to the Manse." 
 
 " If you say it is safe, it is safe ! " said Paul some- 
 what sulkily, because he had been left out of the 
 conversation. 
 
 " But Glenkens ? " said the girl speaking to him 
 for the first time; " we can't have his tracks going 
 from the cave to the Manse, plain to be seen all the 
 time the tide is out ! "
 
 THE SALVING OF GLENKENS 49 
 
 Paul Wester saw an opportunity of working off 
 his spleen and of distinguishing himself at the same 
 time. 
 
 " I will stay," he announced nobly. " I will wait 
 here till the tide is coming in again and then ride him 
 through the surf ! " 
 
 And he resolved that he would leave the moment 
 as late as possible. 
 
 But then he was speaking to a girl who knew all 
 about rough-riding — and to whom one risk was much 
 like another. The proximity of the Lees and the 
 fear of being discovered by Raif Palafox were much 
 more real to Zipporah than riding a pony through a 
 few hundred yards of incoming tide. 
 
 So all that Paul got for his offer was a satisfied nod 
 that her objection had been met, and the clean-cut 
 answer, " Then I will go with this woman because she 
 knows Lazun ! " 
 
 As the girl and the woman took their way Manse- 
 ward they talked of many things, and soon old Barbara 
 began to tell the tale that follows in its place — a tale 
 which continued all the hours when Paul Wester was 
 drearily eating dulse and kicking his heels in the 
 cave, or throwing stones at passing gulls till the 
 nervous little horse winced and shied — a tale which 
 was not finished when the minister, losing all patience, 
 walked out to meet Barbara, only to find them still 
 hard at it under the lee of a great cropped hedge of 
 yew. 
 
 But as they passed the Fair-ground, Barbara 
 Simpson had bethought herself of Constable Culler- 
 coats. He was not to be seen, but she recognized 
 his bicycle at the door of the village inn. Li a moment 
 she stood before him. He was comforting himself 
 with a pipe and a glass, but he rose at the entrance of 
 Barbara Simpson. For a Manse housekeeper can do 
 no wrong, though her criticism of wrong-doing in 
 others is pungent and conclusive — indeed the last 
 word on the subject. 
 
 " Sergeant," she said — for she knew the power 
 of a brevet rank given openly before the landlord — 
 
 E
 
 50 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Sergeant, ye are to come to the Manse-kitchen for 
 your dinner as we arranged, but ye will not see the 
 minister's horse till Master Paul comes home. He 
 has taken him out for a ride. The minister has been 
 sore occupied in his study these days and has not 
 been able to exercise him. But ye can come and bide, 
 gin ye like, till Master Paul comes home." 
 
 The policeman intimated his willingness to be the 
 guest of Barbara Simpson, and cared much less 
 about Glenkens and Master Paul than about the good 
 dinner which he anticipated. 
 
 This, then, was the tale which Barbara poured into 
 the ear of Zipporah Katti as they sat together under 
 the sombre shadow of the great yew-hedge, planted 
 after the Battle of the Boyne by the first minister 
 of the reconstructed Kirk of Scotland in the reign 
 of William of Orange, of Protestant memory.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE housekeeper's SECRET 
 
 A traveller's tale ought not to be interjected 
 into the fairway of a romance of some length and 
 breadth. But in this case there is no escape for 
 writer or reader — for one who can tell and for the 
 other who would understand the wonderful tale of 
 the Last Galloway Smugglers now mostly engulfed 
 by the surges of Solway. 
 
 " It was in the times when I was as young as I see 
 ye are this day (and foolish as I trust ye are not) 
 that I met with Lazun Palafox. His whistle came 
 clear from the hill at the back of my father's house. 
 I had no more than an orchard to cross, and there at 
 the stile where the sugar-plum-trees grow, I found 
 myself in the arms of Lazun. I make no excuse. 
 Only so it was. 
 
 " At that time my mother had long been dead. 
 There was no one to tell me I did wrong in thus 
 meeting Lazun, who, though no more than a sea gipsy, 
 had the manners of a Spanish lord — nay, who has 
 them now, though of that you are a better judge 
 than I." 
 
 " He always speaks like a grand seigneur — indeed 
 they say he is one in his own country," said Zipporah 
 Katti softly. " I hope you are not going to abuse 
 him, for he has always been kind to me." 
 
 Barbara Simpson laughed somewhat bitterly. 
 
 " Have no fear," she said, " you have reached the 
 age too late when the kindness of Lazun Palafox 
 could do you harm." 
 
 They sat a little longer without speaking, the girl 
 wondering, the eyes of the elder misty and drowned 
 
 K 2 51
 
 52 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 in the past. Suddenly she turned upon Zipporah 
 and pulled from her bosom a little-worn wedding- 
 ring, drawn from a leathern bag which she carried 
 there. 
 
 " I who speak to you was married to Lazun Palafox 
 — not over the tongs, but properly by a placed minister. 
 Nor would he deny it, not even now. For the evil he 
 did to me was in his nature, and though the fire of his 
 love flamed high, it went out as quickly — just like 
 a blaze of whins on a windy day. Lassie, hark to me 
 — of all kinds of men, those who never mean any 
 harm, yet whose nature calls them to do it — are the 
 most dangerous. Beware of them, Zipporah Katti ! 
 Some day, and it may not be long, they will leave 
 you lonely by the fireside with that within you that 
 will not bear thinking of." 
 
 There were tears now in the old woman's voice, 
 but she kept on. 
 
 " True it is what I told j^ou, Zipporah of the 
 gipsies. Never have I suckled bairn of mine own. 
 But I have borne one — a daughter, and she should 
 now be a woman of fifty years, if so be she yet lives." 
 
 " You have never heard ? " 
 
 " Lazun took her from me and bade me never ask. 
 It was better so, he said, and I obeyed him. Because 
 in those days, even though he had slain my heart, 
 his word to me was as the word of God. 
 
 " Why did we quarrel ? Well, mind this, my 
 lassie. We did not quarrel — we separated. But, 
 knowing his nature, I blamed him little. Men are 
 often made like Lazun — some of them, and they not 
 the worst. I heard him one day talking to a Spanish 
 girl whom he had taken off a revenue craft of that 
 nation. There had been a fight and all the dagos 
 except this girl had been killed. Lazun had brought 
 her home, giving her his protection on the journey, 
 which was needful enough among such a crew as 
 sailed with the Palafox — brigands they were and 
 worse, every man of them. 
 
 " And when she came to live in our cottage looking 
 over the cliffs upon the sea, God knows I tried to be
 
 THE HOUSEKEEPER'S SECRET 5S 
 
 kind to her. But as much as she dared, she threw 
 my kindness back in my face — that is, when Lazun 
 was not by. 
 
 " Then one night because I felt uneasy and op- 
 pressed within, I went out for a breath of fresh air. 
 It was at the back of the stack-yard where the 
 winter fodder was ready stored under thatch and rope 
 (for we never knew when the stable might suddenly 
 be filled) that I heard two voices. One was Lazun's, 
 though I thought him at Cairn Edward market, and 
 the other was that of the girl. I stood suddenly 
 chilled, yet less taken aback than I had expected. 
 It is only afterwards that one gives way. 
 
 " ' You took all from me,' she was saying, ' I have 
 only you. You are my father, my brother — and my 
 " spozo." I had a promised husband and you slew 
 him — oh, the fight was fair. I am not complaining. 
 But now you must be all these to me — father, brother, 
 lover and husband ! ' 
 
 " Yes, she prevailed. I knew she would — knowing 
 the man, who was Lazun Palafox. 
 
 " Perhaps for one red moment I could have slain 
 them both, but even so I am not sure. For I am a 
 Scots v/oman of the Lowlands, and mostly we suffer 
 and say nothing. Lazun was my wedded husband — 
 that she could not take. But I still owed him obedi- 
 ence, and when he asked for our baby I let him take 
 her. For not only was he the master, but he could 
 provide — which I, not being strong for field-work, 
 could not. 
 
 " So after that, being alone, I took service with 
 the new minister of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, and there 
 I have been ever since. Some there were who found 
 that my face was too fresh and young under my white 
 hair. But the lie died down as such talk will, and 
 Barbara Simpson has ruled in the Manse yonder, 
 growing older and more wrinkled — till something of 
 her youth returned to her when it was given to her to 
 bring up Paul Wester the Younger. 
 
 " You ask about Paul the Elder ? He was a 
 dashing blade much like my own Lazun, who was
 
 54 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 not content to be mine — nor indeed could be any 
 woman's. Paul Wester was the last of Lazun's 
 partners in the Free Trade, and indeed they tell me 
 practises it yet, though the business is not what it 
 was. And certainly he practised on Sibilla Laird, 
 the minister's young boarding-school bred sister, 
 till he prevailed on her to run away with him and get 
 married. She had some little money of her own which 
 would help him in his carrying trade. But there was 
 liking for the lass also — for Paul Wester the Elder 
 was not the man to be swayed by money. But the 
 minister — yes, as you may guess, it fell heaviest on 
 the minister. He saw Paul the Elder once, when 
 he handed over to hiin in the presence of a lawyer, 
 his sister's appointed portion, and then he bade him 
 never darken his door again. 
 
 " ' Do not be afraid,' said Paul Wester ; ' and neither 
 shall my wife.' 
 
 " Poor lass, she had little time to be darkening 
 doors, for she died when the lad Paul came into the 
 world. I was busy about the yard when one day 
 a woman brown as a berry came down the avenue 
 and so into my kitchen. She had a bairn in her arms, 
 and was better put on than the common folk that 
 ask for a bite and sup. She held out the bairn, and 
 put him into my arms. Then she laid an envelope 
 thick with papers on the table. 
 
 " ' That is for your master,' she said. 
 
 " And when I looked more closely, I saw it was 
 the same Spanish woman who had taken Lazun from 
 me. But wearied and worn and dried, and as it 
 seemed twice my age, which made me glad. 
 
 " So, perhaps because of that, not a word of anger 
 did I say to her, but bade her sit down and rest while 
 I made her a cup of tea." 
 
 " Her name — what was her name ? " said Zipporah 
 Katti hoarselv. 
 
 " I asked her," said Barbara, " and she said a name 
 sh3 had no right to, even by the rights of the gipsy- 
 folk. ' Eza Palafox ! ' she said. ' I am the wife 
 of the man who was once your husband, and you had
 
 THE HOUSEKEEPER'S SECRET 55 
 
 better have kept him for all the comfort he has been 
 to me ! '" 
 
 And at Barbara's tale the young girl bowed her 
 head and wept silently, till from between her palms 
 the tears flowed down her brown and shapely arms.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 
 
 While a new Barbara was thus revealing herself 
 to Zipporah Katti under the cropped green pea- 
 cocks and stumpy-legged dragons of King William's 
 yew-hedge, Paul Wester the Younger (who had never 
 given any thought to Paul the Elder) sat at the mouth 
 of the Dulse Cave in sulky discontent. He threw 
 pebbles with force and venom at a white stone which 
 had never done him any harm. 
 
 As a man he ought to have been leading, and^he 
 had an acute consciousness that he was being led. 
 This, though unexpressed, was his grievance. 
 
 The surges of Solway were now receding far away, 
 mere oval creamy lines, garnishing (as it were) the 
 upturned platter-backs of the slimy sandbanks far 
 out between him and the channel. Nearer the sun- 
 shine fell brutally on the staring white sand and 
 bluish shingle. The sky too was crudely blue be- 
 cause of the land-wind which had cleared the sea 
 mists. The capes and " mulls " no longer lay out one 
 behind the other, painted in their proper perspective 
 of azure, but formed a long rugged peninsula, without 
 a sign of the wide bays between — so clear was the 
 air. 
 
 It was, indeed, such a day as comes more frequently 
 with the north winds of March than at high mid- 
 summer noon. There was no wind. Behind and 
 almost overhead he could hear the scvthe-men 
 sharpening their blades in the hayfields. Krish-nash 
 went the sanded " strake " as regularly as the cry 
 of a cricket down among the meadow flats. 
 
 Above the lambs called plaintively to their mothers 
 
 56
 
 SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 57 
 
 like children with cut fingers, and the ewes ran 
 towards the sound, bleating throatily, as who would 
 say, " Bide where you are till I come, oh dearest 
 of little fools ! " 
 
 It is the tenderest and most penetrating of land- 
 sounds, this perpetual calling of the summer flocks. 
 And on some days, like this one, particularly still 
 and clean-swept, the bleating on the distant hill comes 
 to the ear as from over the wall. As on such a 
 day the ranged promontories fall into one solid 
 equal-tinted peninsula, so the small woolly people 
 cry in one's ear as if space and distance had been 
 annihilated. 
 
 Little by little the peace of his surroundings wrought 
 a magic on the spirits of Paul Wester. The gulls and 
 terns had followed the tide, and were now mere 
 specks of white on the sands, or swirling clouds about 
 their rocky breeding islands. 
 
 On a distant point the useless semaphore stood 
 gaunt, one arm missing — the same which had once 
 called up the preventive men, and so interfered with 
 his father's lucrative, interesting, but illegitimate 
 business. Still farther out, austerely vigilant, shot 
 up the tall whitewashed candlestick of the lighthouse 
 of Satterness. 
 
 From where he sat Paul Wester could see across 
 the little bay in which was his cove (and, though he 
 knew it not, the iron staircase of Lazun Palafox), a 
 httle sun-warmed Paradise to which, because of a 
 certain difficulty of access, no one ever came, except 
 the leaping goats and stray blackfaced sheep. The 
 grey of Mother Granite grinned through the mottled 
 green bristle of the whin-bushes and the tall j^ellow 
 fishing-rods of the broom. Yet it was no waste 
 place this, no desolation of stone like so much of 
 the Galloway shore which Paul Wester knew. The 
 hazel and rowan bushes came creeping down to the 
 sea edges. Behind them Galloway hawthorns stood 
 up solitary and peace-haunted as in George Henry's 
 famous landscape. 
 
 For, above all else, Galloway is the land of colours
 
 58 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 cleanly laid, dew-varnished, neat and workmanlike. 
 In some places it is almost too pictorial to be put on 
 canvas. The critic detects an overplus of artistic 
 arrangement. He says, " This young man composes 
 too well. He is altogether too ' slick.' " 
 
 But then, to know all, he must take W. S. Mac- 
 George or E. A. Hornell for a guide — and, lo, little 
 unsuspected worlds of shore-line and the depths of 
 woodland, that overhang the brimming edge of the 
 salt water, will open to him Edens still unrealized. 
 
 I do not say that Paul Wester thought all these 
 things at the time. They were not within his compass. 
 Such ideas do not go with his age. The dark purple 
 velvet in the eyes of Zipporah Katti, the slight boy- 
 ishness of her figure filled his heart much more. 
 
 He found himself strangely angry with Barbara 
 for taking her away, even temporarily — forgetting 
 that he had been the first to ask to stay, so as to play 
 the hero and ride the little horse chest-deep through 
 the incoming surges. 
 
 He continued to look out towards the green and 
 purple thickets, the grey granite rocks, the white 
 coves and sands of the Red Haven opposite him. 
 After all, what was there to hinder ? He could keep 
 well out, close to the tide-line. He would soon make 
 the land. Yonder in the cove where the lambs were 
 leaping and butting, scattering the rounded pebbles 
 with their small black feet — there would be his land- 
 fall. Paul Wester had his idea — not a very good 
 idea — not very clear, not very well defined, but an 
 idea nevertheless which would show Zipporah Katti 
 what he dared for her sake, since she cared so little 
 for his riding Glenkens home through the surf. Paul 
 would show her. 
 
 It was a full half-hour after the turn of the tide, 
 and the youth watched eagerly the slow recession of 
 the waters. He knew the sulky, slimy hollows where 
 the feet sink ankle-deep, and the next step may 
 strike a quicksand. But he was looking for some- 
 thing serpentine and irregularly ridged to appear — 
 marbled black and white with pebble and sea-shells.
 
 SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 59 
 
 It led across to a snug bay with plenty of sand, 
 excellent for bathing, being curved like a hoop with 
 a narrow opening between two brown-russet upstand- 
 ing rocks. For which cause, no doubt, it was called 
 the Red Haven. 
 
 Along this winding track of shells and shingle like 
 the tail of some monstrous sea-dragon, it was Paul's 
 intention to ride Glenkens. He knew this afforded 
 the only safe path bj'' which to escape the lashing of 
 the Solway surges, and the treachery of its ever- 
 shifting quicksands. 
 
 For Solway is like no other estuary on the sea- 
 boards of the three kingdoms. It is so vast and yet 
 so shallow. The tide rises so fast and far. It 
 empties itself with such dangerous irregularity, that 
 even at half-ebb, when you have your feet on some 
 clear sandbank, down you may suck, or a swirl of 
 unseasonably returning water may impishly snatch 
 at you as though it had been waiting for you round 
 the corner, much as an owl carries off a baby bunny 
 from the warren-head before he has time to cry. 
 
 As it took a long time for the Red Haven Ridge 
 to rise solid out of the frothing churn, Paul fell to 
 watching the green turf behind, the solitary hawthorn 
 trees on the knowes, the springy bull-dog " fell 
 of the heathery wastes over which the whaups were 
 Avilly-wha-ing and the young peewits cheeping low 
 among the bent. 
 
 Behind him, towards the Heughs of Rascarrel, 
 from which the grej^-green water never retreats, the 
 silence was broken by a soughing, steady and slow — 
 which was just the outgoing mill-stream of Solway 
 grinding its grist of granite pebbles as it hastened 
 Atlanticwards, gorging the North Channel on its way. 
 So with his hand on the little horse's bridle, Paul 
 watched the muddy pour of the water as it ebbed 
 over the Red Haven causeway. The gulls swirled 
 raucously above — crying lor the victual which they 
 knew was waiting them as soon as the surges of 
 Solway went their way. For the Ridge or Causeway 
 was the best feeding-grovmd for thirty miles, and many 
 
 3J
 
 GO THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 generations of sea-fowl had handed down this fact 
 to their descendants, male and female after their 
 kind. 
 
 At last Paul Wester saw the circling yawping birds 
 swoop and settle. There was no doubt now. It 
 was time to be going. So he drew the leather belt- 
 thong tighter about his waist, and led the little horse 
 out. It was pleasant to see Glenkens snuffing and 
 tossing his head, but that betokened difficulty for 
 Paul also. For he had only a headrope and the power 
 of knee and heel to guide him withal. 
 
 Nevertheless he mounted and rode out with his 
 head high and his eyes glad, because of the clear 
 sunshine and the sweet wholesome smell of open 
 day on the sea flats. The little horse swerved at the 
 turmoil of the birds as they flapped and dipped. 
 He lifted his feet higher when he came to the blue 
 mussel shells which crunched under his tread as they 
 came out upon the crest of the ridge. It was not 
 yet dry after the receding salt water. Indeed, on 
 one side occasional turbid swirls of the ebb still swung 
 the lighter pebbles about, or carried off a small green 
 crab to safety before the swooping sea-fowl was upon 
 him. 
 
 Glenkens, save for little wilful starts and swervings, 
 went nimbly as on an open road. The rope thrown 
 on one side or the other guided him — the pressure of 
 Paul Wester's heel, and more than all his own in- 
 stinct to keep out of danger. 
 
 Soon they were leaving the rocky face of the pro- 
 montory far behind them. The pillared arch of the 
 Dulse Cove with its stalactites hanging down like an 
 old dog's teeth when he snarls wickedly, sank to mere 
 pitted dots on the mural front of the great Orraland 
 " heugh." The gallery where they had stood at 
 night together could not be seen at all, and the very 
 cliffs seemed to crawl down as the more distant hills 
 behind shouldered themselves up. But after one 
 hasty glance over his shoulder at what he was leaving 
 Paul gave himself up to the pleasure of the journey. 
 When, on such a day, was a heart-free young man
 
 SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 61 
 
 not happy ? And indeed, heart-free or no, to be out 
 on such an adventure, with nothing but the swirling 
 tides about, the tremulous drying sands to the left, 
 the ridgy track crunching and rasping under the 
 horse's feet, and the big clouds sailing ^yhite-winged 
 and solitary across the wondrous Reckitt's blue of 
 the skies— had Paul been old, these things would 
 have made him young again. 
 
 He had forgotten for the moment all but the sense 
 of movement and well-being — Zipporah Katti, his 
 waiting uncle, and Barbara Simpson. The land-wind 
 keen in his lungs, the sea-hght in his eyes, he found 
 himself all too soon nearing the end of the shelly 
 causeway. Then came a space where the Orraland 
 Water tnckled out into a kind of delta. Here he had 
 to get down and lead Glenkens. For the hard ledge 
 of rock and shell had given place to soft sand, sloppy 
 with dispersed fresh water, and the small horse did 
 not at all like the change. 
 
 But the moment after this was negotiated, and lo ! 
 they were again on the hard wet sand, Glenkens 
 arching his neck and stepping out more proudly, 
 while Paul looked ahead for the easiest way up from 
 the Red Haven sands. 
 
 At the end of the hoop-shaped basin of silver sand 
 lay a wholly secluded valley, sloping steeply with 
 craggy sides, but also with the soft grass playing 
 bo-peep among the boulders. Here a path twined 
 among the nearer hazels, while above it more distant 
 hawthorns were dotted. Quite near a birch or two 
 stood daintily poised, spraying restless silvery florin- 
 pieces of light and shadow upon the rocky way 
 through the unceasing shift and quiver of its foliage. 
 
 A lovely path and a still — so soon, that is, as one 
 escaped from the crying of the sea-birds and the ever- 
 present sough of the vast six-hourly mill-race which 
 is the Solway. Some day enough of power will be 
 generated by that mighty rush, to run all the works 
 south of the " Highland line," to light all the towns, 
 heat all the houses, hospitals, and schools, besides 
 feeding all railway-engines and motor-cars from fixed
 
 62 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 taps, as a horse takes water at a wayside trough. 
 Only some one has first to discover practical accumu- 
 lators of electricity. 
 
 But of all these possibilities Paul took no heed. 
 Of course not. He put up his hand and plucked him- 
 self a switchy willow-branch — not that the little horse 
 was in need of such aids to wisdom, but out of sheer 
 lack of something to destroy in such a lovely place, 
 and because he was delivered from the cave which 
 he had begun to hate as soon as Zipporah Katti went 
 off with Barbara, leaving him alone. 
 
 But. as it happened, it was just as well that Paul 
 broke off that slip of willow, and occupied himself in 
 stripping it leisurely as he rode forward. He meant 
 to take a long circuit, flanking the great houses of 
 Orraland and Maxwellton, and coming down unseen 
 upon the Manse through solitary pastures, by little- 
 used gates only he and the shepherds knew of. These 
 being carefully opened would bring him out at the 
 back of the stable without having to pass a single 
 house. Then he would make Glenkens safe, and 
 steal indoors to surprise them all. He was specially 
 anxious to surprise Zipporah Katti, who had deserted 
 him without a word, and even manifested scorn for 
 so light an adventure as that of riding home Glenkens 
 through the surf of the incoming Solway tide. 
 
 But as he went, suddenly the little horse threw up 
 his head and sniffed, not apprehensively, but like one 
 who recognizes his kind. Glenkens was too well- 
 bred to neigh with a rider on his back and that rider 
 Paul Wester. But he made the low vaguely respon- 
 sive noise of one who acknowledges a compliment 
 which modesty prevents him from accepting at face 
 value. 
 
 Paul knew in a moment that there were horses 
 ahead and near at hand. But he asked himself 
 what horses, honestly come by, should there be in 
 that wild place with the Cloak Morass on one side 
 and the sea dunes, piled and pegged down with whin 
 and creeping grasses ridging away to the horizon, 
 on the other.
 
 SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 63 
 
 Paul instantly dismounted, and drawing Glenkens 
 ^side into a clump of broom, tied him there with the 
 headrope, after which he stole forward with all the 
 skill of an Indian fighter (as frequently practised upon 
 the keeper-dom of the Maxwellton woods) to spy out 
 the land. 
 
 Lucky it was for him that he had done so. For at 
 the next corner he came suddenly upon a camp in an 
 open space, a bevy of picketed horses where no horses 
 should have been, and, a little farther on, in the hollow 
 of the little glade, the blue smoke of an almost extinct 
 camp-fire filtering thinly upward into the air, palest 
 grey against the sunlit blue. 
 
 There was a stallion too, wrathful and excited, 
 picketed fore and aft like a show elephant — the 
 identical animal which Paul had often seen passing 
 the Manse, with his guide riding on a dumpling 
 pony — the very imperial Clydesdale majesty said to 
 be stolen from the great breeder, Montgomery of 
 the Inch, the man who had once shaken hands with 
 the Prince of Wales — and had been held to be above 
 all moral considerations ever since ! 
 
 No wagons were to be seen. From which Paul 
 Wester gathered that the women had gone on out of 
 harm's way. Therefore something more grave was 
 on foot than mere fortune-telling or horse-coping at 
 a village fair. 
 
 But what was his surprise to see Anthony Cross- 
 thwaite, the farmer of Bourtree Buss, in whose waste 
 land they were, standing at ease among such com- 
 rades, one hand on his hip and his riding-switch 
 swinging loosely in the other, as he expounded some- 
 thing, the import of which Paul could not hear. 
 
 A tall dark man with glossy hair and moustache, 
 whom by some instinct Paul knew to be that very 
 Raif Palafox of whom Zipporah had spoken, stood 
 facing Mr. Crossthwaite with his arms folded, uncon- 
 vinced and defiant. 
 
 Paul crept nearer so that he could hear the voices. 
 
 Anthony Crossthwaite was a Cumberland man, 
 and spoke with something of the snell vigour of his
 
 «4 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 countrymen, which shears through the soft south 
 Galloway speech as a scythe swishes through 
 meadow-grass. 
 
 " The sooner you get out of the country with the 
 horse yonder," said Crossthwaite, " the better will 
 I be pleased. Next ebb he can walk up the plank 
 into his berth in the lugger. There will be an Argen- 
 tine cattle-ship at the mouth of the Mersej'^ a mile 
 north of the bar sometime to-morrow night. They 
 have a cattle hoist, and — there is a great demand for 
 imported stock in South America. The horse de- 
 livered, the money paid, and no questions asked ! 
 Plenty of Penrith and Appleby lads out yonder who 
 know a good stallion when they see him without 
 needing a pedigree tied to his tail." 
 
 " All very well, Anthony Crossthwaite — well for you 
 and very kind — to yourself," said the man with his 
 arms crossed, to whom Paul had taken an instant 
 and jealous dislike, " but where do we come in ? " 
 
 " My money is good, as you have excellent right 
 to know," said the Cumberland farmer, " and if any 
 man disputes it, let him throw down his knife and 
 with my bare knuckles I will prove it on his ugly 
 jaw." 
 
 " I dare say," said Raif Palafox (for Paul's instinct 
 had not deceived him), " fists and knives make all 
 the difference — I am for the steel, you for the bones. 
 But the horse can wait — at least we will. There are 
 other matters in the world besides horses — things 
 a gipsy loves more, revenge for one thing and his 
 womankind for another I " 
 
 " What have I to do with vour revenges and your 
 women ? " cried the Cumberland man angrily. " Have 
 I ever interfered with one or the other ? I have a 
 wife of my own and I meddle not with any petticoats, 
 cream or dusky. All I ask is that you should do the 
 piece of work for which you are engaged. What 
 will old Lazun say if I write and tell him at Cancale 
 that a five hundred pound job has run off the rails 
 through your carelessness ? " 
 
 " He will say much less than if we go back to
 
 SMOKE IN RED HAVEN DELL 65 
 
 Cancale without the girl who is the hfe of his hfe 
 Money is sea-sand to him beside Zipporah Katti. 
 He would slay us man by man if we went back without 
 her ! " 
 
 " Do my business, I say," thundered the big man, 
 fiercely ; " else it will be the worse for you ! " 
 
 " I will do my own first," grinned Raif Palafox, 
 unmoved; " and then we shall see." 
 
 The Cumbrian threw himself suddenly upon the 
 tall slim gipsy, who ducked under the huge fist and 
 grappled. The backbone of Raif Palafox seemed 
 ready to crack in that strong grasp. But a knife 
 appeared from somewhere, and Paul, aghast behind 
 his tree, saw it flash once, and then with the blade 
 dim to the handle, skirt again and stick. 
 
 The two men swayed and fell together. The other 
 gipsies lounged carelessly about as if nothing were 
 happening. Raif Palafox stood up, stretched himself, 
 tried one limb after another. Then quite gently 
 he drew the knife from the wound, and, first wiping 
 it clean on the skirt of the dead man's coat, clicked 
 it back into its sheath. 
 
 Paul Wester made his way hastily to Glenkens. He 
 had seen murder done before his eyes, under the high 
 blue day of sailing clouds and within earshot of the 
 familiar sounding Solway.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE HOWE OF THE RED HAVEN 
 
 Paul returned to where he had tethered Glenkens. 
 He hardly knew how or where he walked. His 
 brain was so stunned that his feet moved forward 
 of themselves — as it seemed in a dream, a foot or so 
 above the ground. He might have passed the whin- 
 bush to which the little horse was tied save that he 
 heard the whinnying snuffle of recognition which 
 welcomed his returning footsteps. 
 
 Glenkens recognized his master, though his master, 
 numb and icy within, scarcely recognized Glenkens. 
 But Paul was not afraid. It was something quite 
 beyond that and far different. Great crimes he had 
 read of in the newspapers and had heard discussed 
 by his schoolfellows, but this blood had been shed 
 to-day and done within a mile of the Manse. This 
 seaboard parish of Maxwellton, the fringe of white 
 houses which called itself the village of Orraland, the 
 opposite hoop of silver that was the Red Haven, and 
 the narrow valley behind where in October he had 
 gathered hazel-nuts every year since he could re- 
 member — a murder done there was a desecration of 
 all he had ever known or honoured. 
 
 Gradually he grew less frigid. His mind thawed 
 out. He saw that he must act with speed and 
 certainty. His first instinct had been to ride straight 
 to the Manse and warn Zipporah Katti of her peril. 
 Then he thought of the police. There was one in 
 Orraland village — at least in the evenings. During 
 the daytime Authority in silver buttons wandered 
 among the farmhouses, nominally getting " his book 
 signed " — and, in addition, partaking of abundant 
 
 66
 
 THE HOWE OF THE RED HAVEN 67 
 
 refresliments, varied according to religious denomina- 
 tion, from plain Free Kirk treacle beer and Cameronian 
 farrels of oat-cake, to sturdy bumpers from the gur- 
 gling " grey-beard " of the Established ruling-elder. 
 
 Paul knew well the lack-lustre badges of Simon 
 Heatherbleat, outcast and policeman. Not much 
 could be expected from him. He was a kind of for- 
 gotten official castaway dating from the establishment 
 of rural officers of the law in Galloway, somewhere 
 about 1860. He had been overlooked and passed 
 over by his superiors, much like those garrisons of 
 ancient Turkish veterans, recently discovered in out- 
 Ijang corners of Arabia and Tripoli, established after 
 the wars of Mehemet Ali — and still, a few ragged 
 veterans, holding their crumbling fort, mounting 
 guard, and with fhnt-lock muskets hobbling on 
 crutches to the daily parade-ground. 
 
 With a similar hopeless fidelity Constable Simon 
 Heatherbleat watched over the honesty of a district 
 whose crimelessness had been — except for a little 
 drunkenness when a " cargo " was successfully run 
 into Balcary, Urr Water Foot or the White Horse 
 Bay — a reproach to all other Galloway parishes, 
 from " Whisky Jean " herself to half-Irish Stranraer, 
 whose iniquities cannot be washed out by all the 
 waters of Loch Ryan. 
 
 Paul had plenty of courage, but it needs some- 
 thing he did not possess to watch, for the first time, 
 unmoved, even a bullock being poleaxed. Paul 
 could not bear to see a horse with a broken knee. 
 Yet if a similar accident had happened to himself 
 he would have stood it out without a twitching of 
 the lip. Once on a cliff searching for guillemots' 
 eggs, when at a corner of slippery rock he could neither 
 go up nor down; again, when a swirl of the tide-race 
 tumbled him over, battering and choking him before 
 rushing him outward towards the gullet of the bay, 
 piled high with the tumbling chocolate of the ebb, 
 Paul Wester had fronted death with some calmness 
 and even a certain satisfaction. 
 
 But it was a different thing to see this broad-faced 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 florid Cumbrian, full of blood, whom at the " Three 
 Lions " only the night before, big hearty men of his 
 own kidney had slapped on the back and called 
 " Roaring Anthony," stricken suddenly dead. As 
 Paul set Glenkens to his pace he was still shuddering. 
 For he saw before him the mechanical opening and 
 closing of the legs as they drew together, and then 
 straightened suddenly like a clasp-knife opened on 
 a strong spring. And this curious (but not uncommon) 
 sort of vicarious fear it was which lent wings to Paul 
 Wester's flight, and by no means the thought that he 
 was in any danger himself. 
 
 It seemed hours before he came in sight of the 
 village of Orraland, laid out in a long white-walled 
 and blue-roofed girdle under the lee of the Max- 
 wellton cliffs. Li reality Glenkens was scenting his 
 stable afar off, and his time from the Howe of the 
 Red Haven has probably never been beaten. For 
 Glenkens was a home-loving animal. He had had 
 enough of caves and sand. He loved his conforts. 
 An easy maturity, an easier old age lay before him. 
 He loved the wisps of straw that rubbed him down, 
 the steel-banded measure from which his oats, duly 
 mixed with beans, were poured into the long rack- 
 like manger, up and down which the little horse 
 loved to chase them with snuffling epicurean nose. 
 
 First of all Paul rubbed Glenkens carefully down, 
 even though he was all on fire to take counsel with 
 Barbara and to have it out with his uncle. He did 
 not, at this stage, permit himself to think about 
 Zipporah Katti. He wanted to consult Barbara 
 about what he had seen, and (as an after-thought) 
 he desired to know how Zipporah Katti had got on 
 with his uncle. 
 
 Paul went out of the stable-yard without seeing 
 anything unusual. He entered the Manse by a faded 
 blue back-door, every scratch on which was familiar 
 to him. Here were preserved his earliest works of 
 art, graven with the point of a nail — ducks on 
 circular ponds with small turnip-headed boys tossing 
 their hands abroad in astonishment, wispy-haired
 
 THE HOWE OF THE RED HAVEN 69 
 
 maidens with their profiles all turned to the left 
 (Paul's hand shirked the obverse) — all familiar as 
 household words, but now somehow grown strangely 
 different. It was like entering a house in a dream. 
 All about the silence was clogged and dull, like water 
 in the ears after bathing. 
 
 The very kitchen proved somehow uncanny. 
 Instead of the meticulous tidiness which, from time 
 immemorial, had characterized the rule (in early days 
 it had been the ferrule) of Barbara Simpson, with 
 her foot on the native soil of her kitchen, feminine 
 garments were strewn about, a chest Paul had never 
 seen before had been opened and still billowed to 
 overfio-wing with blouses and skirts. But a large 
 pair of scissors and an open needlebook reassured 
 him. No tragedy had befallen since his leave-taking 
 in the cave when he had behaved with such abomin- 
 able sulkiness. 
 
 Still, the women were not there. The tall eight- 
 day clock, old as the Wars of the Covenant, ticked 
 solemnly on. The fire had been carefully built. 
 Preparations had been begun for a meal which Paul 
 diagnosed to be one of Barbara's high teas. 
 
 But of Barbara or Zipporah Katti— not a sign. 
 The three big beeches sighed without in the court- 
 yard, and the bleating of a far-away flock came 
 through the door which Paul had left open. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to face the study. He 
 must needs meet his uncle, who, good man, in general, 
 was nowise dangerous. But Paul knew that he had 
 twice sinned the sin of sins according to the code of 
 the Manse of Maxwellton parish. He had absented 
 himself from family worship. But of all he had feared, 
 as is not unusual, nothing came. 
 
 He paused a moment at the study door, and listened 
 to make sure that his uncle was within. He heard 
 the shuffle of leaves as the Hebrew Lexicon was 
 compared with the j)assage of the first Geneva version 
 (1560) just then under review. 
 
 Then came an exclamation from his uncle, the slam 
 of a book on the floor, and heavy hurried footsteps.
 
 70 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Whereat, fearing to be caught hstening, Paul en- 
 tered, and said as carelessly as he could, " Can I get 
 you anything, uncle ? " 
 
 The minister, in his third-best coat (and with his 
 clerical collar laid carefully on the table, where for 
 safety's sake it encircled the ink-bottle), regarded 
 his nephew. " Now," thought Paul, " it is bound to 
 come." 
 
 But apparentl}^ all memory of his absence had 
 faded from the old man's mind. At that moment 
 Paul Wester was an interlude merely providential. 
 
 "Fetch the step-ladder, boy," he said; "and get 
 me down Boston of Ettrick's Autobiography — third 
 from the end on the top row — a fine man Boston, 
 though a little inclined to think that his Maker had 
 nothing to do but attend to him." 
 
 Paul dared not ask as to the intervention of Barbara 
 on behalf of Zipporah Katti. He could not augur 
 any good from his uncle's silence — nor indeed any 
 evil. 
 
 For Dr. Septimus Laird, in search of his annotated 
 copj'^ of Boston of Ettrick, was capable of over- 
 passing the very hour of Sabbath worship. Indeed 
 the church officer came down every Lord's Day at 
 five minutes to twelve to see that the minister was not 
 forgetting himself in his library. This had been 
 judged necessary ever since the Doctor had been 
 discovered, on the yearly communion day, scrambling 
 on the upper shelves in search of Bunyan's Grace 
 Abounding, in order to verify a quotation for his 
 " action sermon." 
 
 The elders had to count the " tokens " twice over 
 to give the distracted beadle time to put some order 
 into the Doctor's " bands," and brush the dust from 
 the famous new gown — presented by the congregation 
 on the occasion of his election as Moderator of the 
 General Assembly. 
 
 Paul Wester found the book and got the Doctor 
 back to his chair in safety. As nothing was said, 
 and his uncle had apparently forgotten all about 
 himself, his absence, the disappearance of Glenkens,
 
 THE HOWE OF THE RED HAVEN 71 
 
 or the still stranger appearance of Zipporah Katti, 
 Paul felt that it was by no means his place to recall 
 any unpleasantness, at least till he had seen Barbara. 
 
 So without a word he stole away to find her. Yet 
 somehow or other his heart was insensibly lightened 
 within him by the familiar atmosphere, the litter 
 about the Doctor's desk (which it was rank blasphemy 
 to touch), the outlook through the trees upon the 
 distant blue flood of Solway, Rathan Island standing 
 full in the fairway, its rocks fringed with a rim of foam 
 towards the south. 
 
 What he had seen in Red Haven Howe in its turn 
 began to appear insubstantial as a dream. His 
 uncle in his great chair, the interleaved and inter- 
 lineated Bible, the battered and tagged concordance 
 — these alone were reality. The fact was, Paul's 
 sense of duty was playing hide-and-seek with his 
 inclination. He tried hard to persuade himself that 
 he had seen nothing and heard nothing in the Howe 
 of the Red Haven, except the silken rustle of the 
 birch foliage (like my Lady Maxwell's skirts as 
 she comes into church), and that Raif Palafox 
 and Roaring Anthony were people of whom he had 
 dreamed in the cave. 
 
 But he had little time to strengthen himself in this 
 opinion. A sound of talk from the direction of the 
 orchard at once guided and drew him. The barn- 
 door gaped emptily upon a cavern of gloom — for the 
 minister leased his glebe, kno\ving nothing of farming 
 later than the Georgics of Virgil. But, nevertheless, 
 in the corner, there was abundance of food for 
 Glenkens, bedding and beans mainly, the oats being 
 kept in a great chest in the stable, its corners all 
 bitten and nipped by the impatience of Glenkens 
 himself. For the little horse never rid himself of 
 the idea that one of these days he would bite his way 
 to the treasure within, where, despising all legal 
 measures of capacity, he would help himself to his 
 own. 
 
 Voices came from the orchard beyond, cheerful 
 and cheering. Few good women are happier than
 
 72 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 when, in an amateur way, thej'^ are discussing, and 
 " making over " clothes. This of course, is not 
 what they tell their respective men-people. But 
 no one who has watched them disputing about 
 flounces or with intent brows trilling on a sewing- 
 machine, their eyes bright with adventure, can doubt 
 that a heaven where wings are the only wear would 
 prove but a dull place for women. 
 
 Zipporah Katti was learning all this highly special- 
 ized knowledge under the capable tutelage of Barbara 
 Simpson. It seemed that happiness had at last come 
 to the little gipsy, who had hitherto coursed the world 
 with the Romfords, the Lees, the Smiths, the Pala- 
 foxes, and found no resting-place for the soles of her 
 feet, save the trundling wagons with their dusky, 
 heavy-browed drivers. 
 
 But as Paul stood in the dark of the barn and looked 
 under the powdery beams, out through the door 
 which led into the orchard, he saw Zipporah Katti 
 laughing as she bit off a thread with her small gleam- 
 ing teeth. 
 
 There was no doubt that the girl considered she had 
 reached a place of peace at last. The interview %vith 
 his uncle had therefore gone off well. No need to 
 question further about that matter. The improvised 
 (and still improvising) attire of Zipporah Katti, the 
 smile of proprietorship in the eyes of Barbara, his 
 uncle's complete detachment from anything not 
 written or printed, convinced Paul that, so far as 
 the Manse of Maxwellton was concerned, Zipporah 
 Katti found herself among friends. So it went to 
 Paul Wester's heart to disturb this new-found peace. 
 But, after all, he must tell of Raif Palafox and the 
 dead man in the glade behind the twin pillars of the 
 Red Haven. He drew a long breath and strode 
 forward. 
 
 " Gae 'way wi' you ! " commanded Barbara as 
 soon as he stepped out into the sunlit orchard, boom- 
 ing drowsily with the noise of insects, and filled with 
 the sweet-sour smell of the unseen honey-hives 
 ranged just beyond the wall. " Hark to me, this is
 
 THE HOWE OF THE RED HAVEN 73 
 
 none for you to see, a laddie of your age ! Laddies 
 should ken naething aboot sarks but how to keep 
 their ain clean — eh, what's that ye say ? Ye want to 
 speak to me ? Weel, speak on. This is no Kirk on 
 Sacrament Sabbath, that I ken. Let no man keep 
 silence if he has aught to say to Barbara Simpson." 
 
 But Paul frowned warningly at her, and while the 
 head of Zipporah Katti was bowed over the white 
 exactness of her seam, he made frantic signals to the 
 old Manse housekeeper. 
 
 " I see what it is," Barbara exclaimed in pretended 
 anger. " Ye have lost Glenkens, or ridden him lame — 
 and ye are feared to face the minister. I've done 
 enough for this day, laddie. Bear ye your ain 
 burdens, and be aff wi' ye ! " 
 
 An idea sprang to Paul from out her words. 
 
 " Well, at least," he suggested, humbly, " come 
 yourself and look at him. He is in the stable." 
 
 Zipporah Katti glanced up and smiled contentedly 
 upon Paul. But the next moment, as if she had 
 forgotten his existence, she was back at her se^ving. 
 
 Barbara preceded Paul Wester to the stable, with 
 her usual hectoring stride, scolding all the way in 
 a loud indignant voice. 
 
 But once within, she shut the door, and sitting 
 down on the corn-chest, eyed Paul closely. 
 
 " Well, what is it now ? " she demanded. 
 
 And he answered her in so many words — 
 
 " Raif Palafox has killed Roaring Anthony, the 
 smuggler from Cumberland, in the Howe of the Red 
 Haven. I was there. I saw it done ! "
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE GAUGER's hole 
 
 Curiously, Barbara was not nearly so much 
 affected by the adventure of the Red Haven Howe as 
 Paul Wester had expected. She took the thing 
 calmly, like a woman of experience in such matters. 
 She spoke seriously, but called the murder a " quarrel " 
 — which had he known it, was symptomatic. 
 
 " Only last year," she said, " twa bairns that my 
 sister's youngest lass was nurse to, found a dead gipsy 
 on the shore of Loch Linnhe, where the big steamers 
 go by to the Caledonian Canal. One Romany lad had 
 stickit another for a far less quarrel than this of Raif 
 and Roaring Anthony. The Cumbrian would doubt- 
 less be wanting more than his share, without working 
 for it — like all the South Shore men I ever kenned. 
 But let that fly stick to the wall. Lazun Palafox 
 shall hear of this, and quick justice be done — oh, not 
 by sheriffs and jurors, but by Lazun himself, from 
 whom there is no appeal — and, indeed, who has a 
 better right ? For is he not the head of the family, 
 and by miles the best man in spite of his age ? I 
 would admire to see the loon that would dare to cross 
 him in spite of his hoar hairs. Lazun would make 
 him a very small man, before his knife had time to 
 play wheep out of its sheath ! " 
 
 It was curious to Paul thus to hear Barbara Simp- 
 son, who had been several kinds of mother to him, 
 defending the famous old smuggler, of whom tales 
 were still current all along the scarped ledges of the 
 Solway shore. 
 
 But then Paul knew nothing of what Barbara had 
 told to Zipporah Katti. To him she was just the 
 
 74
 
 THE GAUGER'S HOLE 75 
 
 same lovingly-wrathful old Barbara, whom he had 
 kno^vn as " Babby of the Manse " all the days of his 
 life. He could recall no time when Barbara was not 
 there to pet him and punish him, to call him a 
 fool, and — try to get the moon for him, if he cried 
 for it. 
 
 But now in the dusk of the stable with Glenkens 
 nosing and chasing the last grains of his home-coming 
 " feed," Barbara was suddenly another woman. 
 Hardly could he believe his ears. 
 
 " Have no further thought of the matter," she said, 
 " I shall go and see Raif Palafox, and if he will not go 
 to Cancale himself to be judged, I shall find those who 
 can take him thither." 
 
 Paul Wester was already at the door. " I will get 
 the gun that is hidden behind the oat-bags. I shall 
 have it loaded and come with you ! " 
 
 " You are good stuff, Paul," said the old woman, 
 " even as your father was before you. I ken the 
 Wester breed. But have no fear for old Barbara. 
 She had the liberty of tan and ken, of barn, tent, and 
 caravan long before you, laddie, cried your first 
 cheep in this queer topsy-turvy world. Besides, there 
 is never a Lee or a Palafox that would not kiss my 
 hand — not now for my youth and beauty, but for 
 fear of one whose name I shall not mention." 
 
 " You mean Lazun Palafox, Barbara ! " said Paul 
 quietly. 
 
 Barbara turned sharply upon him, a frown hanging 
 like a threat between her brows, the first he had seen 
 there. 
 
 " The lassie has been talking to you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Paul, " in the cave, but before ever 
 she saw you. And she told me that Lazun Palafox 
 of Cancale had all the power among the folk where 
 she had been. He had even sent her to the convent 
 among the nuns, to learn good behaviour, and she was 
 so afraid of him that she stopped, though half-a-dozen 
 wanted to marry her and make her a gipsy queen ! " 
 
 " Ah," said Barbara quietly, " it is a great thing to 
 be a gipsy queen, but the lass is better with auld
 
 76 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Barbara, knitting her stockings by the fire in the 
 Manse kitchen. But be off with you, lad, and load your 
 gun. You may have need of it before all be done. I 
 shall go alone to the Howe of the Red Haven. I have 
 a word to say to Raif Palafox that will sound more 
 deadly to him than the click of the policeman's brace- 
 lets about his wrists. Bide ye here in the Manse, as 
 I tell you, and if the lass needs water from the well, 
 bring it in ! If she lacks firewood, peat or coal for 
 her cooking of the Doctor's supper, let her not go out 
 to seek them. Yours be the charge." 
 
 " And if my uncle asks where you are," Paul 
 suggested, " what shall I say ? " 
 
 " Say — say," quoth the old woman, untying her 
 apron and pulling her red shawl closer about her 
 shoulders, " say that I am out among the farms 
 seeking eggs ! — Oh, ye needna look. It will be true 
 eneuch. I shall look in at Orchardton and Mont- 
 gomery's of the Inch on the road back. Their hens 
 are aye laying fine at this time o' year." 
 
 Paul Wester went to find his precious weapon. It 
 was clean enough, but for the mere pleasure of smelling 
 the oily powder-rag, he cleaned it all over again. 
 Then he loaded it carefully and went to the door of 
 the barn, where he placed it behind the open half. In 
 the quiet orchard he could see Zipporah Katti still 
 busy with her sewing, humming and whistling over 
 her task. He remarked the pretty birdlike way she 
 had of turning her head this way and that, to mark 
 the effect of her work. 
 
 As Paul stood watching, she raised her head and 
 smiled. Paul took this for an invitation and soon 
 found himself beside her under the orchard wall. 
 
 Here he can safely be left, till such time as the 
 minister's supper has to be made — when he became 
 a mere hewer of wood and a drawer of water in the 
 service of Zipporah Katti. 
 
 From this point the story has to do with the journey 
 of the indefatigable Barbara to the Howe of Red 
 Haven. On she went, staff in hand, striding like a 
 herd on the hill, her brows grey and shaggy, only
 
 THE GAUGER'S HOLE 77 
 
 twitching now and then, while her strong features 
 remained fixed and indomitable. She did not long 
 keep upon the high road. She saw the returning 
 tracks of the little horse's feet, and treasured the fact 
 in her memory, as a count in a future indictment of 
 Paul's carelessness. 
 
 Beyond the high-arched bridge, she made a sharp 
 turn to the right. In the corner of a stonebreaker's 
 disused square, was a kind of stile — not a visible 
 lovers' stile with a broad stone on the top from which 
 to sit and admire the view. Though, indeed, from 
 that point the view was fine enough — the nested and 
 nestling village of Orraland, dribbling down from the 
 upper cliff, but the most part of the houses playing 
 hide-and-seek with the narrow green valley, the cattle 
 grazing in the cultivated holms above, and the giant 
 ashes towering up across the Auchen Water, and, 
 farther off, the long curve of the shore — all this was 
 the foreground as seen from the stile. Behind you 
 saw the Solway, the cliffs of Rathan, and the little 
 white speck of the herd's house thereon, the bottle- 
 green stretch of the Orchardton peninsula, and on 
 clear days the dominating shoulder of Helvellyn and, 
 noblest of all, the clean-cut arr^te of Striding Edge. 
 Besides which, all reeking blue, here and there were 
 planted towns and villages, cot-houses and farm- 
 houses a-many — more than Barbara Simpson had 
 time to remark as she cleared the stone dyke with the 
 agility of twenty years, and so took her way through 
 the lush grass of the lower fields on which two genera- 
 tions of the best .farmers in the world had made a 
 granary out of the waste flats of Torr. 
 
 Slanting her path slightly seaward, Barbara Simp- 
 son, careful as ever, strode along the corn edges in the 
 direction of Red Raven. She had no particular plan 
 in her head. But in the hour when she should face 
 the tribe and force the manslayer Raif to stand before 
 the judgment-seat of the Caesar of his folk, she 
 doubted not that words would be given her 
 
 A poacher setting snares on the edge of a distant 
 plantation eyed her curiously. A gamekeeper, out
 
 78 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 looking for the poacher (but not finding him), took 
 half-a-dozen steps in her direction with a menacing 
 intent. 
 
 But after a second or two the poacher returned to 
 his wires, solaced and with a mind at ease. It was 
 only the minister's Barbara, and he would have shown 
 her over his little illegal domain in the perfect security 
 that she w^ould never repeat to any the fact of his 
 presence where he had no right to be, either by day or 
 night. The gamekeeper was equally reassured. M 
 
 " Where can the old fool be going ? " he muttered 
 to himself. But really he cared little about the 
 matter. Barbara was not on his land at any rate; 
 and, moreover, his master had a great opinion of 
 Doctor Septimus Laird, and, as everybody knew, 
 Barbara held the minister in the hollow of her hand. 
 It is likely that Jo Gash would have made no com- 
 plaint even if he had met Barbara straying among his 
 sacred pheasant-coops. He would not even have 
 looked into her basket. 
 
 In some such fashion Barbara Simpson passed out 
 of the ken of the people of kirk and market, of bein 
 houses, and of intentions more or less good and 
 honourable. 
 
 She sank herself among the myriad paths and 
 " spritty " knowes of the wild country behind that 
 small basin of silver sand, with its two guardian pillars 
 of glistening, tide-washed russet, which men called 
 " Red Haven." Barbara knew too much to go 
 straight up by the main path leading from the Haven, 
 the one Paul had followed among the shifting shadows 
 of the birches which cover in the hidden and hence- 
 forth fatal Howe of the Red Haven. 
 
 " They have not gone yet," she said, smiling wisely 
 to herself. For off shore, keeping well in mid-channel, 
 she glimpsed a Cancale fishing-boat, broad in the 
 buttock, high in the free-board, rigged like a barque 
 forward, and with quaint lug-sails stuck here and 
 there aft wherever there was room to fly a pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Cancale, St. Malo or St. Servan," she said.
 
 THE GAUGER'S HOLE 79 
 
 " Never went there out of any port (save from these 
 three) a craft Mke that ! " 
 
 " They are only waiting for the tide to be off," 
 thought Barbara ; " but I can guess where to find 
 them." 
 
 She knew very well that by this time there was no 
 need to look in the Howe itself. Any traces of blood 
 would long be removed. The mortal spoils of Roaring 
 Anthony would rest where no eye would see them this 
 side of the judgment day. Most convincing ahbis 
 would be ready in case that the law, always slow to 
 move in Scotland, should descend upon them before 
 The Golden Flagon of Cancale town was ready to take 
 them off. 
 
 To the seaward side of the Howe of the Red Haven, 
 hidden from everything landward, among the highest 
 Boreland cliffs, you may find, iJE you are lucky, a 
 strange place sometimes called the Ganger's Hole. 
 For several hours a day it is safe enough at every 
 " high " ebb, being only the long rift of a cavern still 
 covered in here and there. It culminates in a " pot " 
 or cauldron where, at the height of the flood-tides, 
 Solway surge boils like lava in an uneasy volcano, 
 now groaning in pain, now lashing with spray the 
 steep sides, grinding the rocks into pebbles, the 
 pebbles into sand, and ever and anon spouting high 
 into the air, like an Icelandic geyser, columnar mush- 
 rooms of churned water and creamy Solway sand. 
 All who know the " riddlings of creation " called 
 Colvend know where to look for this place. 
 
 But when Barbara looked down into the Gauger's 
 Hole, she saw only the clean white beaches, black 
 vertical walls of rocks, and (what she was looking for) 
 in the corner nearest to the covered tunnel not yet 
 broken down by the waves, the faint blue mist of a 
 wood-fire stealing up, to be lost immediately in the 
 clefts of rifted rock and among the tufted sea-plants 
 that smelt and tasted of the brine and the salt firth- 
 mist. 
 
 Barbara was now wholly fixed in her mind. She 
 had onlv to descend and her men would be before her.
 
 80 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 All the more on that account she went carefully. 
 Previous to declaration of her quality, it would not 
 do to be caught by Raif Palafox, clinging to the sheer 
 crags of the Gauger's Hole like a fly to a wall. She 
 might share the fate of the original exciseman who 
 is reported to have tried to find a way to the bottom — 
 which indeed he reached, but — with a bullet through 
 him. 
 
 She knew Raif Palafox well enough to be certain 
 that, after one little accident in the Howe behind, he 
 would not think twice about precipitating a possible 
 witness into the deeps of the Gauger's Hole. 
 
 Accordingly she made her appearance suddenly 
 round a dripping corner of slaty rock, red like those 
 outside the Haven. Before her were men occupying 
 themselves variously in building a fire of driftwood, 
 and in setting it alight with the dry crackling flare 
 of abundant whin and heather roots. 
 
 They turned at the noise of footsteps, and for a 
 moment their faces were not good to see. Raif 
 Palafox made one leap towards her, and there was 
 a general movement of hands to concealed knives 
 which might, or again might not. have been purely 
 the instinct of defence. 
 
 But the old woman never flinched. She merely 
 threw up one artn, and uttered a single arresting 
 sentence in the gipsy language which halted them like 
 a word of command. 
 
 " Raif Palafox," she demanded, " do you know me, 
 Raif Palafox ? " 
 
 The swart gipsy growled something under his 
 breath, but he did not turn to his companions nor 
 vouchsafe them a word of explanation. Barbara's 
 eyes left him, and roved lightly over the others. 
 
 " You, Oliver Rutherford, how about the girl whose 
 brother you fought with at St. Malo ? " 
 
 " What the devil's own business is this ? " cried a 
 broad florid man, starting up from where he had been 
 chopping wood with a short-handled crescent-bladed 
 axe. Nevertheless, he stood arrested in his place and 
 did not threaten the old woman.
 
 THE GAUGER'S HOLE 81 
 
 " What has come of all your family ? " she went on ; 
 *' and how manj'^ morts have you had since you left 
 your poor Janet to fend for herself at Yetholm ? " 
 
 " The woman is the devil after all ! " said the man 
 whom she had addressed as Oliver Rutherford. 
 
 " And you, young man," Barbara continued, " you 
 should be a Lannion by the looks of you. Your 
 eyebrows are ruled too straight and there is a thicken- 
 ing tuft where they meet — the sign of a jealous man — 
 Lannion all over j^ou are ! Pity 'tis of the mort you 
 have wedded." 
 
 " Lannion — yes, I am Felisque of that name," said 
 the young man, amid the laughter of his mates; 
 " whether I be jealous or no can matter little to your 
 white hairs, mother. But what does matter is how 
 you came to be so glib with my name ? " 
 
 " And what you are doing here ? Out with your 
 errand," cut in Raif Palafox, with a fierceness that 
 had only been temporarily held back. 
 
 " If you are a spy of the Malouain smugglers — or if 
 you would sell us to the government — you shall abide 
 in our caverns till the tide comes " 
 
 " And 2/OM," said Barbara, defiantly, " you may pass 
 the Rocher at Cancale once — but never again repass 
 it outward bound." 
 
 " And how shall you prevent me, old wife with the 
 Romany tongue and the gorgio face ? " 
 
 " Not I," said Barbara, striking her tall, spiked 
 staff deep into the sand ; " not I, but one Lazun 
 Palafox, whose wedded wife I am. There is already 
 gone a messenger to him." 
 
 They looked at one another in some dismay, but 
 after all there was in their hearts a modicum of relief. 
 If this were indeed Lazun's wife, she would be of the 
 tribe, and they, therefore, safe at her hands. 
 
 " I am Barbara Palafox," she said; " and though 
 my man went from me I have been true to him. He 
 will not deny me — be sure. More, he will see that 
 justice be done — on you Raif Palafox, son of the 
 Redonaise woman, who dared to call me ' traitor ' and 
 ' spy ' to my face — also in the lesser matter of the 
 
 G
 
 82 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 bullock-faced man from Cumberland, whom ye slew 
 in the Red Haven yonder ! And now where have ye 
 put him ? If there be search, as is likely — mayhap 
 I may be able to misdirect it ! " 
 
 " Spoken like a true Romany," cried Oliver Ruther- 
 ford ; "no wonder you knew so well about poor old 
 Janet up at Yetholm ! Is it possible she is still in the 
 flesh ? I would like to drop in and tip down a grog 
 with her for old sake's sake ! " 
 
 Of him, however, Barbara took no notice — but 
 again demanded where they had put the Cumberland 
 farmer, drover, and trader. 
 
 " He is at home," sneered Raif Palafox ; " they say 
 that his Ayrshire bull gored him — in the back." 
 
 " Presently I shall go and see what is truth and 
 what is a lie," said Barbara, stamping her foot; " and 
 now my orders to you are to give my wifely greetings 
 to Lazun at Cancale. Tell him from me that I charge 
 myself with Zipporah Katti, and that henceforth I 
 shall bring her up according to my liking. He has 
 had his chance. Now I shall have mine. But if he 
 is on the shore of Sol way again, bid him send me word 
 to the Manse of Maxwellton — the commonest tramper 
 asking for bread at the back door will carry the 
 message, and I will meet him any hour by night or 
 day, in the place he and I know of. 
 
 " As for the Cumbrian — I will see to the harm of 
 that, and what is to be done in the matter. Be off 
 with you, Raif Palafox ! But be sure that if you set 
 foot again on these shores, or seek to meddle with the 
 young lass, your life is not worth a farthing dip on a 
 bam wall ! " 
 
 Raif Palafox looked from one to the other of his 
 mates. But their eyes avoided his. After all, it was 
 no business of theirs. They had not killed the 
 Cumbrian. They had not tried to carry off the girl, 
 and, best of all, they would not have to affront the 
 angers of a certain Lazun Palafox, a merchant retired 
 after fortune made, to the little white-and-green 
 house overlooking the port of Cancale to which they 
 were going for the purpose of reporting themselves.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE GLORY OF SUMMER 
 
 Barbara went back to the Manse, and resumed 
 apron and cap with the staid dignity which becomes 
 the unquestioned ruler of the house of a Doctor of 
 Divinity and an ex-Moderator of the General Assembly 
 of the Kirk. 
 
 As we know, her visit to the Ganger's Hole had not 
 been made wholly unobserved. But even the poacher 
 and the keeper thought that she had merely crossed 
 the Torr flats for the purpose of taking a message 
 more quickly to the Lady of Maxwellton, whose 
 policies, protected by park walls, ran down to within 
 a mile of the wilderness of Red Raven Howe. 
 
 The Howe and the Ganger's Hole constituted a 
 kind of No-man's Land, tufted and craggy as to their 
 ramparts and little used except by gipsies and other 
 " kittle cattle " well advised of their advantages. 
 
 Not the least of these was the fact that the Haven 
 had two entrances, one from the front, that by which 
 Paul and Glenkens had entered, and the other leading 
 into the fastnesses of the Ganger's Hole, from which a 
 boat could take off any passenger who, for personal 
 and sufificient reasons, desired to quit the shores of 
 Galloway unperceived. 
 
 At any rate Barbara could, with an equal mind, 
 resume the morning working apron, and the afternoon 
 black and rustling silk which she " owed to her 
 position " (as she said in excuse) to assume whenever 
 callers might be expected. 
 
 Not that very many such were allowed to interview 
 the minister during working hours. Even Paul on 
 the way to the study, if Barbara were about, would 
 
 G 2 83
 
 84 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 frequently be told to " come back oot o' there." The 
 Doctor was at his " firstly," or maybe breaking 
 ground for his " secondly, mv brethren." and she 
 would not have him disturbed. If Paul Wester 
 wanted a book, he could just do wanting it till dinner- 
 time or tea-time, as the case might be. Or he might 
 go and talk to Zipporah Katti, if she could be bothered 
 with him — which was more than she, the speaker, 
 had any time to be. Therefore, without more said, 
 Mr. Paul Wester was at liberty to remove himself 
 forthwith. 
 
 If, therefore, such treatment were dealt out to Paul, 
 the much privileged, ordinary interrupters got exceed- 
 ingly short shrift. 
 
 " The Doctor bade ye come, did he ? " she would 
 say to some one whom she suspected of designs on 
 the slender ministerial purse. " He had no siller on 
 him at the time ? No, I should think he hadna. He 
 had sixpence and no more, I saw to that mysel'. 
 ' There ye go. Doctor,' I said, when I saw him go out 
 down the avenue, ' ye will not pauperize this parish on 
 sixpence and a bad ha'penny ! ' " 
 
 These were days of a great and wonderful peace. 
 A letter from Cancale had informed Barbara that 
 matters there were in good train, and that she need 
 fear nothing from Raif Palafox — " whom I have 
 employed on an affair which will occupy him for some 
 time." It was Lazun who wrote. 
 
 The Cumbrian invalid. Roaring Anthony, was 
 recovering — which was more than he deserved — as 
 Barbara explained very clearly to him. She also 
 proved to him that the less he said about the little 
 " tulzie " in the Red Haven Howe, the better it would 
 be for himself — there being a certain Lazun Palafox, 
 with methods of his own wholly uncontrolled by the 
 County Police, sheriffs, fiscals, and other apparatus 
 of local justice. Besides which, he. Roaring Anthony 
 Crossthwaite, might be called upon to explain what 
 he was doing in such company, and why, being to 
 all appearance a small and extremely haphazard 
 farmer, he went so regularly to the fishing for which
 
 THE GLORY OF SUMMER 85 
 
 no nets are required, and had an account of four 
 figures in the Cairn Edward Bank. 
 
 For these and many other reasons which his own 
 conscience would suggest to him easily enough (said 
 the Manse housekeeper), it would be better to let 
 Lazun Palafox settle the business with his kinsman 
 in his own wav. 
 
 " With the Palafoxes," Barbara suggested craftily, 
 " one never knows where such things will end." 
 
 And Roaring Anthony, remembering how many 
 times he had lied to his correspondents at Cancale 
 and in the outer Breton islands as to the amounts 
 received from customers on either side the Solway, 
 objected not a word. For the fear of Lazun was upon 
 him, and the expectation of being hung by the heels 
 in the Ganger's Hole to wait for the incoming tide, as 
 Lazun was said once to have done to a traitor, chilled 
 his marrow. For these (and other) reasons. Roaring 
 Anthony said nothing publicly as to the true origin 
 of his injury — and, instead of calling in a doctor, 
 Barbara Simpson, unsurpassable in that region as a 
 " \vise woman," cared for him with her own hands. 
 
 Meantime the great days of the warmest summer 
 on record passed overhead. The sun shone undimmed 
 by a cloud. For ten weeks not a drop of rain fell. 
 Children played in the hot dusty shelter of white- 
 washed walls, and in the breezy orchard Zipporah 
 Katti, alert at her seam, learned some things from 
 Paul the Scholar, but in return, taught him infinitely 
 more. 
 
 Zipporah Katti Palafox had never known such a 
 time of happiness. Doubtless the gipsy love of 
 wandering would return to her. But for the moment 
 it abode wholly dormant. The triumphal march of 
 the long equal days, the occasional waving sough of 
 laden fruit trees in the heated air, the silence of the 
 dusky barn into which she could peep, and Paul 
 Wester's voice instructing her how to read poetry 
 and what poetry to read — how good they were ! 
 
 Occasionally he would trust her with something of 
 his own, verses light as the petals that floated down
 
 86 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 upon the pages, but in intention, at least, not wholly 
 unworthy of the time and place. 
 
 The letter from Cancale had quieted the fears of 
 Barbara as to the future of Zipporah Katti. It was 
 now permitted to Paul and Zipporah to wander along 
 the shore in the time of the ebb, to sit in the coolness 
 of the Dulse Cave, even to explore the clean delight- 
 someness of the little sandy inlets, strewn with shells, 
 which are to be found everywhere cutting crescent- wise 
 into the rock barrier of Rathan Isle. 
 
 They hunted up a new headquarters every morning, 
 where, with a can of fresh water and a pocketful of 
 biscuits, they established themselves for the day. 
 Here they would wait cheerfully, watching the tide 
 surround the island. Then when the long serpentine 
 back of the causeway had at last been swallowed by 
 the waves, they would give themselves up to the 
 unrestrained delight of having the island absolutely 
 to themselves for six long glorious hours. 
 
 To make sure of their isolation they would start off 
 in opposite directions, keeping on the height of the 
 eliff. Then when they met at White Horse Point, 
 Zipporah Katti would fling herself down all panting 
 by Paul's side. Whereat Paul, in strict fraternal 
 celebration of their promise to belong one to the other 
 till death them did part, would kiss the girl on the 
 lips. Not one nor the other saw any harm in the 
 greeting. It was a natural outburst of gladness in 
 being alone together. The island was their own. 
 They were wild as the seabirds, and as free — for six 
 hours ! 
 
 It is curious now to recall the extreme simplicity 
 of their occupations and daily entertainments. Paul 
 had a pocket pistol for which abundant ammunition 
 could be procured at the village shop at Orraland. 
 This weapon had on several occasions been confiscated 
 by his uncle, but had always been discovered and 
 restored by Barbara Simpson — with threats infinite 
 and dire, that if ever it should be used within earshot 
 of the Manse, and in especial, of the minister's study, 
 she would throw it in the tide with her own hand.
 
 THE GLORY OF SUMMER 87 
 
 Paul would have fired (quite harmlessly, let it be 
 said) upon the swooping gulls and diving terns which 
 shared Rathan Island with them. But Zipporah 
 would have none of any such ruthless slaughter. 
 Paul yielded gracefully, without telling her that he 
 could not have winged one in the course of a long 
 summer's day, and with all the ammunition in 
 Kelman's shop at his disposal. 
 
 A white stone was placed against the cliff, distances 
 measured, and in the shade they set themselves to 
 hit the target. Paul, who had most practice and 
 perhaps a natural gift, found that he must not be too 
 accurate, or in despair Zipporah Katti would throw 
 down the weapon, declaring that the old pistol did not 
 *' fire straight." 
 
 Tired with an hour of this, Paul would draw from 
 his pocket the Httle " Golden Treasury " selection 
 from the poems of Matthew Arnold, which he was at 
 present trying to force upon the reluctant attention 
 of Zipporah Katti, who stubbornly preferred Hia- 
 watha and Longfellow's sea poems. These in turn 
 having served their purpose, the comrades went 
 contentedly down to some pool or cave-mouth to 
 paddle bare-footed and eat dulse, returning with 
 clean-cut, knife-edge appetites, which drove them at 
 once to the biscuits or whatever other provender they 
 had been able to beg, borrow, and steal from Barbara's 
 larder. Zipporah refused to have anything to do 
 with the last-named operation. She had been witness 
 to some very real stealing and could not be brought to 
 see the difference. 
 
 Then perhaps they would betake themselves to the 
 ancient tower of Patrick Heron and May Maxwell, 
 still religiously preserved by their descendants. The 
 record of those Rathan Isle adventures they knew by 
 heart. Paul had read them so often that he could 
 recite whole chapters to Zipporah Katti, who had the 
 bad taste to prefer them to any poetry whatsoever — 
 especially the parts about smuggling in the old times 
 l)efore Lazun Palafox. 
 
 Presently, under the wide sky of paling afternoon
 
 88 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 blue, the cliffs of the mainland began to tint them- 
 selves with amber and rose. Then the pair, wearied 
 with the heady splendours of the long summer day 
 together, would sit down in the shade, with a field- 
 glass, the chief vanity of the minister, and abstracted 
 without leave by his graceless nephew. Through it 
 they saw wonderful things. 
 
 Yonder was the very slab of stone, which, when 
 lifted, gave a landward entrance to the labyrinths of 
 the Dulse Cave. There was the open shelf on the face 
 of the cliff, which they had called the Balcony. They 
 could almost see the place where their elbows had 
 leaned that first night as they watched the stars and 
 listened to the clatter of the waves underneath. 
 
 Being young, neither Zipporah Katti nor (still less) 
 Paul Wester knew how happy they were, or how little 
 more of unmixed happiness life would have to give 
 them. 
 
 Once or twice Zipporah had a glimpse of the keen 
 delight given only to her sex. And it came in a 
 fashion almost motherly. For Paul sometimes 
 dropped asleep with his curly head heavy upon her 
 knees, while she bent over him and soothed him with 
 the soft croon of a gipsy cradle-song, and the touch of 
 her little brown hand, till she made sure it was time to 
 awake. 
 
 These were marvellously happy hours for Zipporah- 
 Something sweet and fragrant warmed her heart and 
 wet her eyes. Yet the regular breathing of Paul 
 Wester, the impatient childish way he had of rectifying 
 the position of his head on her lap as on a pillow, did 
 not bhnd her to the outward lapse of the tide, and the 
 downward track of the sun. 
 
 Yonder, much too soon — she had the clear, far- 
 seeing, open-air eyes of all out-of door folk — was the 
 first glimpse of the cleft of the Dulse Cave wherein so 
 recently, a bare-legged gipsy maiden, she had sat and 
 swung wet brown feet, eating dulse with keen enjoy- 
 ment of the fresh salt taste. The cave opened out all 
 too quickly. First she could see the spring of the 
 arch and then, within it, the white spurt of the foam
 
 THE GLORY OF SUMMER 89 
 
 as the waves kept coming and going pendulum- 
 fashion. 
 
 It would not be more than half-an-hour now before 
 they must be stirring. And Zipporah sighed. It was 
 not that she was fonder of Paul asleep than awake. 
 But when he lay thus, so childlike, so young, so 
 dependent, something she could not name moved in 
 her heart. 
 
 Nor is it probable that there is a name for the feeling 
 in any language, though all women know it, and some 
 men profit by it — of whom, however, was not Paul 
 Wester the Younger — for it marks something that is 
 as much higher than love, as love is higher than — the 
 other thing. 
 
 And so, as the tired day wheeled nightwards and 
 the Ailsa Craig solans betook themselves far across 
 the brown Machars to their rock pinnacle, the seas 
 purpled and stilled amazingly. The sounding tide- 
 race roared in the narrows of Rascarrel, and Zipporah 
 Katti sighed as she lifted Paul's head gently till it 
 rested on a tuft of grass on which she had first spread 
 her handkerchief. 
 
 " It is over for to-day ! " she murmured regretfully, 
 as she bent to waken him with a stiff bent grass-spike 
 tickling his ear. 
 
 But she was wronff. 
 
 It was only beginning.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 
 
 All women know why Zipporah Katti saw to it 
 that her hair was in good order before she woke Paul 
 with that humorsome teasing spikelet of grass, why 
 she pulled down her skirts closer about her anldes 
 (a thing she would never have given a thought to a few 
 months before — at the date of the Orraland Fair, to 
 be exact), why she carefully dabbed her eyes lest it 
 should be supposed that she had been crying. 
 
 No — men are wrong, and only women know any- 
 thing about such hidden things. It was not (whatever 
 the fatuous sex may think) because Zipporah Katti 
 was " in love " with Paul Wester. Only a man would 
 be so shallow as to suppose that. A woman knows 
 that it was because of the sacred little warmth (of 
 about the temperature of eggs upon which the mother 
 dove has been sitting) that glowed in the heart of 
 Zipporah Katti. 
 
 Sacred, yes, of course it was sacred ! — How else 
 would it have come to Zipporah Katti ? She knew 
 she was no longer only a little brown towzle-headed 
 outcast. She was never more to be the accomplice 
 of horse-copers, the gipsy " boy-lassie " who could 
 hold her own with tooth and nail — almost with tusk 
 and claw. That fine first righteousness which is the 
 love of Another, displacing that of self, began to 
 germinate within her. 
 
 Paul's personality did not matter, not at least at 
 present. He was a lay figure, a practice target, the 
 willow mannequin on whom this little person was 
 trying the range of her nature. Who the man is does 
 not matter greatly to a woman till a good deal later. 
 What does matter is the thing which is going on within 
 
 90
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 91 
 
 that breast where wilful child and unselfish woman 
 are warring for the mastery. 
 
 And though there are women who never can be 
 more than fitful, petted children, it is mostly the 
 fault of the men who prefer to keep them so. For the 
 little warm angel that stirred in Zipporah's breast as 
 Paul's head rested upon her lap, was more to her than 
 a thousand votes. It was her woman's share of the 
 immortal. Her soul woke only when it came to her. 
 Without it she might be foofish in a myriad ways 
 which have nothing to do with this story. She might 
 (though God forbid !) even assault respectable pohce 
 officers and other statesmen in the performance of 
 their duty, but for such exercises the possession of a 
 soul is by no means necessary. 
 
 For some time after the settlement of Zipporah 
 Katti at the Manse, she continued privately to call 
 Paul " brother," as she had done in the cavea fter the 
 blood-oath. But finding that Paul was not equally 
 ready with the countering " sister," the relationship 
 had been gradually dropped, or at least the outward 
 expression of it. 
 
 They became " Zipporah " and " Paul " to each 
 other, and Barbara Simpson went about with a 
 satisfied expression upon her face. But there was 
 something behind that look, and the expectation in 
 the old woman's eyes was not altogether on account 
 of her satisfaction with the doings, sayings, intentions, 
 and possibilities of Zipporah Katti and her favourite, 
 the minister's nephew. 
 
 What she was waiting for came to her one day by 
 the hand of a beady-eyed slip of a lad, half sailor, 
 whole gipsy, who leaped the wall of the drying-green 
 where Barbara Simpson was hanging out the midweek 
 washing. 
 
 She advanced towards the lad threateningly, but 
 something in the pale olive complexion, a lissomness 
 of waist and loin which was never Gallovidian, but 
 the mark of a race more ancient and perhaps more 
 Oriental, halted her.
 
 92 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 With a winning smile the lad held out his hand. 
 Somewhere, somehow, in memory now as vague and 
 ancient as a last week's dream, Barbara had seen the 
 like. Ah, she had it ! He was a son or a grandson of 
 that little Eza Palafox, on account of whom her old 
 heart had once suffered, with a pain which now she 
 could not understand — though she still remembered, 
 because such things a woman does not forget. 
 
 " Barbara Simpson ? " He said " Seemson " in a 
 clear voice with a pleasant French accent. 
 
 " That same," said Barbara ; " and who else should 
 it be after forty years at the Manse of Kirkpatrick- 
 Maxwellton ? " 
 
 " Then this is from the Chief, and to be given only 
 into your own hand." 
 
 He produced one of the common yellowish-grey 
 envelopes of the square commercial type ordinarily 
 called bulle in France, and passed it to her. 
 
 She stood with the letter flicking in her hand, 
 regarding the boy curiously. 
 
 " You are a grandson of Lazun's ? " she asked in a 
 quiet level voice ; "and your mother's name was ? '* 
 
 " Eza — like my grandmother's ! " the lad answered 
 with some pride. " We are all Palafoxes, and that is 
 saying something in Cancale." 
 
 " I also am a Palafox, and next to Lazun — of the 
 highest place," the old woman answered, her strong 
 features changing to something of grimness as she 
 stood. 
 
 " Indeed I judged as much," said the boy, " from 
 what at your bidding befell Raif Palafox. My mother 
 bade me take a good look at you and bring her back 
 word. 
 
 " ' It is not every woman's bidding that Lazun 
 obeys,' said Eza, my mother ; ' take notice, vaurien, 
 for that woman will be worth the looking at.' " 
 
 " I bear no malice," said Barbara; " Lazun and I 
 had our lisunderstandings — such as were natural 
 and necessary, but I do not deny that he has always 
 given me my right and place and that with all 
 honour."
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 93 
 
 The boy stood uncertain. The house with its 
 curious ^vindows was too near — the sea and the boat's 
 crew in waiting too far away. He glanced over his 
 shoulder like one who meditated flight. 
 
 Old Barbara took from her neck a golden coin, very 
 small, very heavy, and rudely stamped with strange 
 contorted writing. It had a square hole driven in 
 neatly about midway, and through this a ribbon was 
 passed, caught, and knotted peculiarly. 
 
 "■ Take this to your mother, by name Eza Palafox, 
 daughter of Eza. Tell her that it is hers by right, and 
 that I, Barbara Palafox, said so." 
 
 " I was forbidden to take a present," said the boy 
 firmly, looking full at her with his proud black eyes. 
 
 " This is no present. It is a right," said Barbara. 
 " For the sake of the messenger, and in token that an 
 old wound is healed, I send this to her whom you call 
 Eza. You can show it to Lazun if you like. I 
 presume he is on the ship out yonder." 
 
 The boy glanced at the letter, but did not speak. 
 
 " You have been well taught," said Barbara, 
 smiling. " I am to read what Lazun has to say for 
 himself. There is your grandfather's gift. It came 
 from India, and they say it is a charm to keep love." 
 
 She laughed a little bitterly. 
 
 " But there must be a flaw in it somewhere," she 
 added. " Perhaps it will do its work better for your 
 mother than for me ! " 
 
 " That it will," said the lad; " for it is true what I 
 have been told by an old woman of the tribe, that a 
 love token cannot charm when given by the person 
 on whom its power is to be tried. For such is the 
 nature of love charms. This knowledge comes also 
 from India." 
 
 " You are learned in such things ? " Barbara 
 asked ; " in my time Palafoxes such as you trusted 
 mostly to youth and the strong hand." 
 
 " My mother taught me the use of charms — aye, 
 and her mother before her. But I use them not, only 
 a gipsy must never forget anything." 
 
 " Excepting always his wedded wife," said Barbara,
 
 94 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 and turned away with the letter still unopened in her 
 hand. 
 
 " From Lazun Palafox to Barbara his wife, written 
 from Cancale on July 18th. 
 
 " Barbara Palafox " (the letter began), " I have no 
 claim upon you save your own word — which has not 
 been broken, though (to my sorrow) mine has. But 
 the breaking was so long ago and so far forgotten, that 
 I trow the kindly earth has covered all. 
 
 " But if you still feel towards me as you did, and 
 are willing to meet me, be at the land entrance of the 
 Dulse Cave on the night of Saturday, half-an-hour 
 after the time of worship at the Manse." 
 
 There was no signature, yet old Barbara blushed like 
 a young maid giving her first rendezvous, and quickly 
 thrust the letter into the swinging pocket by her side. 
 
 " Lazun, the old Lazun," she smiled as she spoke, 
 the smile of a woman who has not missed her life, in 
 whose bosom the warm little nesting bird has stirred ; 
 " just the same, and though he die at five-score 
 Lazun's nature cannot change. Fidelity to one 
 woman was an egg not put in his basket when he was 
 brooded. And indeed, I am enough of a gipsy to 
 know that 'tis mainly a gorgio prejudice and mostly 
 practised when men grow old." 
 
 Yet all that day she went about the doors curiously 
 silent. Her eyes had a far-away look in them, and 
 seemed to see through people as though they were 
 ghosts of a dead past. 
 
 She saw the sky bluer, the grass of a more enchant- 
 ing emerald. She had not looked at such foolish 
 things for forty years. Instead she had watched, 
 loved, and listened for the dear homely things — the 
 growth of the gooseberries in the Manse garden, the 
 keckle of laying hens in the barn, the soft shuffle of 
 her master's slippers as he pursued a recalcitrant 
 second volume athwart the expanse of library shelves. 
 But as she said, the beauty of sea and sky were " by " 
 for her — lost, lar away, unimportant. Yet somehow
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 95 
 
 on this day, with the grey-buff hulU envelope in 
 her pocket, she saw them again, with the brightness of 
 an earher time, even as on their island Paul and 
 Zipporah Katti were beginning to do. 
 
 Only to them it was new, and they played with 
 childish enthusiasm at a new game — ^just as, a few 
 years agone, they might have seen the brighter skies, 
 greener grass, more purple sunsets over suddenly 
 unfamiliar fields, spied gates opening and Paradise 
 appearing with no fiery sword flaming every way, by 
 the simple process, practised by all intelligent children, 
 of bending down and looking between their legs at a 
 new world turned upside down, and the trailing clouds 
 of glory they have not yet left behind. 
 
 The build, age, and dignity of Barbara of the Manse 
 prevented this resource of childhood. But neverthe- 
 less, she saw things somehow small and crystalline, 
 as through the large end of an opera glass. The blood 
 of youth leaped in her heart. Little twitching pulses 
 tingled here and there. Her eyelashes would not keep 
 still, and of all this Barbara was heartily ashamed. 
 She would have been still more so had she known 
 how large and dark her eyes were. 
 
 She got a fright when Zipporah Katti, bringing in 
 with her a breeze of orchard and summer, came to ask 
 a question as to the number of stitches or the proxi- 
 mate turning of a heel. The girl stopped suddenly on 
 the threshold, was silent a moment, and then with 
 arms open and a wondering gladness, cried as she 
 hugged her benefactress, " Babby, Babby ! You are 
 really Babby to-day. You look so young ! " 
 
 And when Zipporah had disappeared, with a skip 
 and a bound to the tree shadow in the orchard garth, 
 where Paul was waiting for her, the words went on 
 rhyming themselves over in the old woman's mind. 
 " Babby — Babby — aye, that was what he used to say, 
 and swear I was so young that a sweet pea and I must 
 have grown up, each entwining the other. Oh, 
 shame of me to think of such things with my latter 
 end so near and the minister's dinner due in an hour, 
 the wash still on the line — and me, old Babby, that
 
 96 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 will never see thrcescore-and-five again ! Labour 
 and sorrow, that is what I should be bringing my mind 
 to, and not going about singing like a lass that her lad 
 kissed yestreen for the first tim. Think shame of 
 yoursel', Barbara Simpson ! " 
 
 But somehow the heart of the woman in whom the 
 little bird has nestled warm — even once and very long 
 ago, never quite grows old. 
 
 It was a long day that to Barbara Simpson, and 
 many were the shamefaced errands she made to the 
 head of the drying-green. From the high upper 
 corner she could see the reefed topsails at the foremast 
 of the Cancale " banker," over the trees of the Manse 
 orchard. The boat was far out, for the tide was low 
 and the sands of Solway had crept several miles 
 nearer that eternal azure streak which is the main 
 channel. 
 
 Barbara heard the chatter of Paul and Zipporah at 
 meals, or as they perched on opposite sides of the 
 bakeboard, listening to the soothing crunch-crunch 
 of her wooden roller upon the dough as she kneaded 
 out her oaten cakes. 
 
 But she barely answered what they asked her. 
 Sometimes even, they had to repeat their words three 
 or four times. Not that the latter troubled them, 
 being with one another. 
 
 For in that age and circumstance youth loves any 
 excuse to hear the sound of its own voice. But when 
 the minister himself explained to Barbara, in view of 
 his Sunday's sermon, the difference between the 
 Ninevites and the Babylonians, partly for general 
 edification and partly to clear his own mind, Barbara 
 — yea, even the long experienced Barbara, confounded 
 them, him, and herself by repeated references to 
 Pharaoh and the Egyptians. 
 
 At last Barbara was on her way to the landward 
 entrance of the cave. She had hurried Zipporah 
 Katti off to her room, before Paul had finished his 
 somewhat lengthy and wholly unnecessary lecture 
 upon the French irregular verbs. She had recom- 
 mended the Doctor to find something in the copying
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 97 
 
 way to occupy his nephew's time. She had no fear 
 of the minister himself. Nothing short of a planetary 
 catastrophe or a Krakatoa eruption under his library 
 could have shifted him from his desk before midnight. 
 And in any case he would have stolen on tiptoe past 
 Barbara's door lest she should reproach him on the 
 morrow for his wicked night-hawking habits, so oft 
 reproven, never improved. 
 
 But Barbara had taken special pains with her 
 toilet, and the cloak she threw about her shoulders 
 was of fine blue cloth, doubled within with cardinal 
 silk, quite unworn. She held it up as she went through 
 the high grass, and her well-greased Wellingtons 
 defied the swishing dew till she found herself up among 
 the heather and rocks of Ben Tudor. Here the short 
 bent and stiff scrub heath held no dew. So Barbara 
 paused to shake out her skirts which, in spots, were 
 touched with random drops. Then with the lighter 
 foot of a youth that had come back to her, she 
 threaded the wilderness of boulder, heather, and 
 bracken as if it had been her own kitchen at the Manse 
 of Maxwellton. 
 
 She moved out there on the grey weirdness of the 
 open moor, with large ease and famiharity. Once or 
 twice on a specially sunburnt knoll turning a somewhat 
 heated brow towards the slow breathing sea, she 
 caught a passing scent of thyme, the especial delight 
 of these dry Solway wildernesses. Like a girl she 
 caught up a twig and thrust it into her dress. She 
 hummed a tune she had not thought of for well-nigh 
 half-a-century. But the lilt of it came fresh to her 
 now. 
 
 Barbara paused a moment on the brow of the 
 cauldron into which Ben Tudor has poured for ages 
 all its useless debris of rocks. 
 
 Down there she had found him— was it fifty years 
 ago — or only yesterday ? Good twoscore she knew, 
 but her nervousness made her think it was but 
 yesternight that she had stood thus a moment to 
 range her curls, crisping dew-wet and wind-distraught. 
 
 The sea was muttering below, glinting like an
 
 98 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 expanse of grey pearl with flicks and flacks of hazy 
 silver shining up as in real pearl. 
 
 Down there where the night haze lay thick, of a 
 colour betwixt peat reek and lapis lazuli, was the 
 entrance stone. She would, she knew, recognize it 
 when it came within her ken — a pale lichened grey 
 looming up with almost invisible patches of orange 
 curling at the edges. 
 
 Much has been written of the loves of the young, 
 but rarely, very rarely, have the young hearts stifl 
 subsisting in the bodies of the old been analysed. 
 
 Yet the true love of such — having survived the 
 death of passion, triumphed over years, white hairs, 
 spreading crowsfeet, disillusionment, treason even — 
 may be a sweeter flower than any that bloom in the 
 spring. 
 
 The "Last Fruit of an Old Tree" may be the 
 sweetest. There are those who are like winter 
 apples ripened by keeping. But then they must have 
 scented the apple-blossom in the spring, and tasted 
 the startling keen delight of an earlier fruitage. 
 
 Barbara went down, her cloak looped over one 
 arm, and her tall staff in the other hand. The 
 great crimson-lined hood hid her white hair, and 
 her figure and carriage were as upright and alert as 
 ever. » 
 
 She came to the flat stone within the little shelter 
 of rocks where the ewes gather in snowy weather. 
 Thrice she stamped upon the flagstone with her heel. 
 Then she waited before again stamping twice, listening 
 to the hollow sound below. The broad flat shadow 
 moved aside. Barbara saw a faint glimmer as the 
 stone slid slowly out of its place. Something dim and 
 familiar moved below. Mechanically Barbara took 
 the hand which was extended to her. It seemed like 
 yestereven after all — though her hair was white as 
 snow. He who stood there waiting for her was the 
 husband of her youth, in whose bosom she had lain, 
 for whom alone her heart had beat — aye, and beat 
 still. 
 
 " Come thy ways in, Babby Palafox," said a voice
 
 THE MAGIC STIRRING 99 
 
 out of the darkness of the cave. " Have no fear. I 
 am Lazun ! " 
 
 Whereupon Barbara, steadied by the touch of the 
 hand, stepped down with youthful alertness. She 
 had no fear — save that Lazun would find her aged 
 beyond recognition. She need not have feared, for 
 in her poor heart the little nestling bird was brooding 
 warm. 
 
 H 2
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 LAZUN PALAFOX 
 
 They were in the big inner chamber of the cave, 
 Barbara trembhng a httle as she saw a tall, gaunt, 
 grey-bearded man, with a hooked nose, and eyes whose 
 fire age had not abated, placing carefully an old- 
 fashioned brass lantern on a hook in the wall.   She 
 could hear the sea tumbling outside. 
 
 At first she did not know the man, but when he 
 stood beneath the light, Barbara recognized the 
 ripples of locks which had once been as those of 
 Absalom. The dark eyes, which had smiled so readily 
 upon women and so rarely upon men, met hers, and 
 the well-remembered look in them made her start. 
 
 " Lazun," she questioned, with faltering voice, 
 " You are Lazun ? " 
 
 He held out his strong hands and clasped those 
 which she dared not withhold. 
 
 " I am Lazun," he answered softly; " still the old 
 Lazun, the more is the pity. God forgive me, 
 Barbara — as I know you do." 
 
 They stood thus a moment, Lazun Palafox still 
 holding her shaking hands. They looked into one 
 another's eyes, till Barbara's grew clouded and she 
 was fain to turn away. She would not for the world 
 have him see her break down. He might think — well, 
 what men are apt to think, and though she was old, 
 she had kept all and more than her ancient pride. 
 For the first time she regretted having come. Forty 
 years seemed somehow but a short time — far too short 
 for a woman to forget in. She kept repeating over 
 to herself the words the Doctor had been reading : 
 " The wife of his youth — the wife of his youth." 
 
 IOC
 
 LAZUN PALAFOX 101 
 
 God help her, indeed, poor old Babby ! She had 
 not known that her heart could be so sore or that so 
 much of the old would remain. 
 
 Lazun Palafox seemed infinitely the less affected. 
 But he had taken on a strange, forceful gravity which 
 Barbara was unfamiliar with. It came from the 
 habit of command — the " Do this " — and lo ! the 
 thing was done. Barbara liked it well, she found that 
 it became him. 
 
 They sat down and looked long at one another, their 
 shoulders to the native rock. They were both under 
 the lantern, seated on a stone bench squared by the 
 hammer at some remote period. 
 
 Lazun did not sit beside her as he might have done, 
 but his grave and determined face was full of exquisite 
 politeness and something, too, that was almost akin 
 to reverence. 
 
 So far as Barbara was concerned he had quite lost 
 his masterfulness. His old loud-mouthed certainty, 
 his open-eyed, dare-devil, laughing carelessness were 
 no more. In old times Lazun Palafox had thought 
 no man his master, and, potentially at least, every 
 woman his mistress. He had held himself as ready 
 to establish his belief upon the forehead of the first 
 as upon the lips of the second. 
 
 Yet he had been as swift with saluting hand to pass 
 the time of day to the laird or to bow before the lady 
 (with a grace that was never learned in Galloway) as 
 to try a bout with the local champion at harvest time, 
 or kiss the laughing dimpled chin of the prettiest 
 dairymaid on Cairn Edward fair-day. 
 
 His glass clattered ever the loudest on the ale-house 
 table. His voice carried the farthest in the famous 
 Smugglers' Chorus — 
 
 " And we will go a-Bincay-inu , 
 Before the break of day !" ^ 
 
 ' liayoiine in Jiiscay, once Spanish, now in French territory, 
 wa.s one of the last strongliolds of England in tlie south, and liad 
 a period of Free trading fame, whicli lay between the fall of 
 the Isle of Man trade and the rise of Cancale and the Breton 
 Archipelago,
 
 102 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " I have asked you to the old place," Lazun began 
 to give Barbara time to recover herself. He spoke 
 deferentially and quietly. " Strange, is it not, that 
 only in Galloway should folk have the cult of caves ? 
 Yet what dwelling-places so safe and so comfortable 
 as these by Nature provided " 
 
 " You did not send for me to the landward entrance 
 of the Dulse Cave to tell me that, Lazun Palafox ! " 
 Barbara interrupted. " Speak out. It is because of 
 the girl that you want me ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Lazun, as softly as before; "it is 
 because of the girl. She is of the tribe, being our own 
 Manuela's daughter — our granddaughter — yours and 
 mine. I took her from her mother's breast when she 
 lay dying. Was she not your daughter, Barbara 
 Palafox ? As for the man, he was nothing worth. I 
 slew him." 
 
 Under the mild yellow light of the lantern, shining 
 out of the darkness, Barbara's face was waxen. 
 
 " Our daughter dead ? " she repeated after him, 
 mechanically. 
 
 " Our daughter," Lazun corroborated gravely. " I 
 took her to unite the two branches of the tribe." 
 
 " And were they united ? " said Barbara ironically; 
 " though the man is dead ! " 
 
 " United they are," Lazun continued, " in the 
 person of Zipporah Katti, who shall one day be great 
 in the country of the Palafoxes, from Zaragoza to 
 Pampeluna ! " 
 
 " She shall abide with me," said Barbara, rising 
 fiercely. " I had enough of giving up children to heal 
 quarrels among the horse-clippers of Spain." 
 
 Lazun did not alter his position. No trace of anger 
 passed over his tranquil face, grave even to austerity. 
 
 " A Palafox," he said, " one like our maid, a queen 
 among the name, should have the wisdom of all 
 peoples, including her own. I have given her the 
 best that can be got in France " 
 
 " And now," said Barbara, speaking decisively, 
 " it is my turn. I shall teach her what it is to be an 
 honest woman in Scotland."
 
 LAZUN PALAFOX 103 
 
 " An honest woman is an honest woman every- 
 where," said Lazun, as though he were quoting a 
 proverb. 
 
 " As to that you should know," commented Barbara 
 bitterly. " But what of the man Raif Palafox, who 
 killed the Cumberland Free-trader in Red Haven 
 Howe ? " 
 
 The grim features of Lazun relaxed. He smiled 
 like one who has found a jest to his liking. 
 
 " From what I hear Roaring Anthony will take a 
 deal of such killing," he said. " If he forswears 
 cheating and acts honestly, he may live long, ' If not, 
 NOT,' as we tell our Kings in Aragon when they are 
 crowned." 
 
 " It was noways the fault of Raif Palafox that he 
 is alive this day," said Barbara, " I will have none 
 of this knife-work in my parish, I told you so long 
 ago " 
 
 " And ? " queried Lazun, curtly. 
 
 " You have certainly kept your word — in that ! " 
 
 Lazun bowed his head with a certain dignity of 
 reproach. 
 
 " I had thought," he said, " that forty years was 
 long enough to forgive in." 
 
 " Aye, long enough, Lazun," said Barbara, with 
 something altered in her voice which made the chief 
 eye her closely (at home he would have suspected a 
 knife, but then Barbara was different). 
 
 " Long enough and over long," Barbara repeated, 
 more gently, " to cherish ill feelings. We are old 
 people, Lazun, you and I, but now our child's child 
 must stay with me. She shall not marry a man like 
 Raif Palafox ! " 
 
 " Indeed that she shall not," Lazun cried, with his 
 first touch of fierceness. " It will be long before Raif 
 Palafox touches land on Solway shore or sees the white 
 houses of Cancale. But I will tell you one thing, 
 Barbara, and it is a thing you should know without 
 telling. Raif Palafox might be ten times a slayer of 
 men. He might be, of all who sail out of Cancale, 
 he roughest and the worst. Yet Zipporah Katti
 
 104 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 might travel in his company for years through the 
 wilds and never once would his hand touch her. 
 Zipporah Katti abode awhile with the Lees. She was 
 with the Smiths, and yet in the nunnery she was not 
 one half so safe as among these wild folk. 
 
 " Why — ? I will tell you, Barbara. Because 
 inside the convent walls the writ of Lazun Palafox 
 does not run, while outside with Lee or Smith or 
 Leyland, the wildest dared not meddle with the girl 
 confided to their care by old Lazun Palafox of Cancale 
 Beach ! " 
 
 " Then," said Barbara, " give her the same protec- 
 tion here in my house. Bid your folk respect her and 
 me — as is their duty and yours. She has much to 
 learn that only I, your wife, can teach her. And if, 
 when she is twenty-one, the Palafox blood be the 
 stronger, then she can choose. But at present, 
 because of all that was — and all that might have been, 
 leave the girl alone. It is her will. She studies to be 
 quiet ! " 
 
 Lazun pondered a while. It was evidently a hard 
 thing for him to make up his mind to give up the girl. 
 
 " Then we must think of something else," he said 
 at last. " The girl Zipporah Katti ought to have 
 succeeded me. I have trained her for that — and she 
 prefers to do needlework in the shade of an orchard ! 
 She might have made even the Solway trade what it 
 was of old. With such a girl in command, where is 
 the young fellow, from the " bankers " of Miquelon 
 to the farm lads of the Abbey and the fishers of Gar- 
 lieston, who would not have burnished gun and 
 hoisted sail for her sake ? " 
 
 " She is better in the Manse with me, Lazun 
 Palafox, and you know it," said the old woman, 
 throwing back her hood suddenly and showing her 
 white hair. 
 
 Lazun looked astonished, but Barbara's speech 
 swept on. 
 
 " See, I am an old woman," she said, " and, God 
 forgive me, I came here with the folly of a girl in 
 my heart. Nothing seemed changed. But now —
 
 LAZUN PALAFOX 105 
 
 there is question of our granddaughter, and I would 
 prove myself fitted to bring up the young. Lazun "' 
 (continued she more appeahngly)," give Zipporah to 
 me to keep, and give her willingly. You are as of old 
 — your eye clear, your hair crisp and hardly touched 
 with grey. Your bodily strength not abated. You 
 are feared wherever your name is spoken. But I am 
 old, and in the years that remain to me I would have 
 a daughter — one, one only. You have many children 
 — I only this one ! " 
 
 " You shall have her," said Lazun. " I but wished 
 to keep her brave and strong — so that she might rule 
 men ! " 
 
 Barbara rose to her full height, grasping her staff. 
 She overtopped her husband by full three inches, and 
 it was with mingled pity and contempt that she looked 
 down upon him. 
 
 " You wished her brave and strong — that she might 
 rule men," she cried, " and was not I both brave and 
 strong, yet ^vithout a thought you cast me aside for 
 the little Eza whom I could have broken between 
 finger and thumb ! But did that make any differ- 
 ence ? You left me for a flutter of dusky eyelids and 
 a mouth that pouted red. You stamped out my life 
 with your heel — my life when it was yet young. You 
 took my child from me. I saw her no more, and now 
 that she has come back — this new Zipporah is mine — 
 mine — mine — all I have ever asked of you, Lazun — 
 aye, or ever shall ask ! " 
 
 Lazun Palafox thrust out his hand with a gesture 
 of renunciation. 
 
 " So be it," he said, " she is yours. Only at the 
 age of which we spoke, the girl shall have the liberty 
 of choice. If the black blood of Egypt speaks within 
 her — let it speak." 
 
 " It will not speak," said Barbara. 
 
 "That," answered Lazun, bowing over the old 
 woman's hand, without touching it, " is your affair ! "
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 babby's fight against the black blood 
 
 The next four years passed quickly over the Manse 
 of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, and in the procession of 
 the seasons many things went by also. Others wholly 
 new arrived. 
 
 The minister grew visibly older. Every spring 
 saw him a little more bent. Also his white hair was 
 longer, and at times, when he resisted too long the 
 commands of Barbara, fell almost upon his shoulders. 
 
 On occasions when the need grew more pressing, 
 and Septimus Laird became openly rebelhous, Barbara 
 would write to the head of the school where, chiefly 
 by means of cricket and hockey, Zipporah Katti 
 Palafox, a Spanish young lady of a hundred descents, 
 was developing into a tall, shapely girl, more Scottish 
 than the Scots, even to wearing about her neck a 
 little St. Andrew's cross on a blue ground as a brooch, 
 as a sign and symbol of the High Presbytery which 
 Septimus Laird had instilled into her. 
 
 Mostly Barbara Simpson wrote the letter herself, 
 but when the head of the school required further 
 confirmation, Barbara stood over the minister till 
 he answered the letter himself. 
 
 " If ye dinna send for the lassie, e'en settle your 
 accounts wi' me, and let me be gaun ! " she would 
 say doggedly. 
 
 " That," the Doctor would answer mildly, " is 
 what is called in the newspapers an ultimatum." 
 
 And he sighed as he thought how he would have to 
 rub up his French and German to keep pace with 
 Zipporah Katti, and how Paul Wester really spent 
 too much time botanizing and playing tennis when 
 she was at home. 
 
 106
 
 BABBY'S FIGHT 107 
 
 But he yielded, because just at that time he had 
 graver things to think about, and he dared not run 
 the risk of adding to his troubles by in\^ting inter- 
 necine warfare with Barbara. So she had her way, 
 and the head of the school thought it was by no 
 manner of means a good way. It disturbed her 
 registers and made quite a number of homesick girls 
 green with envy. 
 
 Yet Zipporah Katti was not homesick. Indeed 
 she was always surprised to find the Manse of Kirk- 
 patrick-Maxwellton on the same place. It was a wonder- 
 ful thing to her to see the same quiet Auchen Water 
 running by, the same millwheel turning across the 
 narrow valley, to hear the soughing roar of the same 
 millstream as it fell into the same old pool — she who 
 had always (save at the convent) moved upon wheels 
 or glided among the Islands of Morbihan in one of 
 Lazun's fast-sailing boats. But all the more because 
 of these things, Zipporah Katti found great comfort 
 in the Manse. For the first time in life she knew how 
 good a thing is a safe anchorage. 
 
 Paul Wester came sometimes — his uncle thought 
 too often, when Zipporah Katti was at home. They 
 wandered the woods together if it were flower time, 
 and snowballed each other briskly in winter. They 
 played golf, and Paul manoeuvred to let Zipporah 
 win, till she found him out, whereupon he set about 
 to deceive her as to the nature of golfing handicaps, 
 declaring that four strokes a hole was the regular 
 thing and approved by the " Royal and Ancient " 
 as making the best game. 
 
 Even so, there were difficulties. But Zipporah 
 Katti made matters straight when they went riding. 
 For she could ride barebacked the wildest colt in 
 Quentain Montgomery's stables over at the Inch, 
 while Paul, envious but impotent, had to content 
 himself with Glenkens, now old and slow. It was 
 like " riding on the rigging of a pigsty," as Zipporah 
 Katti did not fail to remind him. 
 
 At the Inch, Zipporah was often to be found — for 
 which Barbara rebuked her.
 
 108 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 It was unseemly, she declared, that a daughter 
 of the Manse — if one might speak so of an unmarried 
 minister — would back, ride, and even break horses, 
 jump fences of which that daft Montgomery of the 
 Inch himself fought shy. She would assuredly be 
 brought home one day with broken bones, and then 
 who would keep the minister in good temper or compel 
 him by wheedling, an art unknown to Barbara, to 
 get his hair cut. 
 
 These things Zipporah Katti was to remember. 
 The Doctor had made several attempts to soften the 
 girl's doubtfully Christian names by calling her 
 Catherine ! But it was always " Zip " or " Katti " 
 that carried the day. They seemed somehow infinitely 
 more appropriate. Besides, at school, among an 
 infinity of Maries and Jeannies, to be called Zipporah 
 Katti was a distinction, and after a while no light one. 
 The girls asked her if she carried a Spanish knife in 
 her stocking, and so Zipporah got a blunt but highly 
 polished weapon on purpose. 
 
 It was supposed to be on account of this " curst 
 Malayan crise," that Zipporah was treated by the 
 teaching staff with marked deference, and never once 
 went up for punishment. 
 
 " They know better," whispered the girls, and in 
 the dusk of twilight clustered about her begging for 
 tales and a sight of the renowned dagger which Don 
 Ramon of her name had worn at the famous siege of 
 Saragossa. 
 
 " It doesn't seem to cut much," said a girl from 
 Glasgow whose father owned a yacht. 
 
 Zipporah snatched it instantly and hfted it high 
 in her right hand. 
 
 " It is not for cutting, but for plunging — like that ! " 
 
 And she made the gesture with such dramatic 
 ferocity that the Glasgow girl promptly fainted, while 
 the Seniors of St. Cuthbert's thrilled to their marrows, 
 and respected Zipporah Katti more than ever — 
 especially the Glasgow girl, who asked her for a cruise 
 round Pladda and the Kyles next Easter holidays — 
 and please to bring her knife with her !
 
 BABBY'S FIGHT 109 
 
 The career of Paul Wester and the anxiety that 
 weighed on Doctor Septimus require separate treat- 
 ment. 
 
 These present informations are merely to show, as 
 evidence of good faith, how far Zipporah Katti had 
 travelled since the day of Orraland Fair, when she 
 aided and abetted various picturesque horse-copers to 
 deceive Her Majesty's lieges as to the quality of the 
 animals they bought.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A BLEAK WORLD 
 
 " Pour forth Thy rich grace upon the lad," this 
 was what the hps of Septimus Laird, the old minister 
 of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, were saying as bestriding 
 Glenkens, his hardly less ancient pony, he went about 
 the business of his calling. The winds of March blew 
 the still abundant white locks shaggily about his 
 ears, and though his eyes wandered over the bleak 
 landscape of the Galloway moors, his vision turned 
 inward and he saw only " the lad concerning whom he 
 spake, as a man speaks with his Maker." 
 
 Paul Wester was his own sister's son, and for the 
 sake of that sister and her son, the minister of Kirk- 
 patrick-Maxwellton had never married. His nephew 
 bore his father's name, and Septimus Laird was afraid 
 with a great fear lest the boy should turn out like 
 him. 
 
 " Four-and-forty years have I dwelt in this little 
 parish — a full generation and more. Here have I 
 abode, going in and out among my people, my feet 
 beating the roads and pathways till I know the very 
 tufts of grass on the banks, the weeds and the flowers, 
 so that I can say ' Good-day, little one ! You were 
 not here last year.' But the lad — I have watched 
 him as I once watched over his mother. For his sake 
 I have kept the wicked at bay." (He meant Paul's 
 father, wicked par excellence according to his stand- 
 ards.) " I have taught and reared him, sent him to the 
 best schools, and now on this day he will return to 
 me for the first time after his youthful adventure. 
 
 " I sent him to the great and wicked city, seated, 
 as my shortness of breathing begins to remind me, 
 
 110
 
 A BLEAK WORLD 111 
 
 upon many hills, where aforetime I have only gone 
 at the solemn times of General Assembly. I sent 
 him there because I could not counter him in all 
 things. First, he would only be a soldier, for the 
 sake of the clattering spurs and the red coat — as if 
 those who wear such had not been the bane of our 
 poor folk of the Covenant on these same moors and 
 mosshags about Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton ! 
 
 " Then he desired to be a sailor. He must needs 
 see strange lands. And to this, though my old heart 
 was wrung, I had well-nigh consented. But circum- 
 stances were too hard for both of us. They changed 
 the age for those desiring to go forth upon the great 
 waters in the ships of Her Majesty. So curiously 
 wrought are we that this in turn grieved me, for Paul 
 would have made an excellent sailor. Did he not 
 navigate the Loch of Ken from end to end in a leaky 
 boat, landing to bail her out at every half-mile, and 
 discovering more islands than are to be found on the 
 six-inch survey map which hangs in the factor's room 
 at Kenmuir ? 
 
 " But, after all the care of his upbringing, and my 
 own refusal of larger spheres of usefulness in the hope 
 that his heart might be prepared to succeed me in this 
 little parish — he has left the kirk to one side and must 
 needs write upon a newspaper — a paper of this world, 
 where the name of the Most High is but little glorified 
 — so far that is, as I have seen — he that might have 
 sounded the trumpet and called up the faithful in the 
 day of battle." 
 
 So Septimus Laird communed with himself as he 
 bored his way forward in the ' face of the keen 
 " norther " that whipped a frosty apple-red into his 
 cheeks, and at times laid, as it were, a bar of cold 
 iron across his brow. 
 
 Septimus Laird had some time to wait at the Great 
 House whither he was going. He was not expecting 
 his nephew for several hours yet. He would come by 
 the little blue wagonette lined with mud-splashed 
 yellow, which once every day made the journey to 
 the junction at Cairn Edward. This easy jogging
 
 112 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 vehicle connected the silent seawashed hamlet of 
 Orraland with the busy outer world of stations and 
 railway porters. Its driver was looked upon as a 
 travelled man, for did he not hear daily the persistent 
 shouting of " All Change Here ! For Edinburgh, 
 Glasgow, Carlisle, and the South ! A-a-all Change 
 Here ! " 
 
 The minister hardly allowed his eyes to wander as 
 he crossed the stunted grey grass and tufty bent 
 whipped by the wind. For, though a keen observer 
 of whatever was new, Septimus Laird, D.D., was this 
 day deep in his own meditations. He would, indeed, 
 have remarked anything which he had not seen before 
 — an extra molehill by the wayside, the red leaf of a 
 docken permanently upturned by the wind, a frozen 
 clump of moss trampled flat by a careless foot. But 
 as it happened he saw none of these things. There- 
 fore by consequence there was none of them to see. 
 
 Large and far spread the still wintry plain, the sea 
 black with a white fringe, the purple March woods 
 making a continuous fence to landward, huge and 
 vague, and only some patches of snow still hiding 
 raggedly away in the shelter of the dyke-backs. 
 
 In addition to his anxiety about his nephew, the 
 heart of the old minister was heavy within him. 
 He was on the point of losing one of his oldest friends. 
 The Great House of Kirkpatrick Maxwell was to be 
 sold to the highest bidder. There were notices, from 
 which his eyes turned instinctively away, scattered 
 here and there along the interminable walls — real 
 walls of stone and lime, not mere dykes, but sound 
 masonry such as would have piled up an infinity of 
 houses. At the head of every " bill " two lions 
 rampant ramped blackly, because in the office of the 
 Cairn Edward Advertiser the national lion with very 
 thick legs and a blurred head was used for every 
 announcement which touched upon the law, from a 
 royal proclamation to a Burns dinner or a farm sale 
 about term-time. 
 
 The minister loved the long over-arching woods in 
 which the paths lost and found themselves again.
 
 A BLEAK WORLD 113 
 
 He had longed for the hearty welcome which awaited 
 him at the Great House. He had looked forward to the 
 cosy chair by the fireside in which he had talked and 
 drowsed twice a week after dinner with " Auld Leddy 
 Maxwell." Often these two fell silent by mere dint 
 of talking about the same things — the grandchildren 
 of the House of Maxwell, Francis and Frances, other- 
 wise Frank and Fanny, the children of the Auld 
 Leddy's only son, whose taste for the turf and Monte 
 Carlo was that day culminating in the sale of the 
 estate. Ah, the fact was there, but did not bear 
 speaking about. The lands had been in the hands 
 of the Maxwells ever since that enterprising brood 
 came shouldering into Galloway — along with the 
 Bruces, the Wallaces, and other outlanders — some 
 little time before the signing of the Ragman's Roll, 
 when Edward Longshanks was trying to adapt his 
 overlordship to a country that has never owned any 
 overlord except John Knox. 
 
 The Maxwells of Maxwellton had always stuck fast 
 to the Kirk of Scotland as by law established. Ill- 
 paid and inconsequent Episcopalian missioners might 
 come and go. Other denominations might, when it 
 seemed good to them, hold meetings in freely lent 
 schoolhouses within the parish bounds. But Septimus 
 Laird ruled alone. He had been installed under a 
 shower of clods in the good old times of patronage, 
 but had long since fought his way into the hearts of 
 his people by the quiet lovableness of his life and the 
 certainty of his gentleness in counsel and reproof. 
 
 Even the few Cameronian stalwarts dwelling in 
 the parish would sometimes step over and "give him 
 a hearing." And what that means in Galloway can 
 only be known by those who have been brought up 
 there upon the " pure milk of the Covenant word " 
 and in the bosom of a sect so exclusive that it speaks 
 of itself humbly and currently as " The Chosen." 
 
 Till now there had been but two powers in the 
 parish, the " Auld Leddy " and the minister, and 
 after this day the Doctor must reign alone. 
 
 So Dr. Laird's heart was heavy. He was conscious 
 I
 
 114 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 of the notices of sale even without looking and when 
 they were out of sight. To avoid the plastered 
 insults on the main gateway he turned up a lane with 
 a door at the head of it. Getting off his pony his 
 shaking hand explored his pockets for the key, which 
 many years had worn and polished in his pocket. 
 The lock turned easily and the minister with a deep 
 sigh found himself within the policies. It might be 
 for the last time. It was impossible to hope that the 
 new owner of all Maxwellton and Orraland would be 
 content with the simple Presbyterian service of the 
 parish kirk. 
 
 Never more would he, Septimus Laird, urge 
 Gienkens along that avenue to visit his parishioners. 
 Doubtless they would be Episcopalians, perhaps even 
 Catholics. The old metrical psalms in the rhythm of 
 Francis Roos would be unknown to them. He would 
 baptize no more of the children born of the Great 
 House. No more would he teach them their Cate- 
 chism — a Catechism worth the learning. No more 
 would the child's moral instruction begin sonorously 
 with the information that " Man's Chief End is to 
 glorify God and to enjoy Him for ever." The 
 unfortunate must woodenly declare themselves to 
 be merely " N. or M. as the case might be." Infant 
 lips in Maxwellton nurseries would never again follow 
 the rolling harmony which declares that " God is a 
 spirit, infinite, eternal and unchangeable." Not 
 again would he help the Seniors of that Great House 
 over the stern granitic boulders of Effectual Calling, 
 by suggested words and murmured explanations. 
 
 Episcopalians at the least — perhaps Catholics ! 
 And Septimus Laird saw the old chapel within the 
 grounds whither he made a fortnightly pilgrimage to 
 preach the pure Presbyterian Word to masters and 
 servants alike (as for generations his predecessors had 
 done before him), turned into a confessional or reeking 
 with incense. 
 
 The brave old man could hardly keep back his tears. 
 
 And there before him, on the steps of the mansion 
 was a httle covey of people — the " Auld Leddy "
 
 A BLEAK WORLD 115 
 
 moving restlessly about as if already dispossessed, 
 the children clinging to her dress and squabbling who 
 should have the most of her attention. Behind, a 
 servant or two grown grey in the service of the house, 
 showed up rather more pale and anxious than the 
 Lady Maxwell herself. For they had been well 
 treated, even by rough-riding, card-plaj-ing Sir 
 Andrew, whose attempts to break the bank at Monte 
 Carlo had brought about the present severance of 
 old ties — of which the lion-crowned sale posters on the 
 lodge gates were the outward and visible symbols. 
 
 Alertly enough the minister waved his hand and the 
 dowager Lady of Maxwellton responded bravely. 
 She had not eaten any lunch that day, because of the 
 fear that was upon her. Accordingly Frank and 
 Fanny had profited thereby, taking extraordinary 
 liberties as to helping themselves and kicking each 
 other under the table in a manner which, on ordinary 
 occasions, would have brought about their prompt 
 dismissal upstairs in disgrace. But they had been 
 told nothing, and except that discipline was some- 
 how inexplicably relaxed they knew nothing. Of all 
 which things, like healthy little animals, they took the 
 fullest advantage. 
 
 Now, however, they became a little awed. The 
 silent servants in fear for their places — their grand- 
 mother, like Sister Anne in the story, looking nervously 
 up the avenue for the telegram which somehow meant 
 so much to every one, even the unwonted solemnity 
 on the face of the minister, and the fact, ascertained 
 by inspection, that he had no " goodies " in his tail- 
 pockets, quieted both Francis and Frances into an 
 unwonted sobriety. 
 
 " Have you any news ? " the Auld Leddy called out 
 as he dismounted. " If it is sold in lots, I have some 
 hopes of keeping Torr House and the Torr Woods. 
 But I should have looked to that matter sooner. 
 Andrew should never have been allowed to play ducks 
 and drakes with that — it was my dowry. Ah, I see 
 that you have no news." 
 
 The minister shook his head sadly. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 In a hurried voice the old lady explained. 
 
 " You see, Doctor, 'tis no use my hoping to keep the 
 Great House or the park. But there are half-a-dozen 
 of my friends who could each have taken a portion. 
 Some day a Maxwell might reunite them. Meanwliile 
 we had arranged not to bid against each other. Each 
 would have had what he wanted, and for me there 
 would have been Torr House and the woods behind. 
 But Quentain Montgomery of Inch promised to bring 
 the news, and he has not come. I have a presentiment 
 that we Maxwells have lost our last hold on the old 
 place." 
 
 The children clutched their grandmother tighter, and 
 little Fanny with a woman's sense of tears imminent 
 (though she could not see them in her grandmother's 
 eyes), whispered " Don't cry, gran dear. Frank shall 
 fight for you, and I — will dress my own dolls ! " 
 
 Then at that moment, far down the avenue there 
 appeared a dot, which in a minute or two elongated 
 itself into a mark of exclamation — in fact, it was 
 Paul Wester, journalist, riding a borrowed bicycle 
 with his head bowed well-nigh to the handle bar. 
 
 He saw his uncle, Doctor Septimus Laird, and waved 
 a buff envelope. 
 
 " It is sold," he cried triumphantly, " and well sold 
 — I have just had a wire from the office. Johnstone 
 sent it. The estate brought nearly twice the upset 
 price ! " 
 
 He was beaming all over, thinking himself the 
 bearer of good news. But the old lady sat herself 
 down on the worn steps which led to the great door 
 and, heedless of the servants, heedless of all, she wept 
 her fill, the children clinging helplessly about her. 
 
 " Poor lambs," she sobbed, " so this is the end of 
 an old song — Maxwells ye are and for the matter of 
 that twice born Maxwells. But from this hour ye 
 are no more Maxwells of Maxwellton ! " 
 
 Even the good minister knew not what to say. 
 The sorrow was beyond words. 
 
 But as they sat thus, desolate on the chill steps, 
 a bright star rose eastward away above the trees.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE WRATH OF JOHNSTONE 
 
 " Paul Wester, journalist ! " Thus it was that 
 his uncle referred to him — a little irony in his tone. 
 For, think of it, the lad might have been a minister of 
 the Word. He might have followed any recognized 
 profession, and Dr. Septimus still possessed (he 
 thought) enough of academic credit to be of assistance 
 to him on his way. 
 
 But a journalist ! Not that he disdained the 
 glory of type. Dr. Septimus had himself from time 
 to time corrected the imperfect knowledge of some 
 leader-writer on subjects touching Ecclesiastical pro- 
 cedure, canon law, and such like. But curiously 
 enough, after the second letter, the editor of the 
 Thistle Crown, his favourite daily paper, had always 
 inserted the wholly unnecessary (and almost insulting) 
 phrase, " This correspondence is now closed." 
 
 Perhaps on this account, the minister kept even in 
 old age a sharp tooth against the fourth estate. Yet 
 Paul it was who brought the first news of the sale of 
 Maxwellton to the lady of these ancient domains. 
 
 It was small wonder that she sat down on the top 
 step of the high Vanbrugh double staircase and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 Whither should she betake herself ? Where could 
 she bring up the children — Maxwells of Maxwellton 
 no more ? She knew that most of the purchase price 
 must go to pay her son's debts. But Paul Wester 
 had brought no news as to the exact price, nor yet as 
 to the name of the buyer. 
 
 She took the disinherited heir by the hand. 
 
 " Yonder, Francis," she said, making the little boy 
 
 117
 
 118 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 turn his head, " see the Torr woods. Your great- 
 great-grandfather rode through them on his way to 
 Bothwell Brig. And down there among the oaks is 
 Torr Dower House where he hid in a tree when the 
 blue flag of the Covenant was put down ! I had hoped 
 to keep that, for you and your sister ! " 
 
 " I shall work and buy it back ! " said the boy, 
 stamping his foot with childish determination. Paul 
 Wester turned and looked at him with a wistful sort 
 of pity. He had begun to understand how hard it is 
 to earn money for yourself when you have had what 
 you want for the asking all your life. 
 
 Then he, too, looked at the fields and over the fields 
 at the woods. There were no swallows yet. In the 
 desolation of the land, brown earth and grey sod 
 alternating with frostbitten pasture and unturned 
 furrow, a multitude of crows (with of course a magpie 
 or two in their train), pulled and pecked sadly, waiting 
 for the belated ploughshare and the opening of the 
 earth. It was hard for them also to win their daily 
 bread. Mostly they were aged or damaged, leaden- 
 winged, bristly as to beak, and denuded as to scalp — 
 otherwise they would have been down at the sandy 
 delta of the Auchen Water, fighting for their daily 
 portion. But there on the tidal flats victory is 
 achieved with beak-stroke and pinion-beat, and many 
 of them had already lost one eye. They knew well 
 what would happen if, in an unequal fray, they were 
 to endanger the other. 
 
 From above there came homelier sounds. In a 
 narrow window looking upon the great Vanbrugh 
 porch, two pigeons were playing at " King of the 
 Castle," coo-rooing and hustling each other schoolboy- 
 wise till the smaller, more active and more determined, 
 thrust down his comrade from the place of pride. 
 
 Only on the horizon all about, the purple woods, 
 dusted with snow (a slight shower from the east) 
 watched motionless and austere the tragedy of events. 
 
 Outside the great house they waited, blank and 
 hopeless, for further news. Paul especially grew 
 uneasy. His restless temper did not bear well the
 
 THE WRATH OF JOHNSTONE 119 
 
 atmosphere of strain. He wished he were in the 
 orchard with Zipporah Katti, or if that were impos- 
 sible, taking a dive into the deep water which, for 
 some unknown reason, lurks and sulks about Castle 
 Point and the Boreland Heughs over by Portowarren. 
 But he did not see how, with decency, he could get 
 away. After all he was there to help. He could, 
 however, ride again to Cairn Edward and wire John- 
 stone at the office. Johnstone would certainly swear, 
 but he might tell him, if he prepaid the reply, what 
 they all wanted to know — the name of the purchaser 
 of Maxwellton. 
 
 He communicated his desire to his uncle, who gave 
 permission with a nod, keeping his eyes still on the 
 sobbing old woman who had been his friend and 
 parochial helper any time these thirty years 
 
 Paul Wester went down the avenue with his handle 
 bars lowered and the cyclist's racing stoop to his 
 shoulders. He knew that he must get in his wire 
 quickly if he were to catch his man before he cleared 
 out of the office. 
 
 He smiled as he thought of Johnstone's temper. 
 Not that that mattered greatly, for Johnstone was a 
 wild Annandaler of the Carlyle strain — who, in conver- 
 sation at least, did not mean the half of what he said. 
 
 Paul scribbled out the message as he stood at the 
 counter of the new post office in Cairn Edward, 
 talking to the pretty junior clerk as he did so. She 
 had reddish hair, very different from Zipporah, and 
 was proud of having passed her " qualifying exam " — 
 the details of which ordeal she exposed to Paul, who 
 saw her for the first time. She took his " wire " with 
 a pleasant smile ! Paul had nice eyes ! 
 
 ^^ Johnstone, Thistle, Edinburgh. 
 " Was Maxwellton Estate sold entire ? Who is 
 purchaser ? Wester. Reply Paid." 
 
 And then he went across the road to try to persuade 
 Jim Paterson (of the Apothecaries' Hall) to trust 
 him with a certain very deadly poison used for photo- 
 graphic purposes. In the city he could have bought
 
 120 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 it by the pound from the dealers, but down in the 
 country they are more careful. 
 
 There was a good deal of signing and formality 
 before he got what he wanted — even though Jim and 
 he had celebrated many national festivals together, 
 by manufacturing fireworks and setting them off up 
 the chimney of his uncle's house. 
 
 Still he got the stuff which turns negatives to the 
 loveliest sepia, and on his return to the post office the 
 message from Johnstone was waiting for him. He did 
 not even stop to read it, but bestrode his bicycle and 
 took down the shoreward road like a hunted hare. 
 
 He would let his uncle have the first glimpse. Be- 
 sides, compared with the delights of a certain corner of 
 the orchard, what mattered the sale of a great estate 
 about which many anxieties and hopes gathered. Only 
 the old lady and his uncle were really sorry — at least 
 for long. He understood that. For one thing, 
 Francis and he could have been very happy, as they 
 were the day before, behind the coach-house with a 
 small rook rifle and an old box for a target, while his 
 sister had gathered flowers on the slopes behind 
 
 But all were alike eager now, and it was the Lady 
 of Maxwellton herself who came down the wide steps 
 and met him at the foot. His uncle kept on one side 
 a little behind, and the butler was on the other, both 
 watchful of her. 
 
 She held out her hands with a kind of pitiful gesture. 
 
 But when it came to opening the buff envelope her 
 hands trembled so that she had to give the message 
 to his uncle, who in his turn had come away without 
 his glasses. 
 
 So after all it was Paul Wester who read out the 
 telegram. 
 
 " Wester, Restante, Cairn Edward. 
 
 " Name of purchaser not divulged at sale. Have 
 seen lawyer since. Mademoiselle Catherine Palafox, 
 Cancale, France. End up. Johnstone." 
 
 The three last words meant that Johnstone had 
 had enough of Paul Wester for that day.
 
 THE WRATH OF JOHNSTONE 121 
 
 All were astonished — Paul thinking in a dazed way 
 about how mad Johnstone must be. 
 
 " A Frenchwoman ! " said the ex-lady of Maxwell- 
 ton in a despairing tone. 
 
 " A Papist ! " groaned the Doctor. 
 
 But Paul clapped his hands and danced before them 
 like one mad. 
 
 " I know," he cried, wa\ing the greyish-pink sheet. 
 "It is her grandfather who has bought the estate ! 
 It is our own Zipporah Katti ! " 
 
 And indeed all there present — lady, uncle, and ser- 
 vants — thought Paul Wester crazy. But they soon 
 found there was method in his madness.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 CARRIAGE WHEELS ON THE GRAVEL 
 
 And all the while, Avondering why Paul was so late, 
 conjuring vague terrors of journeying, or solacing 
 herself with the idea of sudden enterprises of work 
 which might have detained him, Zipporah Katti sat 
 with her white seam and heaped multitudinous work- 
 basket by the window overlooking the orchard wall 
 and the naked fruit-trees, watching a certain bend of 
 the Manse avenue round which Paul must appear. 
 
 In the kitchen Barbara was busy with her work. 
 Already she was setting out in order the " farles '* 
 of northern oat-cake, thin and crisp but not hard, 
 with a bloom on them that comes from being rubbed 
 among the meal on the bakeboard, then after a deft 
 flick of sweeping goose-wing, nothing is left save a 
 fine powder like that on the cheek of beauty at a ball. 
 
 The two women were content — each after her 
 fashion. Zipporah divided her attention between the 
 open window and the astonishing volume of Michelet's 
 France which describes the September massacres. 
 
 But one had an ear for tinkle of Paul's cycle bell, 
 and the other for the slowing clitter-datter of the shod 
 feet of the little horse. 
 
 Both were fated to be disappointed. What they 
 heard was quite other — first something on the road 
 towards Cairn Edward, that fell dully on the ear like 
 the rumble of distant thunder, but caused Barbara 
 to look up hastily as the sound ceased. 
 
 " What can Carrier Gavin want with us this day ? 
 We have ordered nothing from the town." 
 
 But the route-trained ear of Zipporah Katti inter- 
 preted more truly. 
 
 122
 
 WHEELS ON THE GRAVEL 123 
 
 " It is a carriage," she said, " and Paul is with it. 
 He has got off at the avenue-end to open the white 
 gate." 
 
 But before either of the women had time to change 
 their positions, they heard the feet of horses splashing 
 among the thick-strewn gravel at the Manse front 
 door, and the heavy grind of wheels which are not 
 toucliing solid earth. Then the snick of the brake. 
 
 " My lady ! " exclaimed Barbara in affright, " and 
 me with my hands like this, and an old apron on me. 
 Run, child ! You at least are snod. Open the door 
 to them ! " 
 
 And so it happened that the new owner of Maxwell- 
 ton, all unsuspecting, opened the door to the old. 
 On the seat facing my lady and the minister sat the 
 two children, Francis and Frances, making what they 
 could in the way of secret fun out of a tedious journey 
 — though circumspectly, for they were not a little 
 awed by the countenance of their grandmother. 
 They kept grave faces while under the rug they nipped 
 and scuffled. Such consideration was the index of 
 their sorrow. They respected the feelings of others. 
 They knew that their grandmother was too busy with 
 other matters to reprove them, and as to the minister, 
 in many and various repetitions of the Catechism 
 " for those of weaker capacity," they had learned to 
 a hair's-breadth the range of his short-sighted vision. 
 
 Remained only Paul Wester. But then he rode a 
 bicycle and therefore could be trusted. All children 
 instinctively trust those who drive the twinkling 
 wheel. Such do not tell tales, in school or out of it. 
 
 Zipporah Katti, a tall slender figure in roughish 
 Spanish silk, the dim gold colour of rain-blanched 
 barley-fields, stood a little uncertainly, holding the 
 door to let the great lady pass. 
 
 But Lady Maxwell stayed to regard her with eyes 
 that for the first time seemed unkindly. She took 
 in the girl's bearing, innocently proud, her dusky 
 beauty, the fleece of hair that swept stormily about 
 her head in blue-black swirls to the knot low in her 
 neck.
 
 124 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " So," she said, clenching her hands as something 
 rose in her throat as if to choke her, " you are the 
 siipplanter." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ! " said Zipporah Katti, with 
 convent poHteness, thinking that she had misheard. 
 
 " My lady," the minister put in, gently, " pray 
 remember the promise you made if I should bring 
 you to see my girl." 
 
 His voice strengthened with the pronoun possessive 
 and there was gratitude not only in the girl's heart 
 but in Paul's. Lady Maxwell checked herself. 
 
 " I thought," she said, " that this was some poor 
 girl brought hither to be bred up on your charity. 
 It seems you have been harbouring rich angels un- 
 awares, Doctor ! But I do think you might have 
 let me into the secret ! " 
 
 The Doctor had begun to deny all knowledge of 
 Zipporah Katti's fortune, when another figure, taller 
 and more majestic, appeared at the end of the kitchen 
 passage, and with her first words showed herself fully 
 abreast of the situations, and indeed of all possible 
 situations. 
 
 " Your ladyship is misinformed," enunciated Bar- 
 bara, keeping the centre of the stage and towering 
 above them all, her voice calm and strong, even 
 dominating; "let me tell you, if you do not know, 
 that Zipporah Katti Palafox is the legitimate heiress 
 of one of the oldest families in Spain — and in time 
 she will succeed to the estate of her grandfather, who 
 is one of the richest men in Brittany." 
 
 " Is Cancale in Brittany ? " interrupted Lady 
 Maxwell bitterly, the quiver of anger not yet gone 
 out of her voice. 
 
 " Yes, Cancale is in Brittany — certainly ! " said 
 Barbara, " and what of it, my lady ? " 
 
 " Only that this girl is at this moment owner of 
 the estates of Maxwells of Maxwellton — of Orraland, 
 Chapelfield, Torr, and the hills as far as Ben Tudor — 
 lands and heritages, mansions and dower-houses " 
 
 " I presume," said Barbara, drjdy, " that your law- 
 yers have not given all these away for nothing. If
 
 WHEELS ON THE GRAVEL 125 
 
 Zipporah's grandfather has bought the estates (as 
 he is well able to do), fear not but that the money 
 shall be paid. You cannot expect both to have the 
 money to pay your son's debts — and also keep the 
 estates ! " 
 
 It was not often that any one ventured to speak 
 thus squarely and face to face with the Lady of Max- 
 wellton. But with Zipporah Katti to protect, Barbara 
 Simpson would not have feared even the Angel with 
 the Raven Wing — He whom all Galloway has heard 
 passing by in the twilight, and wondered, awe-stricken, 
 where he was going to alight — on whose roof-tree, 
 shadowing whose bed, prophesying whose open grave. 
 
 " So you, Barbara Simpson, are of those who think 
 to uproot all old ties with foreign money-bags ? " 
 
 " I do not advertise an article for sale, pocket good 
 guineas paid on the nail, and then expect to keep the 
 article fairly sold ! " 
 
 " You are brutal, Barbara," said the Doctor, " go 
 to your kitchen ! " 
 
 " If I go to the kitchen now, I shall take Zipporah 
 Katti with me, and it will be the last time you will be 
 troubled with either of us. Perhaps it will be better 
 for all — especially for these little ones " (she pointed 
 to Frank and Fanny standing open-mouthed gazing 
 up at her) "if I do not go. Neither this maid nor 
 I are kitchen maids ! " 
 
 " But you have supplanted the poor darlings," 
 cried the old lady, clutching the children to her side, 
 " you and your runagates ! " 
 
 Barbara smiled gently this time. Who, if not she, 
 could understand the feeling of the dispossessed ? 
 However, she had but one chicken to defend, the 
 daughter of her daughter, and not for all the Maxwells 
 that lived, from Rob the Fisherman at his nets in the 
 bay to the Lord-Lieutenant himself, should she yield 
 one inch of the rights which were Zipporah's. 
 
 There was something so threatening and uncom- 
 promising about the attitude of old Barbara that 
 even the minister found himself astonished out of 
 measure.
 
 12G THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Barbara, you forget yourself," he murmured, but 
 without conviction. 
 
 " On the contrary, Doctor, I remember myself — 
 I have been somewhat too long in beginning, that is 
 all ! " 
 
 But the little brown hand of Zipporah fluttered 
 down upon Barbara's arm. Then came the other, 
 anxiously clasping the first, and compelled her to 
 look down. 
 
 " Babby," she whispered, " don't be angry. No 
 one would wrong me. I can take care of myself. But 
 what does the lady say about me — I do not under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " No more do I — exactly," said the old woman, 
 greatly softened by the sound of the girl's voice and 
 the clasp of her delicate hands, " but I have my own 
 thoughts. I can guess. There is but one Lazun 
 Palafox, and I know that whatever fortune he has, 
 he will give away in his lifetime, that there be no 
 disputes after his death. I suppose this is a part." 
 
 " A part ! " cried the old lady, all at once fierce ; 
 " it is our all and the heritage of these young ones 
 there " 
 
 " Give God thanks, then," said Barbara, " for the 
 money is safe." 
 
 " You tell me ! " demanded Zipporah, turning 
 suddenly upon Paul Wester, who was standing 
 apart, looking gloomily into the rosy light of a gloam- 
 ing that turned to flaming saffron the early blossoms 
 of the gorse hedge overtopping the Manse wall. 
 
 Then somewhat shamefacedly Paul expounded 
 the telegram which he had received from his friend 
 Johnstone at the office of the Thistle Crown. 
 
 " It is not possible," she said, when she had heard 
 all. " It must mean some one else ! It really must ! " 
 
 " There is no mistake," said Barbara, as if ready 
 to turn her anger upon the girl, " yours is the only 
 right. Besides, Lazun has promised. He would 
 do right by you, the child of his old age " 
 
 " Then she is " Lady Maxwell began, but Bar- 
 bara cut her short.
 
 WHEELS ON THE GRAVEL 127 
 
 " This young lady is of a pedigree more ancient 
 and as unstained as your own, my lady ! " 
 
 " I do not yet understand," said Zipporah Katti 
 wistfully, " and oh, I hope it is not true ! " 
 
 " Nor do I fully," said Barbara, " but we shall 
 hear before long : be sure. My service to you, my 
 lady. I shall keep this maid safe. She shall be as 
 my own child, and if you desire any keepsake from the 
 old lands of Maxwell 
 
 But this time it was the old lady whose indignation 
 broke out. 
 
 " I would not accept a blade of grass, or room to 
 lie down in the burying-place of our fathers ! " 
 
 " Possibly ! " Barbara answered dryly, " not for 
 yourself — that I do not expect. But you may change 
 your mind when you have a little while to think over 
 the needs of these little ones." 
 
 And so saying she marched Zipporah Katti before 
 her, out of the little Manse hall, on one side of which 
 hung the minister's plaids and inverness cloaks, and 
 on the other was a stand for the bicycle of Paul Wester 
 which partially stopped the fairway. 
 
 Paul would have been glad to follow. He felt 
 himself suddenly out of the picture. Yet it seemed 
 to him that he would be no happier down in the 
 kitchen, where he had been accustomed to sit so long 
 and often on the corner of the table while Babby 
 baked her diurnal supply of household bread. 
 
 He scented the good smell of the oat-cakes, but 
 somehow he was sad because Johnstone's telegram 
 of the afternoon had removed the new owner of Max- 
 wellton to an enormous distance from a certain amber- 
 complexioned, raven-haired girl he had companioned 
 in the Dulse Cave.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS LOVER 
 
 Paul Wester was a lover, at least unconsciously 
 and in quaint boyish fashion. Yet so far as his work 
 was concerned, he was frankly a man. Johnstone 
 had cursed him the day before, but he took it all 
 back when Paul, anxious for the good name of Zip- 
 porah Katti, sent a paragraph over the wires de- 
 scribing her as " the heiress of that famous whaling 
 commodore, who in these latter days has lived retired 
 in his snug anchorage above the cliffs of Cancale, 
 where he contents himself with surveying the comings 
 and goings of his numerous ' Bank Fleet.' " 
 
 Then Paul went on to enumerate the vessels that 
 for Zipporah Palafox faced the Roaring Forties, or, 
 going west by north rendezvoused at St. Pierre and 
 Miquelon, and (in the days before the treaty) spread 
 miles of drying cod along the waste French Shore 
 of Newfoundland. These were the great days of 
 " the traffic," but doubtless the present purchase of 
 the Maxwellton and Orraland properties was due to 
 the rich harvests of these stormy seas. 
 
 Paul's prose was a little bookish and literar}'^ 
 (which in newspaper offices is the reddest of cardinal 
 sins), but Johnstone saw that it was duly sub-edited 
 down to the customary plain-song aridity which a 
 daily journal expects (and even demands) from the 
 younger members of its staff. However, Paul had 
 the facts, and these he forwarded after consultations 
 with Barbara and the new proprietrix of Maxwellton 
 and Orraland. 
 
 If it was written that Zipporah Katti must awake 
 
 128
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS LOVER 129 
 
 to find herself famous, Paul Wester did not mean 
 that country-side stories of the Last Smuggler of 
 Solway should be revived against Lazun's heiress. 
 So, at newspaper rates, he sent his " story " over 
 the wires. ... If truth would help her, he must, 
 at least, know the truth — if anything on the hither 
 side of plain lying were requisite for her defence, 
 that too he would see to himself. Besides which, 
 he would get a " scoop," even if of a mild description. 
 
 He did not in the least grudge the night ride to 
 Cairn Edward. He knew that he would still be in 
 time for the first edition of the Thistle Crown. Only he 
 must awake his friend the station telegraphist, and by 
 using the name and fame of his paper, get his wire 
 through. In this he succeeded, by way of the rail- 
 way wires to Carlisle, and thence to that huge building 
 where they neither slumber nor sleep, by day nor 
 yet by night — especially not by night. 
 
 It was a strange holiday for Paul Wester. The 
 juniors of the Thistle Crown were not encouraged 
 to ask for many such. They were told when they 
 could go and when they must return. But Paul, 
 hardy, country-bred, broken to the hills and finding 
 pleasure in tramping them in snow and frost, rain 
 or fair, summer and winter, cared little for the season 
 of the year. 
 
 But now he did it of set purpose — to avoid Barbara, 
 still more to avoid Zipporah. Barbara, oppressed 
 with her thoughts, and laying out like a careful sur- 
 veyor the future of her granddaughter, gave little 
 heed to the young man's moods. 
 
 But Zipporah Katti eyed him wistfully as he strode 
 away over the hard surface of the hillside, from which 
 the stiffness of the winter frosts had not yet wholly 
 departed. She would gladly have gone also, as in 
 the old days, and to this end made several attempts, 
 but either she was called back by the voice of 
 old Babby, anxious as to some fitting on — the Cairn 
 Edward dressmaker having become almost a fixture 
 in the house — or Paul would allege some tale or article 
 to be written, as a reason why he must shut himself 
 
 K
 
 130 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 up or tramp the moorland alone in search of ideas. 
 So Zipporah would watch him wistfully out of sight. 
 Would the old times of the Dulse Cave, barefooted and 
 tangle-tressed, never come back ? Then he would 
 have done anything she asked of him, but now — had 
 she grown old or ugly ? Or was there, in the great 
 city where he passed his working time . . . Another ? 
 
 She even made timid advances, and when she found 
 herself repulsed — not harshly, for of that Paul Wester 
 was incapable — but rather evaded with a deftness 
 which caused her to wonder, Zipporah Katti, as they 
 say in the cricket reports, " retired hurt." She went 
 upstairs to get a handkerchief and shed into its folds 
 almost the first tears she ever remembered to have 
 felt wet upon her cheek, except of course those caused 
 by girlish angers. 
 
 At last, as Paul continued to misbehave himself 
 more and worse, she laid the case before Barbara, 
 who at this time went about with her mouth so full 
 of pins that only a kind controlling Providence pre- 
 vented some of them from finding their way into the 
 minister's supper. 
 
 " Mercy on us," Barbara cried, " what for are ye 
 heeding the lad ? Let him come to himself hy him- 
 self, and then he will be at your tail like herd Sandy's 
 collie. He will be sulking because Lazun has bought 
 the lands for you. When he has more sense he will 
 maybe change his mind. But at his age sense is 
 scarce and dear-bought. Let the lad be, I tell ye. 
 It will do him no harm to tire his legs scouring the 
 hills. I should not wonder if it would not run to 
 poetry ! I found some very unchristian looking 
 writing under his pillow the other morning." 
 
 And indeed it did " run to poetry," even as Barbara 
 said, but of the harmless sort. Paul chose the " dull 
 mechanic exercise " of Englishing, after a free fashion 
 of his own, some of the wonderful rustic ballads of 
 a certain Paul Fort. He did not succeed very well, 
 but at least in the search for words his mind was kept 
 busy, and his soul had little time to brood upon his 
 grievances. The following, which was not the worst,
 
 THE UNCONSCIOUS LOVER 131 
 
 may give an idea of Paul Wester' s output about this 
 time. 
 
 "Dead — she is dead — to girlish laughter and love-making. 
 They laid her in the sod. in the sod at the bi-eak of day. 
 
 Sleeping alone they left her — all alone in the day-breaking. 
 Shallow the grave — but the sky above fathomless and grey. 
 Heartlessly they left her, the morn breaking bright and gay. 
 Carelessly they chauuted, ' We all must pass that way ! 
 
 Come away ! She is dead. Ours the laughter and love-making ! 
 
 Ours the mirth that rings through the long June hay-making ! ' 
 So to the fields singing they went — as they sang every day." 
 
 Paul pleased himself with the far-off innocence 
 of such imitations. He cherished the vague melan- 
 choly of the younger French poets as if it had 
 been a discovery of his own. The sentiment suited 
 his mood, for as he chaunted his rhythmical prose, 
 he told himself that for him too there was an end of 
 laughter and lovemaking. 
 
 The reason did not sound so poetical. Still, by dint 
 of repetition, it afforded him certain agreeable twinges 
 of nobility. He would have married Zipporah Katti 
 wilhngly. Yes, he could have supported her gladly 
 on the wages of a newspaper " junior," but no — he 
 was certain that he could never marry the mistress 
 of the Maxwellton estates. The thing was clearly 
 impossible — ignoble indeed even to think about. 
 And so he conned his little booklets, and added line 
 to line with an easier heart. He thought he had 
 settled the question — not knowing that, like Dr. 
 Arnold, the lover of twenty-one wakes every morning 
 to find every question an open one. 
 
 His uncle was a great comfort to him, especially 
 after Barbara and Zipporah Katti had gone to Edin- 
 burgh to settle matters with the lawyers. The two 
 men, old and young, were left alone in the wide 
 echoing Manse with only Grace Easton, a willing 
 village helper of ripe years, whom Babby had selected 
 to care for meals and beds and such general " redding 
 up " as was possible during her own absence from 
 the Manse. From floor to floor the understudy 
 crept, a bowed, black-clad, self-effacing figure, always 
 as silent as a snail on a wall. 
 
 K 2
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH 
 
 The unaccustomed vacuity of the Maxwellton 
 Manse drew uncle and nephew together with a close- 
 ness they had never known before. The old man 
 even forsook his study. So that every day one could 
 see him walking in the orchard and along the quiet 
 country roads, his thin hand, palm downwards, 
 resting on the younger's shoulder, or farther afield, 
 they might be surprised stepping it gaily with linked 
 arms, like comrades of the same promotion. 
 
 For this Paul curtailed his tramps up the sides of 
 the awakening hills, and the Doctor, old bits of know- 
 ledge stirring within him, got out from dusty presses 
 notebooks of forty years ago, and read the words 
 which told how he too had wandered, unsettled and 
 heart-troubled, seeking flowers for a herbarium 
 which he had meant to present to a local museum. 
 
 But the museum had long become the manege of a 
 cycle agency, and that in turn had lately been swept 
 away to provide for the needs of extra " siding " 
 accommodation at Cairn Edward Station. So the 
 Doctor, divesting himself of his clerical coat, tramped 
 determinedly up to the garret and there directed 
 the researches of Paul among the debris of papers, 
 till he emerged with the very herbarium of the Doctor's 
 youth. Outside it was of inconceivable dustiness, 
 but having been well cased in stout pasteboard, the 
 leaves of good old handmade paper were little damaged 
 — the flowers, save for their faded colour, not at all. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried the Doctor, as he came to the Grass 
 of Parnassus. " See, Paul, this knocks fifty years 
 off my life. I found it one August day just where 
 the backwater of Grennoch runs past the Duchrae 
 
 132
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH 133 
 
 into the Dee, on the little island above the bridge. 
 Some one, a friend, was waiting for me on the bank 
 while I waded out to the island. See the date is 
 there — August the 25th, three o'clock of the after- 
 noon ! See, Paul, see ! " 
 
 And Paul saw — — perhaps a little more than the 
 old man had intended. But Paul was in the mood 
 to judge others by himself, and he waited with 
 interest for what the faded double sheets might tell 
 him of his uncle's past. 
 
 The Doctor forgot his nephew. He was altogether 
 absorbed in the faded portraiture of what had once 
 been living flowers, the blues paled to white, the 
 rich moist reds grown brown, only certain bold dry 
 yellows still standing out in gold unchangeable. 
 
 " That is a Creeping Gentian which Mill and I 
 found one day in 1861, as we paused to rest on the 
 height of the Hospitalet Col, where we could see down 
 into the Valley of Andorra. When we flung our- 
 selves down to breathe, the little gentian, bluer than 
 the sky then, though pale grey now, was looking 
 straight into our faces." 
 
 " Mill," said Paul Wester, " what Mill ? " 
 
 " John Stuart Mill, of course," his uncle answered 
 simply. " I am not old enough to remember the 
 father." 
 
 " Lord," cried Paul, forgetting himself, " John 
 Stuart Mill ! And the Valley of Andorra ! It is 
 as if one were walking with the Gods on Mount 
 Olympus ! " 
 
 " No," said his uncle, who, intent on his collection, 
 had not attended to Paul's words, " it was in '62 that 
 Mill went to Olympus. I have some leaves of laurel 
 and chestnut, he sent me from there ! " 
 
 Now among young Journalists the day of John 
 Stuart Mill is past, or rather has not yet returned. 
 But Paul resolved to read for himself more about 
 this much wandering thinker, whom up to that 
 moment he had chiefly known as the man whose 
 housemaid had burned the manuscript of Carlyle's 
 first volume of the French Revolution.
 
 134 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 For a long time these and other old matters fer- 
 mented in the learned head of Septimus Laird, D.D., 
 and from out of the garret of the years there issued 
 a new man. He threw open his clerical coat as if 
 he would bare a youthful breast to the wind. He 
 told with pride how he had rowed in a great race — 
 the " lights " against the " heavies " — on Cairn 
 Edward loch, the stakes ten pounds a-side ! 
 
 " I was a ' light %veight ' in those days, Paul, 
 though you would not think it to look as the ' study- 
 chair man ' I am now. Then I had curly hair and 
 a waist — like — like you, my boy ! " 
 
 They were now out on the open face of the hill. It 
 was a warm day for May in Scotland, and the sun 
 full on their backs loosened the tucks and kinks in 
 the old man's muscles. 
 
 " I feel as if I could do it all over," he said, and 
 Paul, quick to take advantage of the situation, pulled 
 out his lately acquired city cigarette case (yet unseen 
 in the Manse), and before his uncle had time to grow 
 old again, he found himself smoking with relish one 
 of his nephew's cigarettes ! 
 
 Then the minister of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton cast 
 his eye broad and far over his parish. 
 
 He sighed, as he took in the vivid landscape, 
 purple-brown and palest green. " A fair thing to 
 see, Paul," he began, " the springing crops and the 
 woods yonder, which (so they say) are to be our little 
 Zipporah's. But forty years ago it was fairer still. 
 The village, perhaps, has not altered much, but the 
 parish has lost well-nigh a half of its population. 
 
 " How ? I will tell you, Paul. They have gone, 
 like you, to the cities, or farther still — across the 
 seas. The farms have grown fewer as they grew 
 larger. The land that once sufficed for ten families, 
 now holds of humankind a couple of herds with their 
 dogs. 
 
 " In my father's house — it was one of these — every 
 son and daughter, every bairn that could toddle 
 had a part in providing the daily bread. 
 
 " William, my brother, was early at the plough,
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH 135 
 
 and your mother, the youngest lass, hardly loosed 
 from my step-mother's apron-strings, took the goose- 
 flock to pasture on the green handbreadths hid up 
 yonder among the heather." 
 
 " And you, uncle ? " 
 
 The old man gave a little laugh, thin and remini- 
 scent. 
 
 " Ah, Paul," he said, laying his hand gently on the 
 lad's arm, " you would need to have lived in old- 
 world Scotland to understand that. I was the ' pre- 
 destined.' I must ' wag my head in a pulpit ' if 
 the others went on dry bread for it. Not for any 
 virtue in me or lack of it in the others (John would 
 have made a better minister than I), only I was Septi- 
 mus, the seventh. There were enough now of field 
 workers at the Lairds' farm to sustain one college 
 drone ! " 
 
 " But you are learned, uncle — you were surely 
 more clever in your youth than the others ? " 
 
 " Any of the rest would have done the same. In 
 Scotland it was just lack of opportunity that made 
 the difference. All could not go — no, nor even two 
 — one only ! So they did this great thing for me — 
 for me who have done so little for them — save per- 
 haps a little for your mother, and something more 
 in these latter days for you, boy Paul. Yet not 
 what I ought — far less than I ought. I have been 
 wrapped up in my books, selfishly absorbed in writings 
 which few will read and hardly any appreciate. But 
 in the years that are left, God helping me, I may do 
 better. I am old and you are young, but I think 
 there is still a friendship possible between us — that 
 is, if you will. On my side, I shall strive never to 
 weary you, and when you go off to those of your age, 
 I shall understand." 
 
 " Tell me everything," said Paul, dehcate enough 
 to begin the proffered friendship in the right way. 
 " I want to know all about how it was when you 
 were as young as I. I have been sent to school and 
 taught. I have come home for holidays and have 
 had money spent on me. But I have never earned
 
 136 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 a penny till now. Most fellows nowadays are like 
 me. Tell me — I do not understand about trying 
 so hard to get a college education. At school I read 
 lots, but learned just what I had to, and not a word 
 more. There is a change somewhere. I know 
 fellows in business who have had something of that 
 keenness from the start — but it was to make money 
 fast. What has gone wrong with us in Scotland, 
 uncle ? Why is it different ? " 
 
 " A large question, lad," said Dr. Septimus ; 
 " mostly there is a generation or two behind boys 
 brought up as you have been. I and my peers started 
 from the plough-tail. What you are compelled to 
 learn, you think nothing of — you grumble at, even ! 
 But when the hunger of learning is on a whole country- 
 side — when for you the choice lies between the work 
 of a farm-labourer and tapping the well-springs of 
 knowledge for yourself with none to help, a kind of 
 fury springs up in you. We of my time worked in 
 the sweat of our brows all the summer for scanty 
 wages, that we might live the five brief months of 
 the winter coUege session, delving elbow-deep in 
 knowledge, nosing into the marvels of the college 
 library, following our instructors with rapid pencils 
 and critical brains, debating among ourselves on 
 abstruse matters, feverishly sitting examinations as 
 feverishly prepared for — every lad of sixteen already 
 a man because he was fighting for his future with his 
 own hand — and a man is never a man till he does 
 that ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Paul Wester slowly, " I am finding 
 out that — though" (he added) " it is a different kind 
 of knowledge I am after ! " 
 
 " You are of the new generation, lad," said the 
 elder man gently, " but if ' experience teaches,' 
 you are indeed getting learning ! " 
 
 " You are forgetting the last word of j'^our proverb, 
 uncle," said Paul quickly. The old man laughed 
 and patted him on the shoulder, not ill-pleased. 
 
 " I fancy we are all a good deal that way some time 
 or another — the earlier the better, perhaps. A
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH 137 
 
 young man who cannot be a fool upon occasion is 
 too frostbitten for this warm world of men — and 
 women." 
 
 Septimus Laird paused a goodly moment before 
 adding that last word. As soon as it was spoken 
 he seemed to repent. 
 
 " No," he went on, as if to himself, " it is not yet 
 time for us to speak of that. Instead, I will tell 
 you of my first school. It will amuse you, being so 
 different from your own. You were brought up rather 
 to despise board schools. Well, listen. These board 
 schools are palaces, admirably staffed, excellently 
 taught, with airy class-rooms and all the rest. 
 
 " Then there were no palaces, no special class- 
 rooms, nothing but learning, limited and severe. 
 But at least I was happy. The matter fell out well 
 enough with me. It was a gay and hearty life at 
 the school of Shilling Hill. The master, old Joseph 
 Carnochan, was a " far-out friend " of my father's — 
 which means merely a kinship to be counted by female 
 experts of the highest order — but a connection to be 
 held sacred all the same. 
 
 " The school convened itself ' but ' the master's 
 own house — that is, in the kitchen. The ' ben ' 
 or inner room was sacred. It was where the master 
 kept his books, his parochial and kirk session regis- 
 ters, and incidentally, where he slept. Also, it had 
 a boarded floor. 
 
 " The kitchen schoolroom was spacious of its kind. 
 Blue-stone flags worn smooth by many feet sur- 
 rounded an immense fireplace, where pots swung 
 and bubbled all day long. Generally there were three 
 of these. In the largest, meant for pigs and pig- 
 hngs, were many kinds of chopped vegetables, turnips 
 cut into solid squares and many whole potatoes. 
 These last were highly popular, and when the master 
 dealt out Latin to his favourite pupils with his back 
 turned, a three-pronged fork of iron, even a stray 
 harrow tooth, became a precious possession. One 
 urchin lifted the lid with his cap so that it would 
 descend again without noise. The fork or harrow
 
 138 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 tooth was jabbed into the steam two or three times, 
 and the spoil divided." 
 
 Here the minister chuckled, reminiscent and 
 unrepentant. 
 
 " No," he continued, as if he anticipated Paul's 
 objection, " it was not exactly stealing, or at least 
 we did not think so. You see, every bairn, male 
 and female after their kind, had to bring a couple 
 of peats for that fire. We did not mind the peats. 
 It was the carrying of them without breaking which 
 we resented. These were carefully stacked in the 
 comer, and with the sticks which the seniors were 
 compelled to cut at the dominie's hag-clog, they 
 kept the three pots boiling — the pig-pot, the hen- 
 pot, and the special ' goblet ' in which simmered 
 the dinner of the Master and those favoured pupils 
 who ate with him, sons mostly of large farmers living 
 at a distance. 
 
 " The rest of us had over our left shoulder a little 
 leathern satchel made by the village shoemaker, 
 where we conserved our provender — scones, oat-cake, 
 a piece of hard skim-milk cheese, and most likely 
 some crumbled remains of the raided potatoes. 
 Sometimes we drank from a tin jar of milk, churned 
 sour in transit. And when that was not enough, 
 at the foot of the playground a spout of water 
 ran clear off the hill. To the stone spout was 
 chained a tin cup, but it was seldom used. We 
 preferred the primeval drinking vessel of our palms, 
 joined and hollowed. Here the tongues of ' tale- 
 pyets,' or tellers of tales, were scraped ungently with 
 a piece of broken slate, and thereafter washed. Here 
 fights took place, and many stalwart virtues were 
 inculcated well out of sight of the master. 
 
 " But there was nothing dull even about the hours 
 spent in school. To us small toddlers there arrived 
 little trouble, unless we made too great a noise, and 
 even then Joseph Carnochan was lenient with us. 
 A flick with the taws to teach us to walk straight in 
 the way, a few tears and then — through the blessed 
 back door would arrive an invasion — sometimes
 
 THE RETURN OF YOUTH 139 
 
 ducks waddling and quacking in Indian file, or a 
 brood of woolly chicks peeping and pecking. Best 
 of all it was when half-a-dozen piglings, tired of 
 rooting about among the courtyard straw and enticed 
 by fragrant steam of their own particular stew, 
 entered tail in air and became immediately entangled 
 among our bare brown legs. I remember still the 
 moist sniffing of their snouts, as they blew among 
 the wilderness of freckled ankles beneath the writing 
 desk. Sometimes a girl, suddenly tickled, would 
 whisk her petticoat and cry ' Ouch ! ' Whereat 
 every one in the school would feel happy — including 
 the dominie, who scarcely troubled to hide his smile 
 as he rattled the invaders out with the pointer, and 
 closed the door upon them. But the next boy 
 taking his turn as ' pot-stoker,' would leave it open 
 again on his way back from the peatstack, and so 
 the invasions from without continued gayer and ever 
 more gay."
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 SPYING OUT THE LAND 
 
 These days were of infinite service to Paul Wester. 
 Indeedhe had always kept his uncle a little at a distance 
 as shy lads are apt to treat a senior in authority, 
 whose habits and pursuits are out of sympathy with 
 their own. Now they understood each other better, 
 though (also as usual) it was the younger who was 
 the slower to confide. 
 
 Nevertheless the minister understood many things 
 without needing to be told. In particular he grasped 
 the change which had come over Paul since the news 
 of the ownership of the Maxwellton estates. Septimus 
 Laird resolved that Paul should have something to 
 distract his attention till Babby and Zipporah were 
 again safe in the Manse of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton. 
 
 He should journey to London — perhaps to Paris. 
 More, he, Septimus Laird, Doctor of Divinity, should 
 go with him. Moreover, that they might not be 
 " kenspeckle, " he sent secret directions to his George 
 Street tailor, to make him a travelling suit " of sober 
 hue and serious cut, not made after the clerical fashion, 
 but rather in the mode of the day, with such differ- 
 ences as his sense of propriety might suggest." 
 
 It was with these garments in his travelling bag, 
 and Paul in high spirits, sitting in the opposite corner 
 of the third-class carriage, that the ex-Moderator of 
 the General Assembly of the Kirk slid out of Dum- 
 fries station on his way to St. Pancras. 
 
 There Avas yet a fortnight before the return of 
 Babby and Zipporah. The village caretaker was in 
 sole charge of the Manse and of Glenkens. But the 
 little horse was now in security. For though no 
 
 140
 
 SPYING OUT THE LAND 141 
 
 doubt " floats " of dutiable articles, previously 
 carefully waterproofed, were still being sunk along 
 the northern shores of Solway, the fear of Lazun 
 had set a seal upon the Manse, upon the dwellers 
 therein and thereabout, even to Glenkens, now 
 wearing shaggy about the fetlocks and greying round 
 the muzzle. 
 
 It was wondrous to see the Doctor in Paris, sitting 
 out on the boulevards and trying hard to smoke 
 his first Henry Clay cigar, which had been recom- 
 mended to him as " tabac de luxe par excellence." 
 
 " Oh, if my elders were only to see me, they would 
 have me up before the Presbytery," said the brave 
 Doctor, lighting his cigar for the tenth time. " Cer- 
 tainly, my lassie " (to a casual visitor), " sit ye down 
 and have a drink. The water in the glass bottle 
 is fine and cool, better than ours at the Orraland. 
 We are somewhat too near the sea there." 
 
 And the Doctor continued to explain to Paul the 
 misdeeds of the Leaguers, the great day of the Barri- 
 cades, and how " that loon " Henry of Navarre 
 thought it worth while to take the Mass, with Paris 
 thrown in as a surprise packet. 
 
 Meanwhile the girl with the plumes sat glooming, 
 till as neither elder nor younger paid her any atten- 
 tion, she rose and with a disdainful shrug of her 
 shoulders, and a muttered " Mufle," moved away, 
 Paul watching her curiously out of the corner of his 
 eye and marvelling at the strangeness of things, so 
 that he lost the final remarks of his uncle in defence 
 of the moral character of the Roi " Vert Galant," 
 whose reputation Dr. Septimus traced to the malignity 
 of Catholic historians. 
 
 Paul read French newspapers assiduously. They 
 were so different from his own — at once more readable 
 and less reliable. They started " booms " one day, 
 and attacked the boomer the next. It was enough 
 that the great morning paper Le Midi should praise 
 a man for his disinterestedness, to cause its equally 
 great rival Le Jour (which had attained to fortune 
 by the peculiar nature of its small advertisements)
 
 142 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 to denounce the same man as a thief and a 
 robber, besides hinting tenebrously that his father, 
 his mother, and several wives had died sudden and 
 quite unnatural deaths while dining in his company. 
 I There were also papers, such as the Faits Divers, 
 all advertising the largest circulations on the globe, 
 which contained nothing but glorification of police 
 news — generally from the point of view of the 
 apache, the nervi, the gandou, who had accomplished 
 these sanguinary marvels — with photographs of the 
 hero in his early infancy, in the black suit with 
 white favours in which he accomplished his first com- 
 munion, followed by all the details of his career 
 down to the time when he left his spring-handled 
 knife in the back of a prosperous, worthy, inoffen- 
 sive, and therefore uninteresting citizen going home 
 a little late from business. 
 
 .'.'These papers also made great fortunes, and from 
 them Paul, who had occasionally to handle facts 
 somewhat of a similar nature, found out what to avoid 
 — and rose with a better idea of the Thistle Crown 
 than ever before. He found out what sub-editors 
 were for. 
 
 But in a week he could see that his uncle was visibly 
 wearying in Paris. Not even his daily visits to the 
 great National Library, where Paul employed his 
 school French (like the Duke of Wellington) " with 
 courage " in the task of finding the old scholar the 
 books he wanted, really consoled the ex-Moderator. 
 During these seances, Paul, interested in the evo- 
 lution of the Parisian apache and in youthful 
 French criminology generally, made up his mind 
 that it was not so much Trauppman and Avenain, 
 Barre, Libiez, but the imaginary heroes of the modern 
 " burglary romance " which had been the cause of 
 the present epidemic of continental crime. At each 
 page in the later reports, the names of Nick Carter, 
 Arsene Lupin, and others " made in England '* 
 cropped up in the examination, of the French juges 
 d' instruction, and in the evidence and confessions 
 of the young criminals themselves. They went
 
 SPYING OUT THE LAND 143 
 
 they said, to steal, but they remained to kill. Indeed 
 no more caustic line could have been spoken than 
 that of the leader of a band to a follower who appeared 
 to be robbing him of sanguinary glory. 
 
 ' He an assassin ! II se vante ! He is only a 
 boaster — he has not the pluck to kill ! " 
 
 But Paul was more than astonished when, one gay 
 morning, instead of making out his usual list of wants 
 for the Bibliotheque Nationale, his uncle said at 
 breakfast, " Go upstairs, Paul lad, and pack your 
 bag. We are going to Cancale ! " 
 
 Paul remained a moment dumb with amazement. 
 He was standing near the window to make out a 
 name in small type upon the plan of the city. 
 
 Cancale ? Cancale meant to him but one thing — 
 that wondrous Lazun Palafox whose name controlled 
 fierce and desperate men who stuck at no crime. 
 The Howe of the Red Haven rose before him. He 
 saw again through the glimmering atmosphere of 
 noon, the dagger-flash, the broad '' bannock-faced " 
 man suddenly stricken — the changed heavens, the 
 stained and sinister earth. It had been his first 
 glimpse of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 
 
 And Lazun it was who had punished the crime. 
 Barbara, his ancient friend and oracle, had found it 
 natural that he should do so. Better than the slow 
 justice of the law — surer, more terrible was the word 
 of Lazun Palafox. Moreover, was it not he who, 
 by a word of his mouth, had acquired all the lands 
 of Maxwellton and Orraland, and so had for ever 
 made Zipporah Katti impossible for Paul ? 
 
 She would be a great lady. She would, he felt 
 sure, go to some exclusive school, or be put under 
 the charge of some lady of rank Finally she would 
 marry some one of her own position. 
 
 Work ? Yes, he could do that. But then, he 
 might work till he fell by the way — never could he 
 hope to have anything to offer her — and never would 
 he consent to be only the husband of a rich woman. 
 Indeed Paul was undergoing a crisis of that acute 
 and exceedingly self-conscious youthful nobility,
 
 144 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 which, like measles, is so little likely to trouble a man 
 in later life. 
 
 But, once that the turmoil of the crowded platforms 
 of St. Lazare was left behind, Paul watched eagerly 
 the defile of trim stations. The train was an express 
 for St. Malo, and stopped but seldom. Notwith- 
 standing the speed, his eye never tired of the har- 
 monious lines of poplars, the white strips of road, 
 carelessly flung, like a whip-lash flicked, athwart the 
 various squares of culture, each green as a separate 
 garden. 
 
 Once when the train slackened he was near enough 
 to read on the white pent of a carrier's wagon the 
 words, Paul Ouessant, and with the peculiar vacant 
 curiosity of railway travellers, he amused himself 
 with the similarity of name. The carrier's destin- 
 ation designed itself beneath in broad white letters 
 on a darker blue band : — 
 
 " BARENTON." 
 
 This set Paul to wondering vaguely if Zipporah 
 Katti had ever been in Barenton, and whether she 
 had ever seen the white tilt of his quasi-namesake's 
 wagon. He remembered that it was somewhere 
 in this neighbourhood that Lazun had sent her to a 
 convent school. Accordingly he looked out eagerly 
 for possible buildings — generally, however, fixing 
 upon prisons and hospitals, little guessing in what 
 modesty of retirement the good sisters are now com- 
 pelled to pursue their work. 
 
 Towards four o'clock they were turned out at a 
 little wayside station not far from Avranches, and 
 from thence, across a foreground of green. Paul 
 got his first sight of the great bay of Cancale topped 
 by the fantastic fairy gothic castellation of Mont 
 St. Michel. 
 
 And then at last Cancale itself, Paul's land of 
 promise. It disappointed him a little, for he had 
 fancied it a far greater port. From the distance 
 the ships struck him as small, while the landscape 
 about, gravely smihng, fresh, charming, found its
 
 SPYING OUT THE LAND 145 
 
 only grandeur in the noble prospect of the bay, the 
 famous Rocher in the foreground (like Arthur's Seat 
 all done in rugged stone), a blue-green sea fretting it, 
 and in the distance, purple against a pale green sky, 
 the ramparts of Mont St. Michel. 
 
 But when at last, after long waiting and some 
 trundling, Paul saw the crowded port of La Houle, 
 and the granitic sides of the Grouin, he cried out with 
 joy. The ship-deserted Solway seemed to him 
 suddenly vague and lonely. 
 
 They found a quiet inn on the outskirts of the 
 town, which bore the name (to Paul well-known) of 
 
 " The Golden Flagon." 
 
 Here, leaving his uncle to his first care, that of 
 arranging his travelling library — on which they had 
 invariably to pay excess charges — Paul hastened 
 downstairs to spy out the land of Lazun Palafox.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE EYE OF THE MASTER 
 
 From the cliff above shone out trimly the houses 
 of the burghers of Cancale. Beyond them Paul 
 climbed higher up on the slopes, little winding paths 
 tracking away everywhere from about his feet. It 
 was silent, but the air blew fresh and salt from the 
 sea. 
 
 Far beneath he could see the tide on the ebb. 
 Paul did not understand all that was going on, but 
 he knew that a multitude of little craft, each with 
 three men (or two men and a boy) on board, were 
 racing in from the banks where they had been dredg- 
 ing. They did not seem to land their " take," how- 
 ever. Instead, they stopped the boat near the shore 
 at points chosen apparently at hazard, and — to Paul's 
 astonishment — cast their fishing overboard. Then 
 they made full tilt for the port. Their work was 
 done. 
 
 As the tide ebbed faster squares and oblongs fenced 
 in with what from the cliffs looked like basket-work, 
 with branches of bushes at the corners, began to 
 show themselves. As soon as the water was suffici- 
 ently low, a swarm of children and old women de- 
 scended upon these enclosures, and were immediately 
 hard at work. Some had baskets on their backs. 
 Others, picking their way carefully, planted some- 
 thing on the soft ooze much as Paul Wester had 
 dibbled beans in his uncle's garden at Kirkpatrick- 
 Maxwellton. 
 
 Not for a while did it strike him that he was looking 
 at the famous and ancient oyster-culture of Cancale — 
 the most renowned in the world. 
 
 146
 
 THE EYE OF THE MASTER 147 
 
 The fishermen had mostly gone to their homes. 
 A few of the younger hngered among the huddled 
 houses of the lower village, drinking the " vert," 
 and playing noisy games of dominoes. But along 
 the beach with hands behind his back, doing no work 
 but apparently surveying everything, a tall old man 
 moved lightly and easily. Paul could see his white 
 hair glisten in the sun under the broad peak of the 
 blue yachting cap he wore, but seen from a distance 
 he looked young and agile. 
 
 " That must surely be Lazun Palafox," said Paul, 
 and ran hastily down the steep path from the 
 falaise. But before he had reached the beach, 
 from which the oyster-beds extended themselves 
 in interminable rows, each fenced and regulated hke 
 a well-tended garden, the tall man had disappeared. 
 
 Paul could see all round the vast curve of Cancale 
 beach to the very snout of the " Grouin." His 
 man was not there, so he turned hastily towards the 
 port. La Houle was thick with craft — big New- 
 foundlanders refitting, the boats of the oyster fleet 
 left each in its own place to be ready for the next 
 outgoing tide. 
 
 Paul kept a bright look-out for a swift ship, called 
 the Golden Flagon, of whose exploits he had heard 
 tell all his life along Solway and the outer Clyde 
 estuary. But the boats were either " three-masters " 
 for the bank trade or mere fishing-boats. There 
 was much stir and commotion everywhere, but they 
 worked without the noise and laughter habitual to 
 sailors in from long cruises. The hammermen 
 tapped lustily and regularly. The planing and 
 fitting did not cease at the shipwrights' benches on 
 the quay. Never had Paul Wester seen anything 
 so well-ordered. 
 
 But he had not far to look nor long to wait for the 
 reason. 
 
 The tall man with the white hair, slightly stooped 
 at the shoulders, came along with his hands behind 
 him. He had on his head a dark blue naval 
 cap such as might be worn by a merchant captain 
 
 L 2
 
 148 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 on a good ship. Otherwise he was dressed in plain 
 but fine sea-cloth, well fitting, and worn with a 
 youthful ease and lissomness about the waist. 
 There was nothing remarkable about the man, save 
 that he wore a pair of old-fashioned shoes with 
 buckles of unpolished silver. 
 
 But he looked at every man and thing with keen, 
 bold, blue eyes that bored like augers, and made 
 every " slacker " of all that outfit shiver in his skin. 
 Paul understood at once that here was the eye of the 
 master. After the old man had passed the stroke 
 fell easier, attention wandered, the ship's carpenter 
 had difhculty with the edge of his tool. They did 
 not stop working but they worked differently. 
 
 As the tall old man passed on, stepping slowly 
 westwards, the light of the sun in his face, he glanced 
 just once at Paul Wester, but apparently without 
 giving him any particular attention. Though, 
 strangely enough, Paul himself had a feeling that he 
 had been seen, considered, and classed, all in that 
 one swift side-glance. But the old man passed along 
 the quay, walking slowly and easily with a certain 
 swing to his gait, and now and then flinging a word 
 to a foreman or stopping to reprimand sternly some 
 slovenly worker. 
 
 Paul stood still and watched him recede. He 
 scarcely heard the turmoil of the workman near at 
 hand. He had no eyes save for that solitary figure 
 of power. That was the man — it could be no other — 
 who had sent Raif Palafox on his long journey, when 
 he came back with the blood of Cumbrian Roaring 
 Anthony on his hands. And indeed he was worth 
 looking at. 
 
 He spoke to no man except in the way of command. 
 None answered him back, but took the reproof and 
 was silent. If the workman had to reply to a direct 
 question, he stood up and saluted before speaking 
 in a way which meant much from these stubborn 
 Breto-Normans. 
 
 Lazun — without a doubt ! It could be no other. 
 And as he came back towards him, Paul restrained
 
 THE EYE OF THE MASTER 149 
 
 a strong, and to him quite incomprehensible, desire 
 to salute this autocrat even as the men did. 
 
 But this time the tall figure swerved in its march. 
 He turned at right angles towards the spot on the 
 rope-littered quay where Paul stood. He stopped 
 before him and quite close. 
 
 " You come from Scotland," said the old man, fixing 
 him with the chill of his masterful blue eyes, clear 
 with long years of gazing into vast sea spaces ; " what 
 may be your name, and what are you seeking here ? " 
 
 Paul was a free man, on a free soil, and such words 
 from another might have found him indignant. But 
 nothing of the kind passed through his mind. 
 
 " My name is Paul Wester," he said, " I " 
 
 The old man suddenly threw back his head and 
 stared hard at the young man before him. 
 
 " Paul Wester ! " he repeated, slowly, " and your 
 father's name ? " 
 
 " Paul Wester, also," said Paul. 
 
 " He was married to — to the sister of one Dr. 
 Laird, minister of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton in Gallo- 
 way." 
 
 " Yes," said Paul, " I was brought up by my uncle." 
 
 " And what are you doing at Cancale ? " 
 
 " I have come to visit you, Lazun Palafox — or at 
 least my uncle has. We were wearied of Paris." 
 
 " I see you know me," said the old man, " but that 
 is easy. There is but one Lazun about Cancale, and 
 doubtless you asked some of the fishermen." 
 
 " I have spoken to no one except yourself, sir," 
 said Paul with firm but quiet respect, " but I have 
 heard of you ever since I can remember — tales and 
 tales, not one of which I have forgotten. I should 
 have known you, had I met you in Paris itself ! " 
 
 " They were untrue tales you heard, be sure ! " 
 said Lazun, smiling a little grimly. " I know the 
 kind of stories they tell of me in your country." 
 
 " They were true, every one," said Paul Wester, 
 quickly indignant, " Barbara Simpson does not tell 
 lies." 
 
 " Ah, Barbara Simpson ! " Lazun's eyes glittered.
 
 150 THE SMUGCxLERS 
 
 " Yes, of course. I had forgotten. Aye, Barbara 
 — Barbara Simpson speaks the truth. But was it 
 on her account that you came so far to see me ? " 
 
 " Not at all," said Paul ; " Barbara is in Edinburgh 
 with — Zipporah Katti, who also is my friend. So 
 being alone we grew weary of the Manse, my uncle 
 and I, and he proposed that I should take a trip with 
 him. But " 
 
 " I see — you have left him behind ? He sent you 
 to find me ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Paul, " he is up yonder at the inn 
 sorting out his travelling library, and he does not 
 even know that I came out to seek you." 
 
 A strange expression passed over the face of the 
 old man. 
 
 " Few come to Cancale to seek me for my own sake. 
 Let us go and call upon your uncle. He is the man 
 of all men whom I respect. I know him. I have 
 proved him — forty years of good living without once 
 swerving from the path ! That is no common thing. 
 Not many who are called saints could claim as much. 
 A marvellous man, young sir, is Septimus Laird." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Paul, moved by such 
 praise from such a one, " my uncle, the Doctor, is 
 indeed the very man you say." 
 
 And so to the inn they went forthwith and to- 
 gether, the entire beach marvelling behind them as it 
 watched.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS 
 
 The Doctor looked up, surprised at Paul's entrance 
 with a companion. He was still bending over bags 
 and wrappings, disentangling odd volumes and 
 completing sets already ranged over most of the 
 available space of mantelpiece and table. This occu- 
 pation, much of the pleasure of a journey to the 
 Doctor, and the thought that his favourites were 
 safely under his hand, was as good as a dinner to him. 
 
 " This is Lazun Palafox," said Paul, feeling that 
 all titles were vain between such men, " and this, sir, 
 is my uncle." 
 
 The slender, gentle figure of the old scholar glowed 
 with a gracious content. Lazun overtopped him by 
 a head, and his features, hewn as in hard whinstone, 
 were bent down upon the minister, weather-beaten 
 and masterful like the Breton promontories on whose 
 edge they had found him. 
 
 But there was no yielding in the eyes of the minister 
 of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton. He would now find the 
 answer to many things that had been troubling him. 
 
 " I am Lazun," said the giant, standing erect, the 
 width of his shoulders propping the lintels of the inn 
 chamber door. With that he held out his hand. The 
 Doctor laid his fine nervous white fingers within that 
 grip, and winced not though the stress of Lazun's 
 greeting almost brought the tears to his eyes. 
 
 " I owe you more than you know. Doctor Septimus," 
 Lazun began. " You have cared for and your roof 
 has sheltered those very dear to me." 
 
 " You did not leave her to me very long," said the 
 Doctor, carefully separating his numbed fingers and 
 
 151
 
 152 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 putting them to nurse in his side pocket. " No sooner 
 had our lass come back to us from school, than you 
 endow her with all the troubles and responsibilities of 
 wealth." 
 
 " I am in hopes that you will help her with these, as 
 you helped her when she was only a wandering gipsy 
 girl." 
 
 Lazun Palafox smiled as he spoke, but there was a 
 tremulousness in his voice which came near to 
 betraying real emotion. 
 
 " You must give a great part of the credit to my 
 housekeeper and friend Barbara," said the minister. 
 " It is more than likely you may have heard of her." 
 
 " I have even had the honour of knowing her," said 
 Lazun quietly. " I know how noble a woman you 
 have had in your house for forty years." 
 
 " Oh," said the Doctor, more easily; " you know 
 that, do you ? Yes, Barbara and I get on very well. 
 When we differ it is generally about cleaning the study, 
 or, of late years, as to her treatment of this nephew of 
 mine. She was inclined to spoil him, but now, as it 
 seems to me, his nose is wholly out of joint ! That is 
 why I am trying my hand," 
 
 " Ah, my girl," said Lazun, " and pray how do 
 Barbara and she get on ? " 
 
 " They are in Edinburgh together," the Doctor 
 tapped his snuffbox jocosely; " but, while they were 
 at home, they were hardly out of one another's sight." 
 
 " You could not have given me greater pleasure 
 than by the news," said Lazun, " but you are my 
 guests. I will tell the landlord to send up your things 
 to my house. I cannot have you living in an inn 
 when you have honoured me by coming to Cancale." 
 
 " But the landlord ? " the Doctor objected; " we 
 had arranged with him for a week. Will he not 
 object ? " 
 
 Lazun gazed a moment at the gentle old man as if 
 he had a difficulty in understanding. Then he 
 laughed softly. 
 
 " / will settle with the landlord," he said, and turned 
 toward the stair-head.
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS 153 
 
 " Patron," he called in his strong penetrating 
 voice, and at the sound all the bustle of the " Golden 
 Flagon " ceased. An awed landlord appeared be- 
 neath, twisting his white cap between his fingers. 
 
 " These gentlemen are to stay with me at Gobelet," 
 he said ; " send up their things at once ! " 
 
 " But be careful of the books," added the Doctor 
 anxiously. 
 
 " They shall have every care," said Lazun, smiHng; 
 " don't be afraid. The man is an old boatswain of 
 mine whom I put in this house to keep him out of 
 mischief." 
 
 " You appear to act somewhat after the manner of 
 the Roman Centurion, here ! " said the Doctor, as they 
 went along the sands, where everybody who met them 
 saluted deferentially. 
 
 " Just as in the parish of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, 
 there is little dissent in Cancale ; " the Master of that 
 town looked about as he spoke. " But you must not 
 mistake," he added, " I only live here. My real 
 business lies over yonder at St. Malo." 
 
 A windbreak of pines to shelter Gobelet from the 
 rough Atlantic, the bend of a cliff, rough with gorse 
 and blackthorn, and then, hidden from all but the 
 ships out on the bay, they came upon a wonderful 
 house all of one storey, but meandering here and there 
 like a game of double dominoes. It was the home 
 of Lazun nestling under the shadow of cool wide 
 verandahs. 
 
 To the left was a headland with a flagstaff from 
 which the stormy grey-green of the incoming main 
 Atlantic could be glimpsed, always wind-roughened 
 and glaucous. The courts and open spaces behind 
 surrounded with red-tiled " hangars " could only be 
 seen from the cliffs above. But these had other 
 entrances and no part of them was visible from the 
 broad drive which led up from the St. Malo road. 
 
 The whole was almost as quiet as the Manse of 
 Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton on a Sunday morning. The 
 broad Bay of Cancale basked in the sun. Ships went 
 and came. During the oyster season the daily race
 
 154 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 of boats to the fishing grounds could be watched. 
 But of all that turmoil not a sound came up to 
 creeper-covered, rose-bowered Gobelet, where it was 
 Lazun Palafox's pleasure to be quiet. 
 
 Within the house abode the same stillness. A large 
 low hall with many windows on three sides gave 
 glimpses across to Granville and out to Mont St. 
 Michel. But of Cancale itself, save for the ruddy 
 Rocher and the tides lazily fretting it, nothing could 
 be seen. Lazun had shut his dwelling-place very 
 carefully away. 
 
 The service of the house seemed to be perfectly 
 done. Yet no trained domestics appeared in waiting 
 anywhere. 
 
 A shp of a girl crossed the hall, going silently in the 
 direction of the inner apartments. She took no 
 notice of the strangers, and Paul would not have 
 looked at her particularly, save for the fact that 
 about her neck she wore a curious oriental gold coin 
 with a square hole in it, with which (or something like 
 it) he had been familiar in his youth. He had played 
 with one just the same in Barbara Simpson's workbox. 
 
 The girl kept her head down and was passing out 
 when Lazun called her. " Come here, Eza," he said, 
 " this is the minister of a Galloway parish — a man 
 w^hom I honour above all men. Let his wishes be as 
 my own. I put him into your hands, Eza Palafox, 
 and here is his nephew Paul. He is a young man and 
 can fend for himself. But let him have a room near 
 his uncle that he may be of use to him." 
 
 The girl bowed with the same respect which Paul 
 Wester had noticed in all the people of Cancale when 
 they found themselves face to face with Lazun. 
 
 " And you will be careful with the books ? " said 
 the Doctor. 
 
 The girl curtsied in the ancient fashion and 
 answered in a low clear voice, " They are already in 
 their places in the White Room. Would the gentle- 
 man care to see ? " 
 
 Lazun said nothing, but there was a faint glow of 
 pleasure on his face.
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS 155 
 
 " Impossible," said the Doctor, " we have walked 
 directly here. There has not been time." 
 
 But already the girl had opened the door of a room, 
 panelled in white wood. It resembled the cabin of an 
 admiral's flagship, but it was almost octagonal in 
 shape, with windows that looked every way. Pictures 
 of the sea and the rocky shore were framed in red 
 climbing roses and gay canary-coloured creepers. 
 
 On the mantelshelves stood the minister's books 
 in the order in which he had left them. Paper of 
 different sizes, pens, ink and blotting-pads were 
 ranged on a table beside a comfortable arm-chair, and 
 — marvel of marvels, a revolving bookcase held the 
 latest edition of Clmmbers' s Encydopcedia bound in 
 brown leather. 
 
 This fairly took the Doctor's breath away. 
 
 "Paul — Paul Wester," he exclaimed excitedly; 
 " do you see that, Paul ? Why, man, don't stand like 
 a gowk — it's Chambers'' s ! " 
 
 Lazun's dark eyes flashed with something like 
 pleasure, but Eza Palafox stood with her fingers 
 knitted before her. 
 
 " W^e are not quite barbarians here," said Lazun, 
 smiling and impassible; "there is even a library 
 of a kind, though I iear most of the books are 
 French or Spanish, and date from the eighteenth 
 century " 
 
 " Let us go there immediately ! " cried the Doctor 
 with sudden enthusiasm ; " though I cannot speak 
 these languages with any fluency, nor, indeed, so as 
 to enable the natives to understand me (I admit it, 
 Paul), I can read them with understanding and profit 
 to myself." 
 
 " One moment," said Lazun, turning to the girl 
 Eza ; " where have you put our young friend ? " 
 
 The girl opened a door in the corner of the Doctor's 
 room, and showed what was no more than a dressing- 
 room with a camp bed. Paul's kit lay on the top of a 
 chest of drawers, unopened, but with the straps 
 loosened. 
 
 " And now for the library ! " exclaimed the Doctor
 
 156 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 after a brief glance, and with the same quietly satisfied 
 smile Lazun led the way. 
 
 Paul and the girl were left alone in the big be- 
 flow^ered many-windowed cabin. 
 
 " Come on the balcony," said Eza, " the Hghts will 
 be coming out now and that is something worth 
 seeing." 
 
 They went forth together through the open French 
 window. The verandah was spacious, and as the girl 
 had said, they could see the lights kindling late in 
 the summer night round forty miles of bay and 
 polder. 
 
 " Yonder is the promenade at Granville," she said, 
 pointing; " and far away is St. Malo. You can only 
 see the reflection on the sky — pulsing like the Northern 
 Lights ! " 
 
 " How did you learn English so perfectly ? " Paul 
 asked, for the girl's air of superiority made him curious. 
 
 " In the same way that your Zipporah Katti learned 
 it," w^as the girl's unexpected reply, uttered with a 
 certain fire. 
 
 "Ah," said Paul quietly; "but she is not iny 
 Zipporah Katti ! " 
 
 " She soon will be, then," the girl answered, with her 
 eyes peering into Paul's face. " I know — we all know 
 what you and your uncle have come to Cancale 
 for " 
 
 c( 
 
 I do not understand," said Paul, giving back 
 glance for glance. 
 
 " No," said the girl Eza ironically; " of course not 
 to ask for Zipporah Katti in marriage ? " 
 
 " I never dreamed of such a thing ? " exclaimed 
 Paul indignantly. 
 
 " Then your uncle has dreamed it for you," she 
 answered, tossing her head ; " that was why he was 
 so keen about the library. He is asking now — and he 
 imagines that because he has the name of a holy 
 man " 
 
 " He is the best man in the world ! " Paul inter- 
 rupted, suddenly and rather unaccountably angry 
 with this girl who had been all silence and obedience
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS 157 
 
 in the presence of Laziin, but who now attacked his 
 uncle and Zipporah without any reason. 
 
 " A good man," Eza meditated, leaning her elbows 
 on the wooden verandah rail in a way that made Paul 
 think of Zipporah on the stone balcony of the Dulse 
 Cave. " Yes — I have been at Orraland — and I know. 
 Still " 
 
 " Been at Orraland ! You ! " Paul was astonished 
 out of his politeness ; " what were you doing there ? " 
 
 " I was there on Lazun's business," said the girl; 
 " and if you want to know what that was . . . you can 
 ask him. He is in the library. At any rate I was not 
 there with the fortune-telling Lees, like somebody else 
 who has grown very important of late." 
 
 " If you are a true Palafox," retorted Paul, " I 
 warrant you had your time to serve with the tribes 
 just like Zipporah Katti ! " 
 
 The arrow quivered in the centre, though Paul had 
 drawn his bow at the merest venture; Eza Palafox 
 turned the subject abruptly. 
 
 " Why are you called Paul Wester ? " 
 
 " Because that is my name," Paul answered 
 sharply ; " and the name of my father before me." 
 
 " Have you ever seen your father ? "' 
 
 " My father is dead ! " said Paul Wester very 
 gravely. 
 
 The girl turned her face towards him in the growing 
 dusk. 
 
 " You think so ? " she said. " Well, you and your 
 heiress may expect quite a remarkable resurrection of 
 fathers one of these days ! " 
 
 Sounds of heavy footsteps invaded the far end of 
 the verandah. The girl set a cautionary finger to 
 her lip. 
 
 " You are enough of a man not to say anything of 
 this to Lazun Palafox," she whispered. " I speak 
 more for your good than you know of. Now, not a 
 word ! Promise ! " 
 
 " Of course I promise ! " said Paul. " I am no 
 tell-tale ! " 
 
 With a curiously dubious smile the girl faded from
 
 158 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 his side. He was alone when the two old men, arm 
 in arm, came out upon the dusky verandah. 
 
 " What, alone ! " said Lazun; " where is Eza ? I 
 thought I heard voices ? " 
 
 " We talked a while," said Paul, " and then she 
 went away. She had something to attend to." 
 
 The master of Gobelet regarded the young man 
 attentively. Lazun appeared to be on the point of 
 asking a question, but he forebore — probably because 
 he supposed that he could get at the truth in an easier 
 and more hospitable manner. 
 
 " I suppose she has been instructing you as to our 
 illuminations ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Paul. " I can make out Redon, St. 
 Malo, Granville and even Mont Saint Michel ! " 
 
 " But I suppose little Eza Palafox did not tell you 
 that out yonder, by the snout of the Grouin, are the 
 riding lights of the Golden Flagon, just arrived, a ship 
 of which you may have heard ? " 
 
 In the library of Gobelet, an ancient room with 
 thick walls, part of the chateau which had formed the 
 nucleus of Lazun's erections, the conversation had 
 taken quite another turn. 
 
 After the first enthusiasms of the book lover had 
 been a little appeased, Lazun pushed a chair under 
 shaded electric light bulbs, clustered at the right hand 
 of the fireplace. For both had reached that age when 
 men talk easiest about a grate even when no fire is lit 
 therein. The warmth of former hearth-fires stirs old 
 hearts and loosens careful tongues like good wine. 
 
 " I am a man not ungrateful. Doctor," said Lazun 
 Palafox; " only I am secretive by nature and very 
 slow to speech. I know you, sir, for what you are, 
 and for this reason, I have trusted you with the care 
 of the two things most sacred to me in the world." 
 
 " What I did for the girl was nothing," said the 
 Doctor. " I have a good income, and if I had not 
 looked after Zipporah Katti, I — should only have 
 spent the money in more books — like these ! " 
 
 " I am not speaking alone of the girl," the master
 
 TWO INTERVIEWS 159 
 
 of the house continued ; " you have also been kind 
 to my wife — aye, kinder than I, her husband, have 
 been ! " 
 
 The Doctor looked up amazed, and drew his brows 
 together as if to quarry in the debris of his past good 
 deeds. Then he shook his head and smiled gentlj^ 
 
 " You are mistaken about me," he said. " I have 
 never set eyes on your wife." 
 
 "Mistaken about you I cannot be," said Lazun; 
 " seeing that for forty years my wiie has been in your 
 house and not in mine." 
 
 " Your wife ! " cried the Doctor; " surely you do 
 not speak of Barbara Simpson ? I understood, 
 though I have never spoken of the matter to her, 
 that she had not long been married when her husband 
 was lost at sea ! " 
 
 " Aye," said Lazun bitterly ; " but it was in the sea 
 of folly ! " 
 
 The Doctor merely sat and stared with his head bent 
 forward, waiting for further clearness. 
 
 " Yes," said Lazun, his eyes watching the dark 
 insurgence of Mont Saint Michel against a pale in- 
 coming sea; " Barbara Simpson is my wife. I lost 
 her through folly now bitterly repented of. Yet I do 
 not believe that it could have been other^vise. For I 
 was Lazun Palafox and could not be another man." 
 
 " But," he went on after a pause, " I have been 
 often on the Solway coast. And there, I have seen 
 you, and seen Barbara my wife — though only once 
 have I spoken with her — because it was necessary for 
 the good of our grandchild." 
 
 " Our grandchild ! " exclaimed the minister. 
 " Barbara had a child ? " 
 
 "A daughter," said Lazun calmly; "and also a 
 granddaughter — one Zipporah Katti Palafox. It is 
 of her that I would speak now."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 GOBELET 
 
 Paul woke the next morning to the sough of salt 
 winds rusthng among high trees, and crackling with 
 dry laughter among laurels and rhododendrons. He 
 could almost have fancied himself at the Manse. He 
 could hear his uncle tramping about his room, and for 
 a mioment he thought of Babby and Zipporah Katti 
 busy somewhere below his window. 
 
 And then he remembered little Eza — strange, 
 inexplicable, disquieting little Eza — interesting little 
 Eza, nevertheless — perhaps because of these very 
 quahties. He slid out of bed and was soon splashing 
 in the shallow bath, which (had he known it) was the 
 greatest of all the marvels in this half-tropical, half- 
 English house set by Lazun Palafox underneath the 
 eaves of the collines of Cancale. 
 
 He was glad now that he had come. The mere 
 effect of distance made Zipporah Katti and her wealth 
 a more possible object of meditation. He tried to 
 puzzle out what was the relationship of little Eza and 
 Zipporah Katti. They were both Palafoxes. Both 
 claimed descent from Lazun. But Eza was clearly 
 jealous of Zipporah, while Zipporah had never so 
 much as mentioned the girl's name. Therefore 
 Zipporah must have something which the small 
 jealous person lacked. 
 
 The estates ? — Lazun to all appearance had enough 
 for all. 
 
 Beauty ? — So far as he could see by the gloaming 
 and the stars, little Eza had also her share of that. 
 
 She might be naturally jealous — born "in the green " 
 as emperors in the purple. At any rate Paul would 
 
 160
 
 GOBELET 161 
 
 be sure to find out. When he had dressed he looked 
 in upon his uncle. That good man was busy with 
 a book in a comfortable window seat. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," said Paul, " have you seen 
 any breakfast coming along ? " 
 
 " I give little heed to the creature comforts," said 
 his uncle; "indeed I fear I had forgotten myself in a 
 wonderfully spiritual chapter of Augustine. But 
 you are not yet old enough to care about the City 
 of God " 
 
 " I have read the Confessions,^^ said Paul ; " I 
 liked the part about his mother " 
 
 " That is very well, but of the earth earthy," said 
 the Doctor. " Oh, such crises are necessary to be 
 passed through, I doubt not, but^-there are things 
 in the life of every man that — the less said about the 
 better ! " 
 
 " Every man has a right to confess his own iniqui- 
 ties," said Paul; "it was because Byron insisted 
 on confessing other people's that they burned his 
 diary ! " 
 
 " Byron " — said the Doctor — " I have had no time 
 in my life to peruse the recent vernacular poets, but 
 I have read the accounts of his grandfather's voyages. 
 They are very informative." 
 
 " Did they say anything about breakfast, uncle ? 
 Even shipwrecked mariners are generally allowed 
 that ! " 
 
 A rap fell on the door, and the voice of Lazun asked 
 if he might come in. He was regarded with hope by 
 Paul, but it appeared as if he had only paused a 
 moment for the purpose of getting news of the night 
 which the Doctor had passed under his roof. 
 
 " Comfortable ? Oh, most comfortable and very 
 well off, thanks to you," said the minister. " I spent 
 all my time till well after the midnight hour in reading 
 the books I brought from your precious library, and 
 I have been busy since the early hour at which I 
 awoke — the light at this season being particularly 
 favourable for such studies ; I have therefore enjoyed 
 much wonderful communion with the wise while 
 
 M
 
 162 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 this young lad was still asleep. But that comes of 
 his age ! " 
 
 " Breakfast is waiting in the hall," said Lazun, 
 " we mostly take our meals there for convenience of 
 service. Something is always ready on the sideboard 
 at all hours. But now, being honoured by your 
 presence, I have provided what may remind you of 
 Orraland ! " 
 
 On Lazun's table they found porridge made of 
 rough-ground Galloway meal. Each plate was 
 flanked by a silver tankard of cool cream, and to 
 Paul's joy, a row of dishes kept hot by a double 
 bottom of hot water intimated possibilities of fish 
 or bacon and eggs. 
 
 " Beats Paris, sir ! " said Paul as he sat down 
 hastily almost before his uncle's blessing reached the 
 port of " Amen." 
 
 A faint smile flickered on Lazun's face. He ex- 
 cused himself from partaking with them on the ground 
 that he had breakfasted early — in fact before going 
 over to St. Malo. But he appeared pleased by the 
 vigour of Paul's attack upon the good things which 
 had come from so far. The Doctor asked how in 
 Brittany Lazun could manage to obtain such charac- 
 teristic Galloway dainties as oatmeal (" surely from 
 Gelston," remarked the connoisseur looking up from 
 his porridge) and cured mutton-ham. 
 
 " Good ! " assented Lazun with the appreciation 
 of one who has tried his best vintage upon one of the 
 elect, " it comes from Gelston Mill indeed, and it is 
 not every man, even in Galloway, who would know 
 as much. As for the mutton-ham, I have, as you 
 know, long given up direct traffic with those parts. 
 But there is still an aftermath of coming and going, 
 of truck and barter, among the younger men who for 
 their own purposes visit the Clyde and Solway every 
 year. Then they are sure to come across some of the 
 old-time folk who have not forgotten Lazun Palafox." 
 
 As soon as the meal was over Paul escaped. At 
 that time he was not greatly interested in the reminis- 
 cences of his seniors — not at least with such a bewitch-
 
 GOBELET 163 
 
 ing mystery as little Eza in the neighbourhood. He 
 had no idea, he told himself, of forgetting Zipporah 
 Katti. There was no one like Zipporah. There 
 never could be — never would be. His heart, unhappily 
 for himself, was fixed on that point — unhappily, be- 
 cause in view of her recent great fortune, Zipporah 
 had been removed out of his sphere. 
 
 But there remained his scarce begun, altogether 
 unsatisfactory, acquaintance with little Eza, who had 
 been so humble and silent before Lazun, and so much 
 the contrary with himself. Paul, spurred by remem- 
 brance of her abuse of Zipporah and her scarcely 
 veiled contempt for himself, went forth determined 
 to find her. But he was not prepared for the ex- 
 traordinary complexity of Gobelet — that is, of the 
 hinterland of Lazun's Cancale dwelling. 
 
 The front was simple enough — green lawns and 
 paths of shifting shade leading to points of outlook 
 on the cliff, neatly railed in, kiosked, and furnished 
 with chairs of cane and iron. Nothing there that 
 Paul could find but silence and Seabreeze — a retired 
 mariner's paradise. But when he had ventured out 
 on the St. Malo road he came upon great wagons 
 which were being tugged and traced up the slope, to 
 the accompaniment of cracking whips and swearing 
 carters. 
 
 Paul was of some service to one man, a broad 
 apple-cheeked Norman, in the way of blocking 
 opportunely a wheel with a large stone at a dangerous 
 corner, and with him he continued till they came to the 
 great gates of a vast court. Here was a porter-lodge, 
 a mastiff chained in a barrel, a wide yard between the 
 opening doors, and in fact, all the appointments of 
 those pares a fourrages, or reserves of hay and straw, 
 to be seen everywhere in France where there are regi- 
 ments of cavalry or artillery. 
 
 But though the gatekeeper admitted the Norman 
 carter and his horses readily enough, he came near to 
 shutting the door in Paul's face with a curse, while 
 the mastiff stood rattling his chain and gurgling 
 imprecations deep in his throat. But from one of 
 
 M 2
 
 to 
 
 164 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 the white-painted doors came a young man trowsered 
 in white ducks who touched a ship's officer's cap of 
 the same kind as that worn by Lazun. He was tall, 
 good-looking, and with a belted waist that made him 
 seem slim as a girl. He looked merely amiable to 
 Paul, but a girl would have seen at a glance that his 
 dark eyes were fvill of magic. 
 
 He uttered a brief word of explanation to the yard 
 guardians, who retired, dog and man growling in 
 chorus, to their several dens in kennel and elongated 
 sentry-box. 
 
 " You are staying with the Chief," said the young 
 man smiling ; " I am Leon, Eza's brother, she told me 
 about you last night." 
 
 Somehow Paul was secretly relieved to hear of the 
 relationship, and answered that the j^oung lady had 
 been good enough to show him where some of the 
 night lights indicated famous neighbouring towns 
 and lighthouses. 
 
 " Eza probably got them all wrong," said the lad 
 with brotherly frankness, " but I hear she was spitting 
 at Zipporah Palafox like a little cat. I told her what 
 I thought of her. Girls are always like that — either 
 with their arms about each other's necks or with all 
 their claws out for battle." 
 
 " What is the matter between these two ? " Paul 
 inquired; " I never heard Zipporah Katti say a word 
 about . . . your sister." 
 
 The young man laughed and turned on Paul with 
 a quiet, lithe grace reminiscent of Eza Palafox. 
 
 " Don't you see ? " he said, " that is just the reason. 
 The Chief has always made more of Zipporah Katti 
 than of any others of his people. If I were a girl, I 
 dare say I might . . . have shown my claws also. 
 She certainly has had the pickings " 
 
 " When I met her she was travelling with an 
 encampment of gipsies who were selling horses at a 
 fair ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know," the young man answered, " the 
 Lees — they are the best of the lot. I had my share 
 of that work first. But I took care to be no success
 
 GOBELET 165 
 
 at it — I wanted to be put to the sea. But I hope you 
 mentioned nothing to Lazun Palafox about what Eza 
 said to you." 
 
 " Of course not — do I look as if I would ? " Paul 
 flushed with anger. The young sailor took his arm 
 familiarly. " I never supposed it for a moment," he 
 said, " but at the same time I have to reassure my 
 sister. The Chief does not give more than one chance 
 to those who talk too much. Anything else he can 
 forgive." 
 
 " I suppose you belong to the Golden Flagon, the 
 ship that arrived last night ? " 
 
 The young man gazed at Paul intently, but did not 
 answer directly. 
 
 " What do you know of the Golden Flagon .^ " he 
 said at last. 
 
 " Of this present one, only that Lazun Palafox told 
 me last night of her arrival " 
 
 " Oh, did he — I should not have expected that. 
 He must have some confidence in . . . your uncle — 
 the old man is your uncle, isn't he ? " 
 
 Paul nodded. 
 
 " And your name is Paul Wester ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " 
 
 Leon, the young sailor of the Golden Flagon, looked 
 across the busy yard towards a sort of counting-house 
 with a tall flagstaff and a businessUke weighing- 
 machine in front. Two men were coming out of the 
 white-painted door. One, tall and grey-headed, with a 
 moustache still blond and long, carried a sheaf of 
 papers in his hand. His companion was obviously 
 a Spaniard of the south, such as may be seen any day 
 upon the quays of Valencia or Cadiz — small, wiry, 
 with the peculiar oily glitter of the eye which makes 
 at once the charm and the danger of men of Rom- 
 any blood — such a man as made up the rank and 
 file of the little, lithe infantry, smoked and tanned 
 like tobacco leaf, which overran Europe in the great 
 days of the Emperor and Philip the Second. 
 
 The young man had evidently been watching the 
 door. For as soon as it opened he swung round, and
 
 166 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 taking Paul with him they went to meet the new- 
 comers. They were now talking eagerly together, 
 and papers were withdrawn and returned to the 
 portfolio held by the tall, blond man as if they had 
 not sufficiently discussed some matter which had been 
 occupying them indoors. 
 
 " I tell you," exclaimed the little sun-dried man, 
 speaking French with an accent markedly meridional, 
 " I for one have had enough of this. There must 
 be some clear understanding about what is to happen 
 . . . after. ^^ 
 
 " The Old Man will keep it all in his hands as long 
 as he lives," said the tall man with the papers calmly. 
 " You can go and argue with him if you like, but at 
 present / have no fancy for having my throat cut." 
 
 The pairs were now within earshot of each other, 
 and still Leon Palafox led Paul forward. The elder 
 two looked up with a something of annoyance. The 
 man with the papers acknowledged the salute of young 
 Leon Palafox with the indifference which comes of 
 long usage. The little dark man took no notice at 
 all, but passed on his way without a glance at the two 
 young men. 
 
 " Captain," said Leon Palafox, standing at attention 
 before his superior officer, " permit me to introduce 
 to you Mr. Paul Wester, who is staying at Gobelet 
 with his uncle." 
 
 The tall blond man compressed his lips. The roll 
 of papers was perhaps clutched a trifle more tightly 
 in his fine nervous fingers, but he answered readily 
 enough — 
 
 " Ah, yes — from Scotland, I think. Forgive me 
 if I am wrong. I too have visited Galloway in my 
 time, when business called me northwards more 
 often than it does now. I have also heard of your 
 uncle. Dr. Laird of Maxwellton. No one can be long 
 in Galloway without doing that." 
 
 He smiled at Paul, as he watched him, and there 
 was something scrutinizing in that gaze, of the full 
 intensity of which Paul was not at the moment aware. 
 
 " You are studying for the Church, I presume ? "
 
 GOBELET 167 
 
 he went on without taking his eyes off the j^oung 
 man's face. 
 
 " No, sir," Paul repHed courteously, " I am taking 
 up journalism — in Edinburgh." 
 
 " On the Thistle Crown ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Paul, and then with a jerk of pt^de 
 at the name heard so far from home, " I am only 
 beginning, you know ! " 
 
 " Your age would not allow of more," said the tall 
 man ; " I am the captain of the steamer out yonder. 
 She is a fast boat, the last of a long line of Golden 
 Flagons which have traded from this port — and in 
 some degree made its fame. Perhaps you would care 
 to come aboard one of these days and look her over. 
 Better not put off too long though. For the patron 
 over yonder" (he turned his head in the direction of 
 Lazun's verandahed house) " does not keep us long 
 gadding about on shore ! " 
 
 The Captain of the Golden Flagon nodded a brief 
 farewell to Paul, and went on to rejoin the broad- 
 shouldered, tobacco-coloured little man who stood 
 in the shadow of the porter-lodge deep in conference 
 with the sullen-faced guardian of the yard. Leon 
 Palafox seemed in high spirits after the interview. 
 
 " Took to you from the first," he said ; "the Captain 
 does not take to everybody, and to tell you the truth, 
 when I made up to him, I was quaking in my shoes." 
 
 Paul had no time to ask him why. A new pheno- 
 menon occupied his attention. 
 
 Across the court came Eza, all in white, simple 
 and fresh as a splash of sea foam. Her red-gold hair 
 (the surprising beauty of which Paul had not seen 
 the night before) was crowned by one of the cheap 
 garden hats of coarse straw to be got anywhere in 
 France for ten sous. She was even more wonderful 
 than Paul had imagined — not in Zipporah Katti's 
 dark boyish style (which, Paul told himself, he 
 admired exclusively) — but with a curious piquancy 
 nevertheless — the irritating attraction so dangerous 
 to a young man, of a pretty girl who frankly despises 
 him and makes no secret of her contempt.
 
 168 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 In such case there always comes to a young man of 
 spirit, the hope that contempt may only cloak a real 
 attraction. And in spite of Zipporah Katti, Paul 
 knew no reason why he should stand ill in the eyes 
 of Little Eza. He had no idea of making love to her — 
 of course not. But his feelings were definitely hurt. 
 He had not been accustomed to be so treated either 
 in Edinburgh or Galloway. And especially not in 
 Galloway. 
 
 Brother and sister kissed one another on both cheeks 
 — a proceeding which still seemed strange to the young 
 Scot. For in his country the display of affection 
 among relations is in inverse ratio to nearness of blood 
 and real kindliness. 
 
 One may welcome a distant cousin, permit a certain 
 warmth to show itself in the case of an uncle or aunt, 
 but between brothers and sisters a certain austere 
 rudeness is the height of correctness, and any signs 
 of amity, much less affection, between husband and 
 wife, are held to be positively indecent, and a reason 
 for asking to see the parties' marriage lines. 
 
 " What have you two been up to ? — Little good, 
 I will warrant," Eza Palafox tossed her weighty hair 
 to show the red lights and tawny shadows upon it. 
 She lifted one hand, sown with golden freckles on a 
 creamy ground, to the level of her brow, and looked 
 at her brother and Paul from beneath it. 
 
 " Beware of him, good young man from Scotland. 
 He will surely lead you into mischief ! " she said. 
 
 " I have just introduced him to the captain of the 
 Golden Flagon,''^ said Leon, with smiling coolness, 
 " and they took to one another from the first. The 
 old boy invited him aboard — what do you think of 
 that ? " 
 
 The colour was suddenly struck out of the girl's 
 face. Her hands came down from behind her neck 
 where she had netted them nonchalantly as a 
 protection from the sun. She laid one on Paul's 
 arm. 
 
 " He must not go^ — Leon, I hate you ! " she cried, 
 and then turning to Paul she added, " You will not
 
 GOBELET 169 
 
 go ? Promise me that you will not go — at least, not 
 without Lazun ... or me ! " 
 
 " I fear I promised, or at least that the Captain 
 of the Golden Flagon understood that I would come 
 on board. But I should be honoured indeed, if 
 you would accompany me — jour brother would be 
 there " 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," said Leon gaily, " I have 
 enough to do with the old hooker when at sea. I 
 spend no time aboard her these days. My sister can 
 take care of you, since she has taken the charge out 
 of my hands ! " 
 
 Whereupon Leon saluted with the quick wilfulness 
 he had shown to the yard-keeper and whistled himself 
 away down the St. Malo road. The girl looked after 
 him and smiled. 
 
 " Somebody has been treading on little brother's 
 corns," she said softly ; " little brother is annoyed. I 
 like that ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 " THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME " 
 
 " Do you love her very much ? " demanded this 
 astonishing girl as Paul and she left the yard and its 
 guardian Cerberus behind. The road glared blind- 
 ingly before them, blazing white in the sun of mid- 
 summer. 
 
 " Eh ? " ejaculated Paul, scarcely believing his 
 ears. 
 
 As she passed out the girl had plucked a large 
 cabbage leaf from Cerberus's private garden, and now 
 held it up to shade her head from the sun. From 
 underneath this green parasol she regarded Paul 
 without permitting him to know it. 
 
 " I said, do you love her very much ? " she 
 repeated. 
 
 " Love who ? " faltered Paul to gain time. 
 
 Little Eza's laugh trilled out clear and thin as that 
 of a cicada singing its song among the July leaves. 
 
 "■ That is not worthy of you," she said. " If you 
 love a girl, say so. If you only want her for her money 
 — well, we shall know what to think." 
 
 " You mean Zipporah Katti ? " 
 
 " Who else ? " again the laugh rang like falling 
 silver coins, " did you think I was speaking for my- 
 self ? " 
 
 " I did not think anything at all," said Paul 
 lamely. He was no expert practitioner at this 
 game of words. Little Eza had the upper hand 
 every time. More, she knew it, and forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to play with Paul, with the mercilessness 
 usual to her sex when equipped with such knowledge. 
 
 They had now turned into the Gobelet orchards, 
 
 170 
 
 &
 
 ' THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME ' 171 
 
 and Eza Palafox was using her cabbage-leaf sunshade 
 as a combined fan and fly-flap. She allowed it to 
 play about Paul's face, tapping here, and encircling 
 hirn there, all in sport of course, at least in appearance, 
 but startling him with a revelation of the scent of her 
 hair and shoulders as she looked up at him, mocking 
 and provocative both at once. 
 
 Still Paul did not answer. He had a stubborn 
 aversion to speaking his mind. He found it still more 
 difficult to lie. His GalloAvay shamefacedness had 
 not yet worn off him (as it did afterwards with extreme 
 completeness). 
 
 " I have nothing to do with Zipporah Katti," he 
 said at length, " nor have you." 
 
 " Oh, haven't I ? " Little Eza answered, sitting 
 dov,n on a tree trunk and indicating to Paul Wester 
 a place beside her. " Do you think Zipporah Katti 
 as pretty as I am ? " 
 
 " I do ! " said Paul valiantly. But he found him- 
 self quite unable to add, as he felt he ought to — the 
 %vords, " She is much prettier." 
 
 That is the disadvantage of distance in such matters. 
 Paul's love for the girl of the Dulse Cavern had by no 
 means wandered or lessened. Only he was face to 
 face with Little Eza. 
 
 But a boy is always a boy — and for that matter, 
 a man is a man. 
 
 It is difficult to tell a pretty girl that another whom 
 she dislikes is prettier than herself. Especially when 
 after flouting you, she has received you into sudden 
 favour, interested herself in your welfare, protected 
 you from danger, and is now fanning you with a look 
 in her velvet eyes which does not bear dwelhng upon 
 too long. 
 
 Looking down Paul Wester saw a vision of clear 
 and wonderful eyes, like those of Eza's brother Leon 
 (but affecting him quite differently), a red mouth with 
 moist full lips, a rather pale face, the whole framed in 
 an aureole of golden-ruddy hair. He knew that there 
 was a little clucking pulse that came and went in the 
 girl's throat as if she were swallowing down her emotion
 
 172 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 — emotion of which he was somehow the cause — 
 while under the fine lace of the dainty dress, feehngs 
 apparently still more poignant rose and fell. All this, 
 wholly intentional on Eza's part, caused Paul to thrill 
 so that quick pulses beat lightly at his temples and 
 his very fingers and toes crisped themselves like the 
 claws of a cat expertly caressed. 
 
 There was certainly no unfaithfulness to the girl 
 of the Cave in the words which, in all truth and sin- 
 cerity, presently found themselves somehow issuing 
 out of Paul Wester's lips. 
 
 " I never dreamed of seeing any one so beautiful 
 as you ! " he said. A glitter of triumph lit up in 
 Little Eza's eyes. She shook her head, and then, 
 with a wise smile she said : " Ah, I see ! You have told 
 the same to Zipporah Katti — and other girls as 
 well." 
 
 " No," said Paul, a little sadly, as if the confession 
 were being wrung from him, " it is true. I speak the 
 truth. I have never seen any one so beautiful as you. 
 I did not mean to tell you. I am a fool to say it. I 
 love Zipporah Katti, but I cannot help it. You are 
 the fairest thing man ever saw in the world." 
 
 And for the moment he was right. The thing, so 
 far as he was concerned was true, though he should 
 have kept the knowledge to himself. Paul did not 
 know when to hold his tongue. It is always the girl 
 a man sees at the theatre, or crossing his path in the 
 street, or standing far above him on a balcony to 
 which he cannot climb, whom in his heart he counts 
 the fairest and most desirable — never the plain every- 
 day wife or sweetheart. At least the exceptions are 
 so few as to be proof of the rule. Yet this does not pre- 
 clude affection, nor companionship, nor future fidelity. 
 It is only the " might-have-been " chapter in every 
 man's life, which, when on his pillow he listens to the 
 inwardnesses of the night, returns to his wakeful 
 spirit again and again. He wonders what woidd 
 have happened if — if ! And in vain he strives to 
 turn the page which ends with that irrevocable IF. 
 
 But Paul did not know that a man generally ends
 
 'THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME' 173 
 
 by seeing beauty in the woman who treats him as if 
 she possessed it. A woman uses the prerogatives of 
 beauty. She sets herself to be attractive to one man, 
 and (so far as that man is concerned) she becomes so. 
 That is why the offhand, " hail-fellow-well-Jack " 
 girl hangs on the stays, while others, with fewer 
 advantages of beauty or wealth, ask her to be their 
 second bridesmaid. 
 
 Zipporah Katti had swung her legs and cuffed Paul 
 into submission. Little Eza had set herself to be only 
 beautiful in his eyes, and lo ! she was. 
 
 But Paul was so inconceivably verdant that when 
 Eza said to him, tauntingly : " You dare not say 
 that to Zipporah Katti ! " he answered : " I not only 
 dare, but I will, the first time I get the chance. I 
 love her more — but you are more beautiful than 
 she is ! " 
 
 Then Little Eza clapped her hands and cried : " I 
 am so glad. I would give all I possess to see her face 
 when you tell her. But meantime here is something 
 to keep you from forgetting." 
 
 And before Paul Wester knew what the mischievous 
 fay of Gobelet orchards had in store for him, twin 
 red lips, soft, warm and moist were upon his. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Paul starting like one who has been 
 unexj3ectedly douched with ice-cold water. Little 
 Eza Palafox's laughter tinkled in a silver shower. 
 
 " I see," she said, " I wager that you will not 
 forget now. Zipporah Katti never kissed you hke 
 that ! " 
 
 " She never kissed me at all ! " said Paul indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " Well, I have," said Eza calmly, " and you can 
 tell her if you like — and how you like it ! " 
 
 Paul had an inspiration. He noted the tone in 
 which Little Eza spoke. 
 
 " Why, what has she done to you that you should 
 hate her so ? " 
 
 " Done — nothing ! Only she has everything done 
 jor her, while I have to do everything for myself — by 
 which you profited just now, my friend."
 
 174 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 She nestled against him, rubbing a soft cheek against 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " If I were you, I should ask my uncle to take me 
 away. I am a dangerous companion for innocent 
 little boys. Please go away ! " 
 
 Paul was duly indignant, as had been intended. 
 
 " I do not need my uncle," he said, with perhaps 
 more than the necessary emphasis, " to tell me how 
 to conduct myself ! " 
 
 He regretted the speech the moment after. For 
 Little Eza instantly replied : " He would tell you 
 to conduct yourself differentl}^ and elsewhere if 
 you did ! But you can keep the whole story for 
 Zipporah Katti. That will be better — and certainly 
 braver ! " 
 
 Paul was seated with his back against the trunk of 
 a still growing tree, and as the log on which the two 
 sat was of short dimension though extremely thick, 
 Eza gradually slid down towards him. This happened 
 partly because of the slope of the log and partly 
 because of that action of gravitation which draws the 
 lesser to the greater — chiefly, however, because she 
 Avanted to. Little Eza was soon seated more upon 
 Paul's knees than upon the hard butt of the fallen 
 tree, 
 
 " Why do you look at me as if I would bite ? " 
 demanded that enterprising young person from under 
 her eyelashes. 
 
 " I did not know — I was not aware " Paul 
 
 began uncomfortably. " And ti-ti-ti and ta-ta-ta ! " 
 interrupted Eza irreverently. 
 
 " Tell me" (she said " Dis, Paul," in the dehcious 
 French fashion) "if you had not known that Zipporah 
 first, you would have loved me best ? — Dis, Paul, 
 dis ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Paul hoarsely, flattening him- 
 self against the apple-tree at his back, " but what is 
 the use ? I did know her first." 
 
 Little Eza suddenly thrust soft arms about his neck 
 with a kind of childish impulsiveness. She clasped 
 her hands behind his head, which she pulled downward
 
 'THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME' 175 
 
 in order that he should be compelled to look full into 
 her upturned eyes. 
 
 " Oh, you dear," she said, " I don't mind a bit 
 having to do all the love-making to you. I should 
 have liked you anyway. I did like you last night. 
 I suppose it is being a gipsy that makes me a born 
 poacher. I only care for game caught in other folk's 
 preserves. And I care about you twenty times more 
 because you belong to Zipporah Katti. I will fairly 
 love that girl out of your heart ! See if I don't ! " 
 
 Now Paul belonged to the older generation of lovers 
 who still believe in constancy, and such things as 
 oaths exchanged over running water. He thought 
 "The Gardener's Daughter" the most beautiful love 
 poem in the world — that, and parts of "Maud." 
 Which is to say that he was exceedingly simple, 
 natural, and fitted for a girl Hke Little Eza to play 
 pranks upon. 
 
 Still there was a point beyond which he could not go. 
 Little Eza could bewilder him. She could cause cer- 
 tain chords of his nature to vibrate as the proud and 
 solitary nature of Zipporah Katti could never have 
 imagined herself doing. 
 
 For Mistress Eza was a young person of experience, 
 besides being a charmer born of a line of natural 
 charmers. She was on her own ground on the bosky 
 collines of the Gobelet orchards, and what with 
 petting, laughter and tears she kept Paul beside her 
 till the moment arrived for A\'hich she had been 
 excitedly waiting. 
 
 Of course Paul ought to have got up and gone away 
 directly, but if such was for the moment his intention, 
 Eza, with the quickness of intuition natural to such 
 pretty experimental philosophers, forestalled him. 
 
 She stopped rubbing the tips of her fingers down his 
 cheeks. Then she sat farther off and began to laugh 
 softly as if to herself. Her eyes, bright and mis- 
 chievous, glanced sidelong at Paul. 
 
 " Why, we must behave," she said. " I believe if 
 any one had seen us they would have taken us for a 
 couple of fools lovemaking. Instead we are only good
 
 176 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 friends, are we not ? Brother and sister, like Leon 
 and I — and I will dance at your wedding with Zip- 
 porah Katti. But you must not tell her I made you 
 say I was nice-looking. You only did it to please me, 
 I know " 
 
 " No," said Paul, with a loyal melancholy. " I 
 thought it and I think it. You are beautiful, but I 
 love Zipporah Katti. It came to me when I first saw 
 her ! " 
 
 " You poor dear ! " cried Eza impulsively, her ready 
 arms about his neck, and her lips on his cheek warm 
 with tender comfort. She held him thus, till, as she 
 had anticipated, the white door which led from her 
 uncle's private garden parlour was opened, and 
 Lazun and Dr. Laird came out behind them. 
 
 Of the twain, only Little Eza had heard the click 
 of the latch, and the tread of the two men upon the 
 soft, leaf-strewn sward of the orchard. But the sound 
 made her nestle the closer to Paul Wester, and 
 lay her cheek against his. Her golden curls fell in 
 spray about his face. She raised her voice and sang 
 the praises of Zipporah Katti with her lips very near 
 to his ear, so that to both of the old men who had 
 stepped out of the pleasant shadowy room where 
 Lazun's ancestral books were bestowed, it appeared 
 that Eza was sitting upon Paul Wester's knee who 
 was kissing her. So indeed she intended it should 
 seem. 
 
 " Now, young man," the loud authoritative voice 
 of Lazun broke on Paul's ear, " would you make love 
 to my entire family ? It is out of sight, out of mind 
 with you, evidently. That, I fear, runs in the blood. 
 What did I tell you, Dr. Laird ? " 
 
 " Paul, what is this ? " said his uncle " Pray 
 explain yourself, sir — you have every need, consider- 
 ing all I have done for you ! " 
 
 Paul was on his feet, pale and desperate, as he faced 
 his Judges, for not a word rose to his lips. He could 
 not tell the truth. He could not accuse Eza, nor yet 
 recount his own weakness. He had a premoni- 
 tion that to do so would have made him look more
 
 *THE WOMAN TEMPTED ME' 177 
 
 ridiculous than ever, at least in Lazun's eyes, and 
 contemptible in those of his uncle. Therefore he 
 stood altogether silent. 
 
 As for Little Eza, she had vacated her place with 
 a quick bound as soon as Lazun's voice was heard, 
 and was now crouched at the other end of the log, 
 sobbing with tearless eyes into a dry handkerchief, 
 and laughing within herself to think what Zipporah 
 Katti would say. 
 
 Lazun Palafox watched Dr. Laird with keen ironic 
 eyes. 
 
 " I suppose," he said, " that in the circumstances, 
 you will agree that what we have been saying to each 
 other about certain young people had better be con- 
 sidered as unsaid. I do not blame the instability of 
 youthful blood. But, much as I admire the adventur- 
 ous readiness of this young hero, I think that it will 
 be better not to arrange anything till he has made up 
 his mind. He cannot marry the rather extensive 
 Palafox family in the persons of its more agreeable 
 and youthful female members." 
 
 Dr. Septimus Laird stood mournful and reproachful. 
 
 " It is as I feared," he said, " in spite of my best 
 teaching and example, in spite of all I have done for 
 him from his childhood up — warning him to beware of 
 women (according to the word of Solomon the Wise 
 as written in those wondrous early chapters of the 
 Book of Proverbs which is called by his name). The 
 blood of his father is still strong within him. If he 
 had done as I advised him, he would have kept him- 
 self wholly from the snares of women — as St. Paul —   
 as I myself " 
 
 " Oh," said Lazun with a sudden flickering smile, 
 " I should not ask so much. There are few Saints of 
 that sort among bold young men, and fewer still with 
 your own devotion and self-sacrifice. Don't expect 
 too much, Doctor." 
 
 " But Paul — Paul, my lad — my lad," the good man 
 mourned, " in whom I had put my hopes ! I am 
 rightly served thus to build upon earthly foundations. 
 This is a lesson to me — a sore lesson ! " 
 
 N
 
 178 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Take courage," said Lazun, " there is no great 
 harm. I prefer a bold fellow to a milksop any day. 
 But these two girls are my care, and we will e'en say 
 no more about it, till the young man has a little more 
 control of his temperament. Now, Eza, come this 
 way with me ! Don't be too hard on him, Doctor ! " 
 
 And Eza followed, still sobbing into her perfectly 
 dry handkerchief.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE NEW REGIME 
 
 While Paul and his uncle were still upon their 
 adventurous and unfortunate travels, to Paris and 
 Cancale, the time came for Zipporah Katti and Barbara 
 Simpson to return to the Manse. A visit had to be 
 paid as soon as they got back, the very thought of 
 which preyed upon the mind of Zipporah. 
 
 She must go to the Great House of Maxwellton and 
 speak with the lady thereof — who though no more the 
 rightful owner was still " My Lady " to all the country- 
 side. 
 
 The firm of Edinburgh lawj^ers employed by Lazun 
 had explained the position very clearly. She must 
 not give way to any feelings of compassion. It was 
 necessary that they should insist upon her full rights, 
 and obtain immediate possession. Indeed they had 
 so arranged with the Kirkpatrick Maxwell trustees. 
 If anything came in the way, she (Zipporah Katti) 
 had only to write to them. The firm of McMath, 
 Math & McMath were always at her service. The 
 revenue from the estates would make a very consider- 
 able sum — the figures of which would be forwarded 
 when the farm-steadings (too long left to themselves) 
 should be repaired. These moneys should be amply 
 sufficient for her installation. But if at any time 
 (say on the occasion of her marriage) she should be in 
 need of an additional sum, they would be most happy 
 to negotiate the advance. An unencumbered Scot- 
 tish estate was a thing so rare as to be almost a 
 bar to its possessor being received in county society. 
 There was a vulgarity about it ! 
 
 It was clearly understood (at least by her lawyers) 
 
 N 2 179
 
 180 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 that Zipporah Katti was at once to set up a fitting 
 establishment in the Great House of Maxwellton. 
 But to this the httle gipsy, whose home had been 
 mostly upon wheels, to whom the gable chamber at 
 the Manse had represented a paradise of rest, was 
 opposed with a bitter dislike of the unknown and 
 undesired. 
 
 However she must go and call upon the Lady of 
 Maxwellton. So much was a necessity. Nor could 
 it be put off, for there were rumours of the Lady of 
 Maxwellton taking a small house in Cairn Edward 
 town — which thing moved the neighbourhood as if 
 she had intimated her intention of taking in washing ! 
 
 The long walls of the park wliich Zipporah could 
 not yet believe to be hers, appeared higher and bleaker 
 than ever. She followed it rood after rood, mile after 
 mile along the dusty highway. The corn was standing 
 yellow in the fields, undulating in long solemn waves 
 to the distant dyke where the deep metallic green of 
 turnips began. Snug farm-towns stretched out in lines 
 of barns and byres, the houses set well back among 
 tufts of high trees. Yonder was the village, hers too, 
 almost every house of it, and away up by the Cairns 
 of Tudor and Airie all that rolling waste of purple 
 heather was hers. 
 
 Zipporah Katti did not yet take it in. Her mind 
 was all upon what she would find to say to the haughty 
 old lady who despised her as an intruder. 
 
 Barbara was anxious to accompany her, but 
 Zipporah held her position. 
 
 " You have said all you need say, Barbara," she 
 argued, " I am not a baby. I have seen much of the 
 world and my four years at St. Bees have made me 
 a perfect lion ! " 
 
 " You would aye be the better of me," said Barbara, 
 " I misdoubt sorely. Ye will let yourself be imposed 
 upon. Better have let young Mr. McMath do it for 
 
 you." 
 
 " No," said Zipporah Katti, " I know what it is to 
 be turned out of a camp on the roadside by an offi- 
 cious policeman, and these Maxwells of Kirkpatrick
 
 THE NEW RlSGIME 181 
 
 and Orraland have been there for four hundred years. 
 I will go myself." 
 
 " Mind, then," said Barbara, " that you do not 
 anger the lawyers." 
 
 The unspoken malediction as to all lawyers which 
 formed itself in Zipporah's mind, was certainly un- 
 worthy, both in form and spirit, of a young lady who 
 had had the benefit of four years at St. Bees. 
 
 " And then," Babby continued, driving the nails 
 into her argument, " you will mind what Lazun 
 Palafox has done for you. You have no right to play 
 ducks and drakes with his money." 
 
 " No," sighed Zipporah. '' I suppose I must 
 remember that. Still he gave it to me to do as I liked 
 with. He is no Indian giver — to take back with his 
 left hand what he has given with his right. Besides 
 I never asked him, and I do not know why he did it ! " 
 
 " Well, I know," said Barbara, " and for that reason 
 you must do nothing that will spoil Lazun's gift." 
 
 Zipporah Katti paused a while before the white 
 gates of the main lodge. Something of the old fear 
 came upon her. Over there lay the coverts out of 
 which she had helped Raif Palafox and young Hugo 
 Lee with their backloads of plundered fur and feather. 
 Coppice and covert were now her own, and if Raif 
 came this way again, he and Hugo Lee, with perhaps 
 Oliver Rutherford and some of the Smiths, might 
 come poaching as before. Then the gamekeepers 
 would arrive, guns go off — and what to think of her 
 position Zipporah Katti did not know. 
 
 But the greater need expels the lesser, the immediate 
 the farther off, and again the girl was thinking of what 
 she would say when she found herself in the presence 
 of Lady Maxwell. 
 
 The lodge-keeper had come out in answer to the 
 clanging of the rusty bell. She had been at her wash- 
 ing and was rather annoyed at being called away. 
 
 " Well, what is it ? " she cried, rather rudely, wiping 
 soapy hands on her apron. She saw before her only 
 a tall young woman, dressed somewhat unconven- 
 tionally, who carried an ash plant under one arm,
 
 182 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 while in the other hand swung a small black leather 
 satchel. Mrs. Kelly promptly set Zipporah down as 
 an " artist " — one of the people who pestered her as 
 to " good points of view," and sometimes did not 
 bring back the key of the boathouse till she went in 
 search of it — in fact, one of a clan who made her life a 
 burden to her in the tourist season. 
 
 " This is not the day for admittance to the grounds," 
 she snapped, eager to be gone. 
 
 " I think it is ! " said Zipporah, smiling, " at least 
 it is going to be." 
 
 On the spot she resolved to have no more locked 
 gates, if, indeed, it were ever her fate to be the possessor 
 of all this. 
 
 " Have you a permit from the factor ? " said Mrs. 
 Kelly, somewhat astonished at the young person's 
 persistence. Mrs. Kelly prided herself on her eye 
 and its power over intrusives of all kinds. 
 
 " No," said Zipporah Katti, " I am going to call on 
 Lady Maxwell." 
 
 " Name, please ! " said Mrs. Kelly sharply. 
 
 Zipporah thought of giving her one of the cards 
 which she had had printed in Edinburgh (at Barbara's 
 instance), but instead she only said simply — 
 
 " I am Miss Palafox, from the Manse ! " 
 
 " Lord sake ! " cried the alarmed gate-keeper, " you 
 are never herseV — and you walking in the stour o' the 
 road ! Oh, it's shamed of myself that I am, indeed 
 and indeed. And whatever will Patrick, my man, be 
 saying to me. I might have been losing him his place, 
 and all. But I hope, miss, if I may make so bold, 
 that you vnW not let anything I would be saying 
 count against Patrick. He is as good and steady a 
 man as ever was, and respectful — oh, for respect, he 
 was born in County Antrim and trained by the young 
 master — my Lord Hill that is this very day." 
 
 The gate was wide open by this time and Zipporah 
 passed through with a smile and a wave of her hand 
 to Mrs. Kelly. 
 
 " Oh miss, say ye will not keep it up against Patrick 
 — as good a boy and as bould an Orangeman as ever
 
 THE NEW REGIME 183 
 
 came out of County Antrim — I shall not go com- 
 fortable to my bairn's washing if you don't say it, 
 miss ! Me to be a hindrance to Patrick Kelly in his 
 way of life ! " 
 
 " Of course not," said Zipporah, " you only did 
 your duty. I have been so little in the parish for 
 some years. How were you to know me ? " 
 
 " Indeed no," said Mrs. Patrick Kelly, " by me 
 soul, no more than I would know the Pope of Rome 
 if I met him in my porridge ! You walking like a 
 gip — like a quite ordinary person on the highroad, 
 and them telling that you are so rich and all ! " 
 
 The front of the house with its heavy Dutch style, 
 the long rows of mullioned windows, severely moulded, 
 the double stone staircase up to the main hall, where 
 " men might march on ten abreast, nor be pressed," 
 the wide green lawns and vistas of woodland — all 
 served to awe Zipporah Katti. She thought of her 
 little room at the Manse, of the sheltered corner of the 
 orchard where she had so often talked with Paul 
 Wester. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only have had sometliing small and 
 quiet like that ! But all this — it crushes me." 
 
 She felt less than ever inclined to face the titled 
 presence within. Then she wished she had put on 
 one of her best dresses as Barbara had advised. She 
 might, she told herself, have been an upper servant 
 in quest of a place. But she thought of her captaincy 
 of the St. Bees cricket eleven and resolved that she 
 would at least do honour to that election. The 
 memory had more power to help her at that moment 
 than all the blood of all the Palafoxes, and all the 
 wealth of Lazun, chief of the name. 
 
 But so soon as Zipporah Katti had been announced 
 and received, she was glad at once that she had taken 
 her own advice in preference to that of Barbara. 
 Lady Maxwell, in a black cloth dress, severely 
 modelled, stood waiting to receive her. No servant's 
 dress could have been plainer. She belonged to that 
 solidly booted, far-striding, determined race of old 
 Scottish dames, so well-born that there is no need
 
 184 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 for them ever to give a heed to the matter, and so 
 well known to the neighbourhood that the robes of 
 a coronation would add notliing to their dignity. 
 
 A handsome young married woman from London, 
 whose husband was something vague (but rich) in 
 the city, found herself quite wrongfully suspected on 
 account of the dresses in which she came to afternoon 
 teas — pale blue and Honiton lace, worn with a 
 %vindblown swing which Lady Maxwell and her work- 
 ing committee considered to be quite uncalled for 
 and unladylike. What specially urged them to this 
 decision was, at least on the part of the younger 
 ladies, an unconfirmed but lurking suspicion that their 
 own menfolk thought quite differently of the matter. 
 
 In Galloway the Maxwells of Maxwellton were the 
 cousins of everybody who was anybody. For ages 
 they had intermarried, for the most part, with more 
 distant branches of their own family, and now, form- 
 ing a kingdom within a kingdom, opposed a steadfast 
 bulwark of ancient rank to the rising tide of wealth 
 and fashion which at that moment was setting towards 
 the shores of Solway. 
 
 So long as Sir Andrew had lived, his mother had 
 objected nothing to his expenditures. He was the 
 head of the house and might do as he liked with his 
 own. But since his death, she was dowager no more. 
 She became again the active clever housewife and 
 financier, determined to do the best that was possible 
 for young Sir Francis and his sister Fanny. 
 
 Her breakdown on the day when the news of the 
 sale had come, was natural to such a woman, but she 
 had recovered promptly, and set herself to make the 
 best of all things to the last available penny. Now 
 she stood on the hearthrug, her gold eyeglasses firmly 
 set on a rigorous and authoritative nose, her white 
 hair slightly moved by the wind of many open case- 
 ments, and her pale lips so firmly compressed as 
 hardly to leave visible more than the shadowy indica- 
 tion of a mouth, 
 
 " Miss Palafox," said the Lady Maxwell grimly, 
 " you are welcome to your own house."
 
 THE NEW RlSGIME 185 
 
 The focus of the glasses was not working well just 
 at that moment, so the old lady spoke hardly and a 
 little bitterly, as was natural in one so recently dis- 
 possessed. But gradually Zipporah's slim upstanding 
 figure came into the range of the old lady's glasses. 
 There was something curiously lithe and direct about 
 the girl, a " distinctly well-bredness " as she would 
 have said — and then the dress, so simple, so becoming 
 met her old-fashioned views. She might (almost) 
 have been one of " themselves." 
 
 " Bless me," thought the old lady, moHifying greatly 
 as she took in Zipporah Katti, " she reminds me of my 
 niece Catherine Mary — where can she have got that 
 manner ? " 
 
 It was a harder thing than she had anticipated for 
 Zipporah Katti to speak what was in her mind. Her 
 ideas were in a worse whirl than ever. Since she came 
 within the influence of the ancestral memories of the 
 Kirkpatrick Maxwells, so long settled in this place, 
 every rusted sword and suit of graven armour in hall 
 or on wall telling of some great deed done by a Max- 
 well of that ilk — Zipporah's soul had wavered within 
 her. 
 
 " Lady Maxwell," she began at last, steadying her 
 voice to'the St. Bees pitch (which is exceedingly even 
 and characteristic), " my grandfather's lawyers have 
 settled most things with yours, but there are others 
 which can only be spoken of between us." 
 
 " I fail to understand," said the old lady, freezing 
 instantly because she feared that something unworthy 
 of the Kirkpatrick Maxwell traditions might be pro- 
 posed to her. 
 
 " That is my excuse for coming here," said Zipporah, 
 simply. 
 
 " You need no excuse," formulated the old lady 
 sharply, " of course there are measurements, new 
 furnishings, schemes of colour, renovating " 
 
 She spoke in a high, clear tone, but nevertheless 
 there was a tremor in her voice. 
 
 " No, no," said Zipporah, quickly, " that is just 
 what I would wish to avoid. It is hard to explain —
 
 186 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 hard to say what I have to say unless you will help 
 me " 
 
 She paused and the eyes of the old lady softened in 
 spite of herself. " Well, what is it you would like 
 to say to me ? " she said in more level tones. And 
 motioning Zipporah Katti to a seat, she dropped into 
 one herself. 
 
 Over her head, shrined in a glass case like that in 
 which keen sportsmen put the prize fish they have 
 killed, hung the attaindered coronet of that Maxwell 
 who was riding to Bothwell Brig when the " Banner 
 of Blue " went down in blood. 
 
 The sight caught Zipporah Katti's breath. Who 
 was she to alter and dethrone all these things, remov- 
 ing the candlestick out of its place, disturbing thus 
 the march of the solemn centuries. 
 
 " My grandfather, Lazun Palafox," she began 
 bravely, '"' once of Zaragoza, now of Cancale and St. 
 Malo, has bought these properties for me — first, I 
 think, because he thought that he would be settling 
 me in life. He did his duty, for I am his grand- 
 daughter and sole legal heir. But he made the arrange- 
 ments without consulting me, or the good minister 
 with whom, by his consent, I had lived for four years. 
 I could not help all this. The properties were for 
 sale and he bought and paid for them. But Lazun 
 Palafox is mistaken— I do not want to leave the 
 Manse. I do not want to disturb " (she took a quick 
 glance all round the great drawing-room) " all this ! " 
 
 " Nonsense," cried the old lady vigorously, " you 
 must. You are, I hear, of the best blood of Spain. 
 Lazun Palafox himself, if he had not been a wanderer 
 all his life, might have claimed some rank — what was 
 it ? in his own country." 
 
 " A Marquis," said Zipporah, easily, " the title is 
 really his, but at the Revolution of 1835 they made 
 one of the younger branches heir to the title and 
 Grandee of Spain besides." 
 
 The old lady lifted her eyes to the attaindered 
 coronet and then with a sudden change of subject 
 she inquired, " Where were you at school ? "
 
 THE NEW REGIME 187 
 
 " At St. Bees," Zipporah Katti answered, her face 
 clearing at the memory of the long Cumbrian sands 
 and the distant coasts of Galloway wavering uncer- 
 tainly in the noonday heat. 
 
 " I thought you spoke Hke my niece Catherine 
 Mary," said the" Lady of Maxwellton, smiling for the 
 first time, " but she must have gone before your 
 time ? " 
 
 " Kate Maxwell ? " said Zipporah, becoming again 
 captain of the St. Bees First Eleven, " oh yes, she 
 kept wickets in the two last summer terms when I 
 captained the team — very good she was, though a 
 great nuisance sometimes when one had to see that 
 she wore her mask all the time." 
 
 The ice was broken now and the old lady looked at 
 Zipporah Katti with quite other eyes. 
 
 " Well, tell me what you came to say to me, my 
 dear ! " she added the last two words almost without 
 thought. Perhaps she regarded the new-comer as in 
 some degree Catherine Mary's friend, but this slight 
 lapse of memory marked the greatness of the change 
 in her. 
 
 " I thought you might help me — or at any rate, 
 advise me " 
 
 " Certainly — that is, if I can," said Lady Maxw^ell. 
 And then she added, " Better tell me all about it. 
 Then we shall see ! " 
 
 " Well, I will," said Zipporah — and forthwith the 
 dam burst. 
 
 " Oh, I donH want this house — I should not know 
 what to do with it. Will you please look after it for 
 me — just as it is ? If not for me, or for yourself — do 
 for the sake of the children. I have seen them driving 
 by in their little governess cart — and it makes me 
 feel such a brute ! Besides " (she hurried on), " I am 
 thinking of the Doctor. He would never be happy 
 without you to come over and talk parish affairs with. 
 He loves to ti-undle about and look after his poor — 
 who have been yours also for more years than I know 
 about. Please don't make me feel a horrid intruder. 
 Nobody wants me here, and everybody wants you.
 
 188 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 It will be so much better for the children. Sir Francis 
 will have his position when he comes home from school 
 and the little girl will marry the better from the old 
 house." 
 
 My Lady shook her head though with a certain 
 tenderness in her eyes. 
 
 " You will want to marry yourself one of these days, 
 and then, your husband will find no fault with Max- 
 wellton and Orraland ! " 
 
 Zipporah Katti choked suddenly as she tried to 
 speak. But presently the tears ran down her cheeks, 
 made big and slow by the endeavour to keep them back. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " if you only knew — ^if I only could 
 tell you ! " 
 
 My Lady moved nearer to the girl and, drawing in 
 a chair, laid her hand on Zipporah's heaving shoulder. 
 It felt astonishingly young to the fine old withered 
 hand. 
 
 " Once I was like that. I needed advice," said the 
 old lady softly, " I had no one to advise me. But if 
 I can " 
 
 The old lady did not finish her sentence, though her 
 caressing hand spoke to her. Zipporah Katti took 
 courage. 
 
 " There is some one I care about," she said, with 
 that curious avoidance of affectionate words girls use 
 when much in earnest, " some one I like . . . very 
 much. Yes, he is — nice. But he is poor. He writes 
 for his living ... on a paper. I like him to do that. 
 But he does not come near me any more. He is 
 proud and will not . . . think about me ... all 
 because of these old estates " 
 
 " He is a rarity, then," said the old lady, smiling 
 indulgently, " can you not tell me his name — just 
 for myself ? Don't be afraid. There is nobody else 
 on this floor. The children are out with their 
 ponies " 
 
 " It is Paul Wester, the minister's nephew," said 
 Zipporah, flushing hotly, " he cares for me, I know. 
 And I care about him. But what we hoped for is all 
 over. Look at this."
 
 THE NEW R]i:GIME 189 
 
 And she drew from her pocket a letter which she 
 had not shown even to Barbara. 
 
 It was signed with the name of Lazun Palafox, and 
 intimated briefly that by the mianimous decision of 
 Dr. Laird and himself, and according to the desire of 
 Paul Wester, a position had been found for the young 
 man in the office of a leading London daily. Conse- 
 quently he would not return to the North in the mean- 
 time. Paul Wester had, further, passed his word 
 that he would not in any way correspond with Zip- 
 porah Katti. Upon this the elders had insisted. 
 
 The old lady read the letter over twice. 
 
 " He writes well — I mean the English of the letter. 
 But be sure that there is something else " 
 
 " Oh, yes, this property — there can be nothing else. 
 I wish I had never seen it." 
 
 " Um-m," said Lady Maxwell, " perhaps. Still if 
 I were you, I should do nothing in a hurry. You are 
 young. So is Paul Wester. It seems only the other 
 day that he used to sit on my knee when he rode over 
 on the same grey pony as his uncle." 
 
 Zipporah Katti looked at the knee. 
 
 " While his uncle talked," continued Lady Maxwell, 
 " he used to play hide and seek under the table and 
 behind the curtains." 
 
 She patted her lips with the thin wide sheet of 
 foreign post, to hide a smile, watching the direction 
 of Zipporah's eyes. 
 
 " They are putting a wholesome obstacle in the 
 wav of you two," she said, slowly, as if meditating, 
 " but that may not be at all a bad thing. Marriage, 
 when everything goes on greased cog-wheels before, 
 usually jumps the rails after. Husband and wife stick 
 the closer when fresh worries have got to be worried 
 out together all the time." 
 
 " Then you will help us by keeping this house," 
 said Zipporah Katti ; " the lawyers will be furious—- 
 that will be one comfort. I know that if I set up in 
 this great house with nothing to do, I shall lose Paul. 
 In the meantime I want to go on staying at the Manse 
 and helping Barbara — till Paul comes back."
 
 190 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " It all needs consideration," said the old lady. 
 " I do not see how we could stay on here — not without 
 paying a rent ! " 
 
 '"' Well," said the girl, " I have thought of that ! 
 You offered for the Torr Dower House, the woods and 
 the farms — pay me what you like — fifty — a hundred 
 a year." 
 
 " Nonsense, girl, it is worth a couple of thousands." 
 
 " Yes," sighed Zipporah Katti, " more than that 
 to me — to be rid of." 
 
 " You are a very foolish girl," said Lady Maxwell, 
 " and I should have soundly scolded any daughter of 
 mine who proposed to do such an absurd thing " 
 
 " It would be such a comfort to know it off my 
 hands," mourned the girl, " I wish you would say 
 ' Yes.' I should go away so happy." 
 
 The old lad}^ meditated. 
 
 " Of course," she said, " in many ways it would be 
 a great advantage. We have remained on here for 
 a good many months. If it could be arranged on 
 terms which a Maxwell could accept — I do not say 
 but that " 
 
 Zipporah Katti surprised the old lady by throwing 
 her arms impulsively about her neck. 
 
 " Then it shall be," she said, " it is arranged — on 
 any terms you will accept — so long as I can go back 
 to the Manse and — " she was about to say "and wait," 
 but she altered it to " help Barbara." 
 
 " Bless my soul, girl, you quite startled me," said 
 Lady Maxwell, giving her a pat on the cheek, " sit 
 down and compose yourself. I cannot but admit 
 that you are a warm-hearted girl, and there are few 
 who with considerable, if not unlimited, means so early 
 at their disposal, would do likewise." 
 
 " What could I do in a great place like this ? " said 
 Zipporah. " It would be like living alone under a 
 mountain. I should be afraid that it would fall in 
 and crush me." 
 
 " Well," said the old lady, taking the girl's hand, 
 " perhaps you plan better than you think. When the 
 children are married and out in the world, and I
 
 THE NEW REGIME 191 
 
 gone to Another — you can come here with your- 
 
 The shrewd kindly old eyes saw the red mounting 
 to Zipporah's brow and stopped in time. 
 
 " It is well to know of a harbour of refuge," she 
 said, " and I am grateful for the one you offer me 
 where I may finish my days in peace. But if we stay 
 you must come and see me often " 
 
 " Indeed I will," said Zipporah, rising, " now I 
 shall whistle all the way home — j^ou have made me 
 so glad." 
 
 " I am not sure that your grandfather will be quite 
 so pleased," said the old lady smiling. " Remember 
 we are always ready to make room for you." 
 
 " Oh, he will not care. It is the lawyers I am 
 thinking of, and that young Mr. McMath. But I 
 know how to settle him. He shall draw up the 
 agreement." 
 
 Lady Maxwell took down a garden hat from the 
 plumeless spike of a helmet in the hall — where the 
 panoplies of ancient warriors of her name did not 
 disdain to serve as additional hat racks. 
 
 A white-bearded gardener was nervously twiddling, 
 with quite uncalled-for pains, among some plants 
 set out in the shadow of the great Vanbrugh porch. 
 
 " John," said the old lady, " this is Miss Palafox 
 
 of Kirkpatrick and Orraland " (she meant to say 
 
 " of Maxwellton " also, but the courage failed her). 
 
 " At your service, mem ! " said John quaveringly. 
 
 " She is a very kind young lady " 
 
 " Varra like our Miss Katrin," said old John, the 
 immemorial gardener of Maxwellton, who had seen 
 two generations grow up. 
 
 " Now, John, if all comes about as Miss Palafox 
 has been proposing to me, ye will keep your old place 
 under your old mistress — which is just as well, for 
 no other body would put up with your ' thrawness ! ' " 
 
 " Here — at the Big Hoose — just as it was before. 
 The young leddy doesna mean to bide here hersel' ? " 
 
 " She docs not mean to turn us out just yet, John. 
 She has made other arrangements for herself. Now 
 are you pleased ? "
 
 192 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Lord, how rich she maun be," murmured John, 
 " to buy all Orraland and Kirkpatrick from sea to 
 hill-tap — and a' just for fun. It's clean wicked." 
 
 Lady Maxwell touched Zipporah on the arm to 
 intimate that John Torrance's tongue was privileged. 
 
 " At any rate you should be grateful, John," she 
 said, " that no fine young scientific gardener is to have 
 your old cottage by the Ivy Well." 
 
 " I would have burnt it doon first," said John, his 
 voice full of wrath — " sec-entific, indeed. Hear to 
 ye, my leddy. It's you that should ken better. Was 
 not I, John Torrance, brought up along wi' the 
 Tamsons of Dalkeith and Drumlanerick ? And I 
 wad like to see the ' sce-entific ' gairdener that kens 
 ae hundredth pairt o' what is in ane of their wee 
 fingers." 
 
 My lady and Zipporah were moving off when John 
 called after them in his familiar Scots way, " Oh, my 
 leddy, hae I leeberty to warn the country ? " 
 
 " Aye, John," said his mistress, secretly as pleased 
 as himself, " ye can tell the country — ye would do it 
 whether ye had permission or not." 
 
 " Davert, that I would ! " cried John, dropping his 
 tool on the path, and making off in haste. " Lord- 
 sake, whatna bizz there will be ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE LION AND THE LAMB LIE DOWN 
 
 The Manse of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton slept its after- 
 noon sleep — not merely forty winks, nor a nap over 
 a dull book, nor a siesta in a comfortable arm-chair, 
 but a good honest evendown sleep. All Orraland 
 had swathed itself in a coverlet of heat haze, above 
 which one could just discern the still cirrus clouds 
 through which the sun rather filtered than shone 
 in the ordinar}^ way. It was, in fact, a very typical 
 Solway shore day in early autumn. Distant objects 
 wavered and melted as you looked, like a planet seen 
 through a high-power telescope. Noises proceeding 
 from clucking hens and lambs in quest of mothers 
 carried far. Up on the hills grouse-cocks called 
 their decimated families together, and from over 
 ridges of purple, infinitely distant, arrived the faint 
 toc-toc of guns, an aerial sound, telling that the 
 shooters were busy and the pulse of August beating 
 its full. 
 
 Save for these tell-tale shots it might have been 
 a Sabbath morn. But in that case Dr. Laird and 
 his friend, a tall, greyheaded man, would not have 
 been getting out of a hired Cairn Edward wagonette 
 at the " Green Gate," or lesser and longer avenue 
 to the Manse — once indeed the stable drive. For 
 in the absence of any steed other than old Glenkens 
 with his occasional " tub-cart," the minister used 
 the Green Walk chiefly as an adjunct to his study. 
 Here for hours together he strode up and down the 
 soft grass-grown turf, the tall trees sheltering him, 
 and his fine white hands behind his back, carefully 
 tucked under the tails of his black coat. Here he 
 o 193
 
 194 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 pondered his sermons and on those thoughts of a 
 man which are deeper than any sermons he can ever 
 preach. Nearer the village there was a short formal 
 entrance strewn with sea-pebbles taken from the 
 shore down the Tower way. But to-day the Doctor 
 had stopped the driver of the fly at his well-beloved 
 green gate instead of the formal white, looking upon 
 the neat carriage-sweep to the front door. 
 
 The Doctor was again arrayed in his finest clericals. 
 He wore a snowy neckcloth with which special care 
 had been taken by the London laundress he had 
 discovered for Paul. He looked modestly luminous, 
 smilingly happy, and set his feet with undisguised 
 satisfaction upon the grass border of Green Walk. 
 
 His companion was tall, erect, iron-grey, carrying 
 a stern visage slightly upward-flung in the direction 
 of the tree-tops. In a word — Lazun Palafox. He 
 wore a suit of dark cloth, of a good make, nothing 
 old-fashioned about it except the old-seadog cut of 
 the reefer jacket, which set off his still robust and 
 muscular figure. 
 
 " Hey, Jamie," said the minister to the driver, 
 who in good Orraland fashion was plumping the 
 baggage down by the dykeside, " what's that you 
 are doing ? Take all those things round to the 
 stable." 
 
 Then he turned to Lazun and said with a chuckle : 
 " We shall come in upon them and see how they are 
 behaving themselves." 
 
 Lazun was looking about him curiously. His 
 brow was slightly wrinkled as if he could not under- 
 stand. He found something strange about his sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 " We seem to be entering the glebe by the wrong 
 side," he said at last. " The Manse gate opened 
 almost directly upon the road in my time." 
 
 " And it does so still," said the gratified minister; 
 " your time must have been before my time, in that 
 case. For I made this walk and had this gate put 
 up in the first year of my coming to the parish. And 
 that is by no means yesterday."
 
 LION AND LAMB LIE DOWN 195 
 
 Lazun laid his hand gently on the Doctor's shoulder 
 and stayed him from going further, 
 
 " I will tell you something," he said, " perhaps 
 I ought to have told you before. Once I thought 
 to live all my life in Orraland. Yes, in this very 
 village. There is a house, almost your nearest 
 neighbour — you can see its twisted chimney tops 
 from where we stand — a house I built to live in — 
 built with my own hands " 
 
 " What," gasped the Doctor, " you are never the 
 man they call Captain Bunker whom I have heard 
 about ever since I came to the parish ? " 
 
 The old man bowed. 
 
 " The same," he said, " if the gentlemen of His 
 Majesty's Preventive Service had been less officious 
 Captain Bunker might have been your quiet parish- 
 ioner — and in that case neither Lazun Palafox nor 
 his ship the Golden Flagon would ever have been 
 heard of on this coast." 
 
 " Then ' The Hill ' is yours ? " the Doctor ques- 
 tioned, " your property ! And what of Findlater ? " 
 
 " Findlater," said Lazun carelessly, " was only 
 my caretaker. The house itself has long been Bar- 
 bara's, though my ' writers ' in Edinburgh have 
 looked after it for me." 
 
 " You are a wonderful man," said the minister, 
 " you dower one of the women of my household with 
 an estate, and make of the other the owner of the 
 house I have looked out upon when I was shaving 
 any time these four decades." 
 
 " Ah no," said Lazun with a sigh, " there you are 
 wrong. Captain Bunker built that house for Barbara 
 Simpson, and if ever she wants to enter it, it is ready 
 for her." 
 
 The minister sighed this time. 
 
 " I had made some small but not insufficient pro- 
 vision for Barbara myself, in case of my death. But 
 in this, as in everything, I seem to have been fore- 
 stalled. Well, there will be the more for that bad 
 boy Paul ! " 
 
 "Which reminds me," said Lazun dryly, as if the 
 
 O 2
 
 196 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 subject did not please him, " that the sooner we are 
 at the Manse, the more chance we have of getting 
 to the door before the driver." 
 
 The Doctor started, and laying his hand on Lazun's 
 arm, he drew him with a certain boyish haste towards 
 the house. 
 
 The sound of voices, or rather the rise and fall of 
 one strenuous voice, came to them at the final turn 
 of the Green Walk. 
 
 " That is Barbara ! " said the Doctor, at which 
 Lazun nodded silently. 
 
 The window of the pantry opened at the end of 
 the yew-hedge, and through this the voice came in 
 spurts and jerks — now loud and strong, and anon, 
 falling to an unintelligible murmur, from which, never- 
 theless, certain emphatic words stood out clearly 
 enunciated. Barbara was busy at her work and was 
 going between the kitchen and the pantry as need 
 took her, talking all the while. 
 
 " A sin and a shame," she was saying, " you to be 
 here peeling potatoes like a kitchen wench, and 
 lauchin' in my verra face, when I do my duty by 
 reprovin' ye ! It makes my blood run cauld to think 
 what your — what Lazun Palafox will say when he 
 kens." 
 
 " Dear Babby," it was a young voice this time, 
 " please don't get your nice white cap-strings all 
 awry, and make yourself hot about what I have 
 settled for myself. I have written to Lazun, as I 
 have told you fifty times. And besides, I am quite 
 sure he would prefer this beautiful and attractive 
 heiress of his under old Babby's care than lonely 
 and unprotected in the biggest house in the land." 
 
 " And to leave the Maxwells to lord it " 
 
 " Lady it " interrupted Zipporah with a 
 
 laugh. 
 
 " To lord it in the house that is yours, as if it were 
 not yours every stone of it and the money — Lazun's 
 money — paid ! " 
 
 " Let me talk to Lazun Palafox," they heard 
 Zipporah again, her clear full tones reaching them
 
 LION AND LAMB LIE DOWN 197 
 
 punctuated by the cool splash of the peeled potato 
 dropped into the water of the " byne " at her feet. 
 " Lazun has more than one very fine house of his 
 own, but I never heard of him staying very long 
 in any of them." 
 
 The two old men, behind the last flanking tower 
 of the yew-hedge where the Green Walk terminated, 
 looked at each other with amused smiles. They 
 shook their heads, and then Lazun said : " I have 
 only the usual fate of listeners. If I hear no ill of 
 myself here is one of my family setting me at naught, 
 and more than intimating that she can twist me 
 round her little finger. Well, we shall see." 
 
 In half a minute more the two stood within the 
 kitchen itself. At sight of them Barbara let drop 
 the dish she had been carrying, and the pieces flecked 
 the floor in a bombshell spurt of blue and white. 
 She stood breathing deeply, her hand pressed to her 
 side as if something hurt there, her eyes going from 
 one to the other of the two men. She was wondering 
 how much they had told each other, and if her 
 quiet retreat in the Manse of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton 
 was imperilled by that telling. 
 
 Zipporah Katti was thinking much the same thing, 
 but she acted differently. She sprang up, the potato- 
 peehng apron falling away from her, and in another 
 moment she had her arms round Lazun's neck. 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad you have come," she cried, and 
 then low in his ear she added, " don't tell Babby 
 even if you are cross with me. Scold me by your- 
 self afterwards." 
 
 A faint smile flicked about the corners of Lazun's 
 grim mouth, but a kiss on the girl's crisp hair as he 
 bent from his Viking height, told her that so far at 
 least her request had been favourably received. Then 
 with Zipporah Katti still clinging to his arm, he 
 shook hands with Barbara, eye meeting eye in the 
 light of day, friendly, affectionate — no more. Barbara 
 understood that all the old differences had, like good 
 wine long in cave, deposited their acids and refined 
 into the placid sunshine of an unselfish old age.
 
 198 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Yes, Lazun Palafox, who in the strong days of his 
 youth had taken what his hand found of adventure 
 and pleasure, was now thinking and caring for others. 
 And the thing seemed a great miracle to her. 
 
 It was a greater marvel still, because " things seen 
 are mightier than things heard," and because the 
 breaking of a forty-years' habit appears more wonder- 
 ful than the vastest spiritual change. Simply to 
 see Dr. Septimus Laird, her master, laying his hand 
 gently and almost caressingly upon the arm of her 
 husband. 
 
 She wondered if he knew — and how much. That 
 arm on which he leaned had fought the officers of 
 the law. That man had wandered the world, ventur- 
 ing and adventuring everywhere. He had been 
 wounded in the Mexican War, had seen the gallant 
 Emperor-puppet Maximilian shot because a lead- 
 coloured man in Paris had heard a sound as of a 
 myriad of boys-in-blue all "marchingthroughGeorgia." 
 He had been outlawed for gun-running to half the 
 rebel chiefs of two continents, yet had come out of 
 all with his head high, his courage calm and cool, his 
 fame esta^blished, a master of men, money and affairs. 
 
 But nothing of all this appeared so marvellous to 
 Barbara Simpson, as to see the Doctor, gentle and 
 kindly, his hand lifted to pat the giant's sleeve. 
 She wondered what Lazun's heart held at that 
 moment. 
 
 But it was immediately clear that they could not 
 talk where they were. Barbara could express no 
 more surprise than the splintered blue of the " willow 
 pattern " had expressed for her. She regained her 
 self-respect in the only way possible to such a woman. 
 
 She bade them all go elsewhere. Since they had 
 come without giving notice, there would be dinner 
 to provide — and for men — that was a different 
 thing from dinner for two solitary women-folk. 
 
 " I think there is a basket somewhere," said the 
 Doctor, glancing at Lazun Palafox. " Where is 
 that slug Jamie Nay ? Has he not brought up the 
 things yet^? "
 
 LION AND LAMB LIE DOWN 199 
 
 But at that moment certain shuffling sounds in 
 the court betrayed the arrival of " that slug Jamie 
 Nay." 
 
 " Never mind the portmanteaux," said the Doctor, 
 rubbing his hands, " Jamie can carry them upstairs. 
 But there is some marketing here for you, Barbara ! " 
 
 " Save us," cried Babby, as she opened the basket 
 — a lid of wicker fastened with a hook — " a leg of 
 mutton, kidneys, a lobster, sardines, fruit, and game, 
 half-a-dozen grouse ! Lordsake, what are we to 
 do wi' a' that proveesion ? And wine ! " 
 
 She stood up after roughly enumerating the trea- 
 sures, still holding the lid of the basket by a tag tied 
 to the wicker. 
 
 " Doctor," she said, " it was never you that thought 
 of this. You would have brought half-a-dozen on 
 us with as little warning, and nothing to be had in 
 all Orraland except eggs and bacon ham ! " 
 
 " And excellently good, too," said the Doctor. " I 
 am sure this gentleman here would rub his hands 
 at one of your Orraland teas, with bacon crisp and 
 skirling from the pan, fresh eggs, and plenty of 
 oat-cake, scones, and jam of your own making " 
 
 " Indeed that would I ! " interrupted Lazun cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 " But he would insist, for your happiness and 
 your anxiety for the honour of the Manse, on having 
 that hamper packed, in spite of all I could say." 
 
 Barbara looked at Lazun half gratefully, half snap- 
 pishly. She was glad, but the housekeeper within 
 her felt somehow disgraced that she should be caught 
 thus unprepared. 
 
 " You might surely have spent a penny stamp on 
 letting us know you were coming ! " she said, with 
 a toss of her chin, " but being men, of course, you 
 never thought of it ! " 
 
 " On the contrary," the Doctor beamed as he 
 returned tit for tat, " we thought very specially about 
 it. But we decided not to, for fear we should find 
 the birds flown and the nest empty."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 SMUGGLING BROUGHT UP TO DATE 
 
 The screw-steamer Golden Flagon had a little 
 business on the verges of Solway. She had brought 
 a considerable cargo of primeurs, which are early 
 potatoes, fresh vegetables, cantelopes, melons, plums, 
 peaches, apricots, greengages, consigned from France 
 to the north midland markets. These must be 
 brought by sea in properly constructed fast ships, 
 and few things floated between the Grouin of Cancale 
 and Pladda Light to which the Golden Flagon could 
 not show a clean pair of heels. 
 
 Moreover the crates on her deck were purposely 
 so arranged as to give her a perfectly regular and 
 mercantile look. Her engines were masked so that 
 their horse-power would not betray the marvellous 
 speed which could be developed when the chief 
 engineer winked at his second-in-command. 
 
 The Golden Flagon called at the Isle of Man first, 
 for the sake of the summer visitors. Then she 
 dropped in upon several cross-country route ports, 
 such as Fleetwood, Ulverston and Barrow, to catch 
 the markets of Lancashire and Yorkshire. But the 
 little trip into the broad blue tumble of the Solway 
 was in the minds of all. The rest was mere " shop- 
 window " — facade, as the Captain expressed it to his 
 supercargo. 
 
 For the visit to the Clyde (mainly the West Arran 
 and Cantyre side where little shipping comes, and 
 southward to the Solway 'where none comes at all) 
 depended upon the phases of the moon. Then 
 during the nights of darkness the winch of the Golden 
 Flagon could be heard, chirring like a cricket as it 
 swimg the material for certain neat little rafts over- 
 board. Twenty feet by fifteen they measured, two 
 
 200
 
 SMUGGLING UP TO DATE 201 
 
 tiers of casks in each, bound together in a mattress 
 framework with buoyant air chambers, and larger 
 half empty barrels at either end. Their weight was 
 carefully considered, as well as the ease with which 
 they could be brought to the surface by some provi- 
 dential but carefully instructed fishing smack or small 
 yacht. Two men, or three at most, must do the 
 raising, re-stowing, breaking up of the raft, and in 
 general making everything snug — no floating rubbish, 
 not a spar nor a cork buoy ! When the sinkers were 
 once got up, the raft would rise to the surface 
 and before daylight the sea would be empty again. 
 The Golden Flagon had passed that way. In the 
 darkness of the night she had laid to a while. Then 
 the next night the Florence III or the Cheer-Ho 
 would pause a little longer at the same spot, because 
 a couple of lanterns on the shore and the wink of a 
 far-off lighthouse are not easy guides to a sunken 
 raft of twenty feet by fifteen. 
 
 But what connection could there be between the 
 Golden Flagon of Cancale and a yacht flying the 
 colours of a well-known racing squadron ? 
 
 Perhaps Captain Paul Wester Sr. and his super- 
 cargo Lupo Palafox might have told, had they not 
 been men who above all things valued a close mouth. 
 Sometimes they even went the length of closing it 
 for ever, but this was exceptional, and only when the 
 mouth talked foolishly and threatened much. 
 
 Fishing boats, too, made curious trawl at different 
 points along the coast in the wake of the Golden 
 Flagon of Cancale. There were many eyes following 
 her and her cargo of innocent Brittany butter and 
 Potevin primeurs. Aged telescopes watched her 
 dodging among the upper Cumberland ports, and when 
 at last she returned to shelter behind the faint blue 
 of St. Bees Head, the long brass " Dollands " shut 
 up with a snap, and grizzle-bearded, retired captains 
 of coasters, from the Mull to Portowarren, passed 
 the word to their juniors to be ready at such and such 
 carefully indicated points, on the chance that " Captain 
 Bunker " might have something for them.
 
 202 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Then Captain John Clark took counsel with Captain 
 Willie Grieve somewhat after this fashion: "This 
 is not like the old days, Willie — the stuff all in small 
 parcels, and nobody getting much good of anything — 
 that is, except ' Captain Bunker.' No men with 
 arms in their hands guarding the landing, resisting 
 the very preventives and keeping them in respect, 
 as Lazun did, at the musket's point. Why all is 
 done now as quiet as a Sunday School picnic ! " 
 
 " Well, Captain Jone Clark," said WilHe, who 
 being younger, set less store in the traditions, " you 
 see, Captain Jone, sir, the times are changed, if not 
 the nature of mortal man. For 'tis the nature of 
 sinful man to smuggle — if so be he can. Now there's 
 women — they're worse — my daughter Mary, for 
 instance, as good a Christian lass as a father ever 
 spoke well of behind her back and miscalled to her 
 face. But if it were only a bit o' lace or a squirtful 
 of scented water, she would lie about it like a ship's 
 boy and smuggle it just for the pleasure of bein' 
 again the law. Now if it were what's out yonder, 
 or will be before the sun rises to-morrow morning, 
 it would be something to tempt a man. Yes, surely, 
 so it would ! " 
 
 " Aye, aye, it may be as you tell," said Captain 
 John, sending out smoke in short impatient puffs, 
 " but think of a hundred pack-beasts all jingling 
 with steel-chains and barrel-furniture and an armed 
 man at every bridle-rein — that was something like 
 smuggling ! " 
 
 " Maybe, mayie," Captain Willie nodded his head 
 wisely, " but you see since I got snug ashore I don't 
 hold with all that noise and bluster. It had its day, 
 a good and long one, and there are tales of its prime 
 that the folk keep harking back upon. But I'm all 
 for the way that 'tis done this day — a quiet loaded 
 sea, a raft well buoyed, time somewhere along about 
 midnight — nothing to see all next day but the sun 
 shining down on the rush and tumble of the tides, 
 indigo-blue, or berry-brown, as the case may be. 
 Then, the next night the eggs all out of the basket, 
 safe ashore waiting distribution, in this cellar or that,
 
 SMUGGLING UP TO DATE 203 
 
 and all done as neat and slick as spinning a new shilling. 
 What do you say to that. Captain Jone ? " 
 
 " I say naught, Willie, but then I sailed with Lazun 
 Palafox in his youth and mine, so you will not convince 
 me that the times are what they were for coastwise 
 sailor men." 
 
 " I dare say not. Captain J5ne, sir. I'm a poorer 
 man than you by a deal, but then you lost three 
 fingers by the slash of a cutlass, and that French 
 bullet you got at Quiberon, landing Sheffield cutlery 
 and Birmingham guns, ties you by the leg. So I 
 would not say that, taking all by all, I am not as well 
 off as you. Captain Jone, sir ! " 
 
 " The old times was best," re-affirmed Captain 
 John Clark doggedly, " we were not all coal-heavers 
 in them days " 
 
 " No," said Willie, firing up, " not did we lie up 
 for six months at a time in Kirkcudbright Gaol ! " 
 
 The elder sailor rose to his feet and lifted his staff, 
 very polished as to the square crutch handle, quaver- 
 ingly over his head. 
 
 " If it were not for your age and mfirmities, William 
 Grieve, I would break thy head — sure, aye, an' that 
 I would ! " ^ 
 
 " Age and infermity, you wizened old wistiti monkey 
 (beggin' your pardon Captain Jone, sir), but if you 
 were ten years younger and gave me such talk out of 
 your toothless old head, I would take you honestly 
 by the seacloth of your every day second-best breeches 
 and heave you over the scaur ! " 
 
 The two old men stood confronting each other, 
 Captain John's staff trembling in the air, and Captain 
 Willie in the position of a painted prize-fighter, Hee- 
 nan or Sayers, on the outside of a booth at a fair. 
 They were very terrible to look upon, till you came 
 near enough to see the tremulousness of their limbs. 
 So when a voice cried behind them, " You ought to 
 be ashamed of yourselves, you two old men ! " they 
 dropped their arms to their sides and turned with 
 astonished faces towards their mentor. 
 
 Zipporah Katti^had surprised them as she walked 
 along the smooth^sward of the cliff, coming as noise-
 
 204 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 lessly as drifting mist, and now she advanced menac- 
 ing them alternately with her finger. 
 
 " You, Captain John, and you. Captain Willie, 
 for shame ! Is that the way you showed an example 
 on the Good Intent — and the Rose of Colvend ? A 
 pair of your own cabin-boys could not have behaved 
 worse. And now, tell me what is it all about. 
 
 " ' Age and infermities ' — and one thing led on to 
 another ! Well, ashamed you shall be if I hear any 
 more of this. The Doctor shall know. He is home 
 now, and if I hear a word of any quarrel, I shall get 
 him to preach on the sin of quarrelling, and name you 
 two as examples ! " 
 
 " Nay, Miss Zipporah Katti " (it was Captain Willie 
 who was readiest of reply), " that you would never 
 do — such old friends as we be— you and me and Captain 
 Jone there. But don't tell the Doctor, for he might 
 tell our wives, and that would never suit 
 
 " Aye, aye — 'tis an unruly evil surely — the Good 
 Book says so ! " Captain Willie added. " That is to 
 say — a woman's tongue — speaking for myself, that 
 is, and no offence intended to present company. My 
 wife Mally's fro' Grange, and the women are born 
 unruly in them parts " 
 
 " So they be," said Captain Jone, " aye, aye, God 
 help any man that weds out of his own country and 
 kin. After a spell or two ashore between voyages he 
 will never be able to speak his own tongue reasonable 
 again. But, missie, do you see what's out yonder ? " 
 
 " I see a little steamer just turning St. Bees," said 
 Zipporah Katti, her hand palm-downward held level 
 with her brows. 
 
 " You have honest eyes," said Captain Willie. 
 " Yon be the Golden Flagon of Cancale town. May- 
 hap you have heard of her ? " 
 
 " I have heard of Golden Flagons all my life — half-a- 
 score of them. Which one is that ? " 
 
 " I sailed on one of them near to sixty years agone," 
 said Captain Jone, " took and sold for prize-money 
 she was. The Merle Royal, sloop of war, it were that 
 took her a league off the Point of Ayr. My brother 
 was on board of her, fighting against us. He got a
 
 SMUGGLING UP TO DATE 205 
 
 guinea and sixpence, but he lost me my twentieth 
 share and got me six months in Lancaster Gaol — the 
 first time since I was weaned that ever I had had a 
 spare hour to myself. Yet I liked it none the better 
 for that. I missed the sea and — but there, she's 
 gone — the Golden Flago7i—ti\\ the tide's full and the 
 moon dark. I would I were on board of her. Just 
 one more turn before I went to give account ! " 
 
 " Hear him," said Willie, nodding like a toy man- 
 darin, %\ith a Punchinello chin done in wizened potato 
 skin, " and him so near his end that he can hardly 
 draw on his pipe " 
 
 " Weeliam Grieve ! " Captain Jone rose totteringly 
 to his feet again, " stop that tongue o' thine or I'll 
 surely stop thy pipe — respectful as I wish to show 
 myself in the company of this young lady." 
 
 Zipporah Katti was thinking deeply, so she did not 
 reprove these peppery old men of the sea. She only 
 motioned them to sit down, with a single imperious 
 gesture of her hand. But they continued to glare at 
 each other with waggling heads and angry tappings 
 of staves on the little worn patch in front of the bench 
 on which they sat every day from dawn to dark, meal- 
 times alone excepted, quarrelsome but inseparable. 
 
 The Golden Flagon out beyond St. Bees (she 
 thought) and Lazun Palafox down there at the 
 Manse ! What connection could there be between 
 these two facts ? 
 
 • ••••• • 
 
 The distance, beyond the blue and silver of the 
 Solway shore, took on pearly tints. St. Bees lay a 
 dream of pale turquoise on a ground of creamy rose. 
 The Isle of Man was lost in a curious iridescent haze, 
 and the nearer peninsula of Galloway grew strangely 
 clear and distinct. As the twilight fell slowly, all 
 things began to look honey-coloured, as though seen 
 through smoky amber sliced fine. The sea was 
 changing more quickly than artist could paint or 
 writer find colour words to describe. Soon the sun 
 set behind the Mull and the high clouds in the zenith 
 flashed suddenly into curdled flame. Then the glory 
 ebbed as a cistern empties itself from the bottom,
 
 206 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 and the final swirl of that tide-race lay in the startling 
 clearness with which the great Cumbrian headland, 
 now turned to deepest sapphire, stretched out into a 
 saffron magnificence of sea and sky, from which all 
 trace of dividing horizon line had been blotted out. 
 
 It was the last effort. Night came down equalizing 
 and blurring, till only the sea was dark and solitary. 
 Far above the stars shone, showing themselves cauti- 
 ously one after the other, like timid things emboldened 
 by the quiet, and from village and farmhouse pin- 
 points of fire pricked the dark line of the shore. 
 
 Then after an hour as these grew restless and began 
 to move into " ben " rooms and up into attics, till 
 presently, of Orraland and the country-side behind 
 was left only a filmy uniformity of shore and wood 
 and mountain. At last all was still, except, very far 
 off (but hstened for by many), the beat of a steamer's 
 engines somewhere to the south. 
 
 Zipporah Katti heard it too. Her gable window 
 was open and with one bare arm she pushed aside 
 the red " tropaeoleum " creeper so that she might hear 
 the better. She knew that Lazun Palafox slept with 
 his window open, and she felt sure that he also must 
 be listening. 
 
 Zipporah felt herself growing more and more 
 curious. She was anxious without exactly knowing 
 why. Certainly no fear for Lazun crossed her mind. 
 He could always take care of himself. But there was 
 Paul. Had he really remained in London ? Or was 
 his sudden disappearance out of her life connected 
 with this visit of the Golden Flagon to the Orraland 
 coast ? 
 
 • • • • • • • 
 
 Zipporah dressed hastily, threw a cloak across her 
 shoulders and slid out. She was Hght, and the slant of 
 the iron pipe which ran into the water barrel had been 
 her friend for years. She ran down the green slopes 
 to the burnside and made no more than three or four 
 bounds from stone to stone over the ford. She could 
 cross them as easily as if they had been the steps which 
 led down to old Barbara's kitchen. Then, circhng the 
 village, she crossed the road above the dark-windowed
 
 SMUGGLING UP TO DATE 207 
 
 school-house and struck up across the smooth cliff 
 turf in the direction of the Cave. 
 
 How long it was since she had been there, yet how 
 good and familiar everything seemed. She startled 
 a bullock as she leaped a stile, but a score of cows 
 chewed the cud placidly without turning to look at 
 her when she threaded her way among them. Sheep 
 browsed, shuffled, and coughed. Rabbits scuttled, 
 their white plumes jigging merrily across the dull 
 bluish grey which was the underfoot grass, and from 
 the sea towards Isle Rathan came a distant disputing 
 of sea-birds uneasy on their resting ledges or disturbed 
 by unwonted intruders. 
 
 Slowly Zipporah became conscious of many other 
 sounds. For a Solway night is filled with noises, 
 faint mostly, but every one distinct and full of mean- 
 ing to trained ears like those of Zipporah. 
 
 She could follow the progress of the vessel which 
 was now not many miles distant. The engines were 
 going very slowly — dead slow, indeed — a stop — then 
 she backed — the rattle and snort of a steam crane 
 and a yet longer silence. Then the engines began 
 again nearer at hand. The ship was quite close now, 
 going up with the flood toward White Horse Bay or 
 Portowarren. Zipporah Katti strained her eyes, but 
 could see nothing — something a little darker perhaps 
 that moved in the greyness, but not a light anywhere. 
 The Golden Flagon (the Captains were right in their 
 guess, for it was she) was navigating in total darkness. 
 There must have been wonderful pilots aboard, for 
 she seemed to be heading straight for the deadly sands 
 of Barnhourie. 
 
 Now Zipporah Katti had a long time to wait. For 
 the faint sounds from the sea grew fainter as the Golden 
 Flagon headed up the firth. Then they came not at 
 all. But she knew that the Golden Flagon could not 
 afford to be caught by the turn of the tide and that 
 her stay farther up would of necessity be short. 
 
 After an hour's silence, the steamer was again quite 
 close to her. She made no attempt to enter Orraland 
 Bay, but came to anchor almost immediately opposite 
 the cave entrance.
 
 208 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Zipporah Katti understood clearly that something 
 more than a mere landing of cargo must be on foot. 
 She waited on the very edge of the cliff, quite near the 
 ladder by which Barbara had descended, and with her 
 back towards the little rocky dell upon which the 
 back door of the Dulse Cave opened out. She lay 
 motionlesss in a rough whin-brake, and when she put 
 aside the bushes with her hands to see the better, she 
 never felt the prickles. 
 
 Zipporah was sure that there must be something 
 baleful under all this, and she held herself ready to 
 retreat at once to the Manse in order to put Lazun on 
 his guard. Twice she heard the sound of oars. Twice 
 holding by a tough furze stem she leaned over the 
 verge till she could see the soft phosphorescent glim- 
 mer where a waveless, windless tide pushed itself 
 softly against the long curve of the cliffs, foamed into 
 white folds of lace and sank again noiselessly. 
 
 Men were coming ashore. Even now they might 
 have landed. Perhaps they were climbing the ladder 
 — perhaps already behind her, stealthily making their 
 way up to the Manse where the Doctor and Barbara 
 and Lazun lay asleep. 
 
 A wild unreasoning terror suddenly took Zipporah 
 Katti by the throat. She rose to her feet, turned 
 and sped up the gorge, stumbling among the boulders 
 and tangled heather. She must get home. She did 
 not care what they would think of her. She must 
 warn those in the Manse of this nocturnal terror which 
 was approaching. 
 
 But in the roughest part of the boulder-strewn dell, 
 just before she began to ascend the steep brae, from 
 whose summit she would see the village and the little 
 white gate of the Doctor's avenue, two shadows rose 
 one on either side of her as she ran. She fell forward 
 over a man's foot into the arms of another. Some- 
 thing soft was thrust into her mouth so that her cry 
 for help was shut within her. Zipporah felt herself 
 being borne seawards in strong arms, and then as she 
 began to descend, a kind of milky blue unconsciousness 
 swallowed her up
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE KIDNAPPING OF ZIPPORAH KATTI 
 
 ZiPPORAH Katti came to herself in a warm dusk. 
 Her head was aching a little and something uneasy 
 informed her that she was by no means in her small 
 brass bedstead with the shy red blooms of the tro- 
 paeolum peeping in at the window. A rounded brass- 
 bound porthole, white panels, an occasional swish of 
 sea, the smart smack of a wave quite close to her ear 
 told her that she was on ship-board. 
 
 Zipporah knew that she had been carried off — 
 kidnapped. She lay still and thought, but her mind 
 could not provide any explanation, even inadequate, 
 of what had befallen her. It could not be with 
 Lazun's consent. Yet why was he at that moment 
 at the Manse with the Doctor ? Above all how would 
 such men dare do such a thing in Lazun's own vessel ? 
 
 She lay meditating and conjecturing without 
 moving, but with her eyes open. She could hear 
 the sound of men trampling the deck above and an 
 occasional whistle or word of command. Some- 
 times as she lay still, half dreamily listening, she 
 heard or seemed to hear the brush and rustle of skirts 
 outside her door, and once quite clearly two people 
 conferred in whispers in a neighbouring cabin. 
 
 Zipporah Katti was not greatly frightened. Her 
 early adventurous life had taught her to accept fortune 
 good or bad as it turned up. In her little world 
 Lazun's protection had always been powerful — 
 omnipotent indeed. And she saw no reason why it 
 should not be so also on his own ship. Who then 
 would or could harm her here ? But what would 
 they be thinking at the Manse — Barbara and the 
 
 P 209
 
 210 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 good Doctor ? They would find her bed untouched, 
 and traces of her escalade. They would be sure she 
 had run off to marry Paul Wester. Whereat for the 
 first time she smiled and was a little glad. 
 
 The white panelled door of the state-room opened. 
 A girl looked in, made sure that Zipporah was awake, 
 smiled and said, " Can I come in ? " 
 
 " Come all the way," said Zipporah, staring at her. 
 
 " I am Eza, your cousin, half-quarter sister, or 
 something of the kind. I put you to bed. I am 
 going to help you to get up." 
 
 " Thank you," said Zipporah Katti, with much 
 promptitude, " I can do that for myself." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't so easy as you think." Little Eza 
 began calmly to turn a stocking inside out. " Now 
 give me your foot. There — I hope we shall have 
 good times." 
 
 " Why am I here at all ? " Zipporah demanded. 
 
 " That is what I am all achy inside with trying to 
 find out — I thought you would tell me when you 
 woke ! " 
 
 " / know nothing about it," said Zipporah, " all 
 I am sure of is that somebody will pay dearly when 
 Lazun Palafox hears of it." 
 
 " You are quite sure ? " said Eza provokingly. 
 " Sometimes Lazun does not tell all his thoughts." 
 
 " He is " but Zipporah checked herself. She 
 
 was going to say that Lazun was at the Manse of 
 Orraland with the Doctor. But she was not yet at 
 all sure of this pretty sprite Eza who had suddenly 
 appeared from nowhere to be so kind and serviceable. 
 
 " Yes ? " said Eza, looking up. 
 
 " I mean," said Zipporah, " he has done so much 
 for me that I cannot believe he has anything to do 
 with this business." 
 
 " No ? " A faint surprise floated into the voice, 
 but its owner went on busily brushing a skirt. " Per- 
 haps you were fond of somebody he did not want you 
 to be fond of. I have got into disgrace with Lazun 
 several — oh, many times because of that. He has 
 all sorts of ideas. . . . So have /."
 
 THE KIDNAPPING OF ZIPPORAH 211 
 
 Zipporah flushed as she thought of Paul Wester in 
 London, but Little Eza demurely kept her head down 
 and, a very model of discretion, went on with her 
 brushing. But Zipporah rejected the suggestion. 
 She was sufficiently separated from Paul Wester, as 
 it was. Why should carrjang her off on the Golden 
 Flagon make any difference ? 
 
 But she felt that a little confidence — not too much, 
 but a little as ground bait, might draw from Eza what 
 she wanted to know. 
 
 " I was down on the shore last night," she said, 
 " no, indeed, not to meet anybody . . . there was 
 nobody to meet. I was all alone listening and 
 watching. ..." 
 
 " Ah, yes, near that Cave they were all talking about 
 on board. We lost our Captain last night, and the 
 supercargo has taken command. Leon, my brother, 
 would not tell me why, but 1 can guess. There was 
 a quarrel among them, and the supercargo's party 
 won. The Captain was either killed or carried on 
 shore. I don't know exactly what the idea was, 
 but at any rate they found you among the rocks at 
 the cave mouth — yes, up on the hill, where they 
 were watching for some one else. And they took you 
 for a spy." 
 
 " Then they did not know who I was when they 
 caught me ? " 
 
 Eza hesitated and after a rapid glance out at the 
 door of the little state-room, she approached her lips 
 to Zipporah's ear, and whispered, " Yes, one. I 
 think Lupo Palafox knew." 
 
 " And who is Lupo Palafox ? " 
 
 Eza's lips stole nearer till the words were breathed 
 rather than spoken into Zipporah Katti's ear — 
 
 " The new captain — your father ! " 
 
 " My father ! " 
 
 " Hus-s-sh ! " 
 
 " Yes, your father, but speak low and I will tell 
 
 you what I know. It is not much. They don't 
 
 give away secrets to girls among the Palafoxes. 
 
 Lazun gave Lupo the Basque his eldest daughter — his 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 rightful daughter, you know she was your mother. 
 That's why he has given you all those estates and 
 money. But there are many very angry. And Lupo 
 Palafox is the angriest of all. ' Let those who helped 
 him to gather, help him to spend,' he says. 
 
 " And indeed the whole tribe was angry, though of 
 course no one dared to say so to the Chief while he 
 was in France. But I suppose they thought that he 
 would not be able to defend himself so well away off 
 in Scotland. So whatever Lupo Palafox had deter- 
 mined to do, the Captain would have nothing to say 
 to, so he and Lupo quarrelled. Lupo could not fight 
 him single-handed, but he won over most of the crew 
 — they belonged to his tribe anyway, Spaniards from 
 the Basque shore, a dangerous lot." 
 
 " And what was your captain's name — the one who 
 was true to Lazun ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know that he was true to Lazun. He 
 was more an enemy to Lupo Palafox. His name was 
 Paul Wester ! " 
 
 Zipporah made an indistinct noise betokening 
 utmost astonishment. 
 
 " Paul Wester — yes, exactly," Eza murmured, 
 " you know the name ? " 
 
 " Why," said Zipporah, " his son was my friend, 
 my brother. He is in London now. They would 
 not let him come back ! " 
 
 " They ? Who ? " Eza was smiling covertly down 
 at the matting on the cabin floor. She wondered 
 what Zipporah would say if she told her that Paul 
 had accepted friendship and brotherly relation from 
 her also. 
 
 " Lazun and the Doctor — Paul's uncle," said 
 Zipporah, a little reluctantly. 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Little Eza. But she said nothing 
 aloud. It was enough for her to appreciate the part 
 she had played in that decision. 
 
 Zipporah was not long in dressing, and then Little 
 Eza invited her to come into her cabin, for the two 
 were side by side. 
 
 " These belong to Lazun when he is on board the
 
 THE KIDNAPPING OF ZIPPORAH 213 
 
 Golden Flagon,'''' she said. " My brother Leon turned 
 out of his in order that you might be beside me." 
 
 " That was kind of him," said Zipporah without 
 enthusiasm. All the same she accompanied Eza 
 readily enough into her cabin, which she found small 
 but faultlessly arranged. 
 
 " Leon has been here," cried Eza, clapping her 
 hands, " he is a dear, kind brother . . . really my 
 brother, you know. Not the kind Paul Wester is to 
 you. And he is a perfect fad about his clothes and his 
 lockers and all that is his — or mine, which comes to 
 the same thing. I am fearfully careless, but Leon is 
 different. He is clever too, and if he likes he can help 
 us a lot. He can find out anything, and is a favourite 
 with . . . the supercargo. Shall I call him ? " 
 
 Leon tripped down, turning the narrow companion 
 way with a lissom grace that had something almost 
 girlish about it. But his radiant face, his blond curls 
 {frimousse he would have called it) escaping from his 
 gold-braided cap, the joyous lightness of his bearing, 
 and his confident manner with women, were not 
 without their effect even upon Zipporah Katti. 
 
 " My brother Leon," Eza made the presentation, 
 " this is Zipporah Katti." 
 
 Leon took Zipporah's hand and swept the wrist 
 with his tiny pale gold moustache. It tickled and if 
 Paul Wester had done that, Zipporah would inevitably 
 have boxed his ears. But somehow she was not even 
 annoyed. There was something exotic and foreign 
 about Leon, something which put him outside all 
 ordinary rules. The girl felt it at once, and without 
 the least fear abandoned herself to its charm. Leon was 
 not a man to fall in love with, at least not as Zipporah 
 would love when her time came — even if there had 
 been no Paul Wester. But — she had never seen any 
 one in the least like this brother of Eza's before, and 
 she wondered mightily what he would say and do. 
 
 Zipporah watched him with fascinated expectant 
 eyes. He kissed his sister. Then he spun round to 
 her and complimented her on her excellent appearance 
 after a night of adventure.
 
 214 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Any one so pretty as you must expect such things," 
 he said, and made another little bow. Then spinning 
 again he opened the door of the cabin in which Zip- 
 porah had awakened. He swept off his cap and 
 waved them forward with a gallant gesture. 
 
 " The bower of the princess ! " he said, " pity I had 
 to replace the flowers which ought to have been there, 
 by Lazun's signalling flags. Not but what the 
 bunting is gay enough ! " 
 
 In the short time the girls had spent together in the 
 adjacent cabin, the young man had managed to put 
 the state-room into the most perfect order. The 
 panels were bright with multi-coloured ensigns, starred 
 and barred. A little silver-backed toilet set was 
 contained in a mahogany barred rack. In a leather 
 case strapped to the toilet table they found soaps, 
 perfumes, and even a powder puff. 
 
 Little Eza clapped her hands with appreciative glee. 
 
 " Now you will be looked after," she cried, " you 
 have even Leon's Beauty Bag, and he will lose his 
 dear rose-leaf complexion. What are you going to 
 do, Leon ? The girls won't love you any more." 
 
 The young man flushed a little. 
 
 " I was born like that," he said, putting a bold 
 face on the matter. " I have loved fitted dressing- 
 bags all my life. There is a gold one in a shop at the 
 corner of Piccadilly Circus, which I go and worship 
 every day when I am in London. But I can get along 
 with this because I can afford no better." 
 
 He produced from his pockets a piece of soap in a 
 vulcanite cover, a toothbrush, a safety razor, and a 
 pocket comb. 
 
 " Well done, little brother," said Eza patting his 
 head, " I did not think you had it in you ! But now 
 you must tell us all about this. Why is Captain 
 Wester not on board and " 
 
 " Skipper's business," said the young man with 
 an instantaneous change of manner — " new skipper. 
 I know nothing about that. He will tell you what he 
 thinks it is good for little girls to know." 
 
 And with this they had to be content.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 
 
 The girls went on deck, and found the deck of the 
 Golden Flagon orderly, clean, and windswept. Already 
 they had passed out of the North Channel and were 
 just beginning to encounter the large green lift of the 
 main Atlantic. 
 
 It was ten of the morning, and the mountains of 
 Donegal were no more than a blue mist to the east, 
 when a summons came for Zipporah Katti. She was 
 to go to the Captain's cabin immediately, and Leon, 
 who had suddenly lost a great deal of his assurance, 
 was to conduct her. Eza rose from the hatch on which 
 she had been sitting, as if to accompany Zipporah. But 
 her brother stopped her with an imperative: " You, 
 sis, stay where you are ! " 
 
 The two went aft together and as Leon stood aside 
 to let the girl pass he murmured : " Whatever you do, 
 keep your temper and say as little as possible, however 
 bitterly he may talk. He can be a perfect devil 
 sometimes ! " 
 
 The little, dusky, sun-dried man who was writing at 
 a table in the Captain's cabin of the Golden Flagon 
 looked up, and nodded curtly enough. 
 
 " Sit down," he ordered. " I shall be ready for 
 you in a moment. You, Leon Palafox, go to your 
 duty." 
 
 He bent his head again upon his writing and Zip- 
 porah Katti watched him keenly. She felt no spark 
 of daughterly affection for this stranger. He might 
 be her father or he might be a nigger cook. Zipporah 
 Katti would not have given one of the Doctor's white 
 hairs or a glance from Barbara's kind eye to save the 
 
 215
 
 216 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 man from hanging. She felt somehow vaguely 
 degraded, merely to know herself connected with 
 him. All the same the deep gold rings that dangled 
 from his ears and twinkled as he moved his pen over 
 the paper, somehow fascinated her. He wrote on 
 and on interminably. Zipporah raised her eyes and 
 looked at her surroundings. It was a comfortable 
 cabin, with books, pipes, nautical instruments, and in 
 a corner a violin — obviously the abiding place of a man 
 of taste. Zipporah felt sure that this oily-eyed, fierce 
 little gipsy mariner of the South was never responsible 
 for that collection of poets in the corner. They had 
 the look of having been used, and a volume of the old 
 dumpy brown four-volume edition of The Ring and 
 the Book, lay open at the passage describing the flight 
 of Pompilia and the priest from the San Clemente 
 Gate at Arezzo. 
 
 Zipporah yearned, as she looked at this man who 
 had the double authority of parentage and capture 
 over her, for some such deliverer — if it could be Paul 
 Wester so much the better — for she knew by instinct 
 that the man before her would show no mercy. 
 
 At last the letter was finished. The little man 
 scrawled the address on an envelope, but he did not 
 fold the written sheet, keeping it close by his hand as 
 if for reference. Then leaning back in his chair he 
 ran his fingers through his short thick hair and took 
 in every item of the dress and appearance of Zipporah 
 Katti. 
 
 " So," he said, " this is what Lazun has made of a 
 daughter of the Palafoxes of Pampeluna." 
 
 " Stand up," he ordered suddenly in his " bridge " 
 voice. 
 
 Zipporah flushed suddenly. An angry refusal rose 
 to her lips, but she remembered Leon's warning in 
 time. She rose obediently to her full height and stood 
 looking down at the little man in the writing chair, 
 crouching and staring at her with the eyes of a wild 
 cat on the branch of a forest tree. 
 
 " Yes, you are of the blood," he said, " but of your 
 mother's people, curse them ! "
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 217 
 
 He continued to look at her without telling her to 
 sit, but Zipporah calmly reseated herself and waited 
 for him to speak. 
 
 " I suppose you know I am your father ? " he said, 
 after he had perused her at length. 
 
 " I am so informed," said the girl, " it is not long 
 since I first heard of your existence." 
 
 " So the sight of me does not arouse much filial 
 affection in you," his lip lifted and he showed his white 
 teeth as he spoke. " You feel no desire to fall on 
 my neck or cast yourself on my protection ? " 
 
 " No, sir," said Zipporah Katti with the utmost 
 directness. 
 
 " Ungrateful daughter ! " said the ex-supercargo, 
 " after all the trouble I have had in bringing you up, 
 too ! " 
 
 " I was informed that you sold me to Lazun abso- 
 lutely, for a sum of money. Is that true ? " 
 
 " Absolutely," said Lupo Palafox, " and what is 
 more, my lady, I shall sell you over again to Lazun 
 for a much greater sum of money before I let you out 
 of my hands. I feel that the claims of nature have 
 been too long overlooked." 
 
 " But this is Lazun's ship. You are here in charge 
 for him ? " 
 
 " Not so, dear heiress, the gentleman who was in 
 charge of the Golden Flagon has been called on shore, 
 where doubtless he is at this moment trying to clear 
 himself in the eyes of his employer. But he was a 
 mere hireling. Now / am taking care of the Golden 
 Flagon for myself and for the whole family of the 
 Spanish Palafoxes, whom Lazun has disinherited in 
 your favour." 
 
 " Would it not have been better to say this to Lazun 
 himself instead of to a girl ? " 
 
 " Without doubt," said Lupo, setting his brown chin 
 squarely on his hand, " but then the interview which 
 had been arranged with Lazun Palafox fell through. 
 Our messenger probably saved his skin by giving us 
 away. At any rate, it was not Lazun who came to 
 the trap door in the dell, but you. I never knew how
 
 218 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 truly blood was thicker than water till you fell into 
 my arms and I had just time to catch my boatswain's 
 arm. He had a knife in his hand and it is quite possible 
 that some accident might have happened if I had not 
 been there. You owe your life to your father, my 
 girl, even if you do not show him all the obedient duty 
 required by your faith." 
 
 " Well," said Zipporah, quite quietly, " what are 
 your plans with me now that you have me ? " 
 
 " There," cried the Basque, sending forth one of 
 those laughs of his people which now ring like clarions, 
 and now bark like dogs, " there spoke the Palafox — 
 prompt and practical — ' What to do with you ' ? 
 Ah, that is a little hard to say. It depends on yourself 
 — a little. But chiefly it depends on what view you 
 and I, my dear daughter, can induce Lazun to take of 
 a certain little business. Let me explain. You have 
 told me that you are conscious of no particular affec- 
 tion for me, your father. You said it delicately, but 
 you will pardon an old sea-wolf by name and nature, 
 for putting the matter a little more plainly. I hate 
 Lazun. I hated your mother, and I don't exactly feel 
 so tenderly towards you that I would let you stand in 
 my way for a moment." 
 
 " Thank you," said Zipporah Katti. 
 
 " Yes, I was sure you would appreciate frankness," 
 grinned the httle Basque gipsy. " The fact is, there 
 is another side to the question from any that has been 
 presented to you. Lazun is so great, not because he 
 has raised and enriched himself, but because he is the 
 chief of a clan. Up to the moment when I took over 
 the Golden Flagon, he has been obeyed Mindly." 
 
 " But he will have you arrested at the first port 
 you coal at," suggested Zipporah. Lupo looked at 
 her and shook his head in a reproachful manner. 
 
 " You are either no real gipsy or the good seed has 
 been winnowed out of you. When did one gipsy 
 have the law on another ? Certainly not the chief of 
 the Palafoxes. He has prided himself on being his 
 own justicer. Well, let him find a way now. He is not 
 the man to bring the records of the Golden Flagon into
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 219 
 
 a court of law. Even our little trip on this occasion 
 along the Clyde and Solway shores would make such 
 interesting reading to the gentlemen of Her Majesty's 
 Excise that hundreds of people would sleep but ill 
 in their beds at the first breath of it, and some scores 
 would hasten to quit the realm by out-of-the-way 
 ports. The ship is mine and I can easily use her papers 
 in any port outside the United Kingdom. Here I 
 have his heiress, the apple of his eye, safe on board. 
 So before Lazun gets her back, he shall securely settle 
 the succession to the chiefship, and satisfy me on the 
 score of money. He shall buy you dear, for I have 
 been kept long waiting, and now the account is closed. 
 It must be paid in full. And if he will not buy you at 
 my price — well, I know another who will ! " 
 
 " What — who ? What do you mean ? " Zipporah 
 Katti was on her feet pale and angry. 
 
 " Sit down, little lady," the supercargo smiled, 
 " remember we are business people. We have mutu- 
 ally renounced the httle sentimentalities of family 
 connection. It is a pity I cannot marry you myself. 
 But I don't know the terms of Lazun's deed of gift, 
 and I can trust no other man. So I must deal with 
 the matter on my own responsibility. I shall give 
 Lazun the first offer. If he accepts my terms and pays 
 down the cash, I shall honestly send you back. But I 
 have informed him in this letter that if he hesitates 
 too long, I know of a charming local sultan down 
 Morocco way with a long purse and a cultivated taste 
 for gipsy girls. I sent him two from Granada once, 
 but you are a pearl. You have, I understand, all the 
 European accomplishments for which they pay red gold 
 down there." 
 
 Even as he was speaking Zipporah Katti's hand was 
 stealing down below her knee. She gripped the 
 handle of the knife she always carried and flung herself 
 at her father. But he was far too quick. Indeed he 
 had never taken his eyes off hers while he was speaking. 
 The fingers of his left hand grasped her uplifted wrist, 
 and he knocked up the knife with a smart blow 
 delivered at the base of the thumb. It fell to the floor,
 
 220 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 from which he picked the weapon up and tossed it 
 carelessly into a locker. 
 
 " Not pretty," he said, " not pretty at all — a young 
 lady brought up by a pastor to attempt parricide ! " 
 
 He set her down and stood over her with his hand 
 behind his back, shaking his head and murmuring as 
 if to a naughty child, " Not pretty — no, not pretty at 
 all!" 
 
 • •••.. 
 
 It was nearly half-past eight by the clock before the 
 disappearance of Zipporah Katti was noticed in the 
 Manse of Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton. Barbara had risen 
 early as usual, and her household duties had occupied 
 her no longer in spite of the presence of the stranger in 
 her best bedroom. She was a famous housewife, for 
 as the minister said, her Martha quahties were much 
 more developed than her Mary ones. 
 
 But her experience in rearing Paul had taught her 
 to have careful thought for laggard young sleepy- 
 heads. She considered it a good thing that youth 
 should have time to recoup itself for its prodigality 
 of energies and emotions she herself had long left 
 behind. 
 
 So it was not till she had attended to the wants of 
 all the Manse fowls and prepared the breakfast, that 
 she took time to go upstairs " to waken that lassie." 
 
 But the chamber was empty, the bed unslept in, 
 and the window open. Looking down into the pansy 
 bed, which made a crescent-shaped border about the 
 water-barrel, Barbara saw the print of Zipporah's 
 feet where she had alighted. She began to tremble and 
 her thoughts went instantly to Paul Wester. Was it 
 possible that Zipporah had taken the decision of the 
 two seniors to separate them so much to heart as to 
 get out of the window and fly to London to find 
 Paul ? 
 
 But Barbara had lived. She had still the heart 
 which acknowledges love's possibilities in her breast. 
 She therefore put no bounds to what Zipporah might 
 have been tempted to do. She remembered what she 
 would once have done herself when she was of Zip-
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 221 
 
 porah's years — nay, more, what she had actually 
 done. 
 
 " How will I tell them ? " she murmured to herself, 
 as for the tenth time she pohshed her glasses and re- 
 surveyed the garden and the bend of white road which 
 led to the village and over the Auchen Water by the 
 little hump-backed bridge. 
 
 " He is that fond of her," she said aloud, " fonder 
 than ever he was of me. 'Deed, both of them are — 
 though I gave my youth to the one — my prime and 
 my age to the service of the other." 
 
 She was thinking of the two men below, doubtless 
 chatting pleasantly and awaiting nothing more serious 
 than a summons to breakfast. 
 
 " Gang ye must, Barbara," she said to herself, 
 " and the sooner the better." 
 
 She went downstairs hurriedly, and in a moment 
 found herself in the presence of the two men. They 
 were standing close together looking out at the green 
 lawn and the breakfasting birds — thrushes and black- 
 birds questing for worms under the shade of the 
 rhododendron bushes, 
 
 " I have been to seek Zipporah," she said, standing 
 on the threshold with the door-edge in her hand. 
 " She is no in her bedroom. She has luppen " (leaped) 
 "from the sill on to the water-cistern and then down 
 among the pansies. It is an old trick of hers." 
 
 The Doctor laughed easily. 
 
 " She will be off to the woods for a morning walk or 
 maybe up on the heather among the dew. See that 
 she puts on dry stockings when she comes back. 
 Come along, sir, don't let us wait breakfast for such a 
 graceless runagate ! " 
 
 But the anxiety on Barbara's white face contra- 
 dicted this simple explanation. 
 
 " The bed has not been sleepit on ! " she added with 
 the tear-trouble in her voice. 
 
 " Not slept in ! Do you mean to tell me, Barbara 
 Simpson ? " 
 
 There was no more thought of breakfast. With 
 native determination Lazun vaulted the window and
 
 222 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 was outside in a moment, bidding Barbara to " come 
 and show him where the tracks were." 
 
 The minister followed in a daze, making little 
 gestures with his hands. He asked questions, but 
 there was no one to answer them. Lazun and Barbara 
 talked rapidly together, and often in a language that 
 he failed to understand. This he did not wonder at, 
 for as he allowed, his head was " somewhat moidered." 
 
 Lazun fixed his keen sailorly eyes on the footsteps 
 of the girl. They were clear enough across the lawn 
 and their direction was plainly towards the ford. 
 Lazun strode across the stepping-stones, and then 
 returning partway, assisted Barbara, still a little dazed 
 by the discovery of the empty bedroom and the un- 
 touched sheets — " for all the world like a dead bairn's 
 cot." 
 
 A momentary fault on the farther side delayed them. 
 Many footsteps of mowers had passed that way in the 
 early morning, and village children had been back and 
 forth to the adjoining farm for milk. 
 
 But presently Lazun found a track leading straight 
 up towards the " heughs." He pointed it out to 
 Barbara and asked, " What's up there ? " 
 
 " That will come out near the Dulse Cave," she 
 answered ; " Quid grant that the lassie has not taken it 
 into her head to try the ladder." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Lazun, " she could not go down 
 the ladder. The tide would be near the full when 
 these tracks were made." 
 
 They found the place where she had crossed the 
 stile and leaped upon the smooth turf of the high 
 " links." Here Lazun quested about like a retriever, 
 till he found the nest in the whin-bush where the girl 
 had lain watching. He pointed it out to Barbara. 
 
 " She stayed here a long while — an hour or more. 
 She has been looking over the cliff-edge too. There is 
 the whin-root she gripped. See, there is a speck of 
 blood on it " 
 
 " Oh, wae's me ! " cried Barbara, and threw up her 
 hands. She was so eager to look that but for Lazun's 
 restraining grasp she might have gone over the cliff.
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER 223 
 
 " Be quiet — she only pricked herself, but she might 
 easily have done worse. She has sent a piece of the 
 turf down. She must have been watching something 
 very carefully below there." 
 
 " God grant the bairn is not in the weary water ! " 
 said Barbara, whom fear for her treasure had un- 
 nerved. 
 
 " No," said Lazun, " she has crept backwards. 
 You can see how she has dug her toes into the grass. 
 But . . . which way did she go after that ? Up the 
 dell is the direction of the land entrance to the cave. 
 What could she be doing there ? " 
 
 " Haste ye — haste ye ! " said Barbara, pushing him. 
 He laid his hand on her shoulder to calm her a little. 
 
 " Yes, we will go — but not too fast. Keep your 
 eyes about. We may find something to guide us by 
 the way." 
 
 In spite of this good advice, Lazun strode on, how- 
 ever, with astonishing speed, his head forward and all 
 his tall body shortened and bent earthward by the 
 concentrated attention he was giving to every possible 
 indication. Suddenly he stopped, straightened him- 
 self, and opening up the rough heather roots first on 
 one side and then on the other, he pointed out a spot 
 to Barbara. 
 
 " She was surprised here," he said, speaking calmly 
 and even coldly, " a man stood there and the other 
 opposite him. Hallo, here is a knife " — (he picked up 
 something that shone from among the heather). "I 
 ought to know that knife. Let me see — but that can 
 wait — the knife is clean. Now they are taking her in 
 the direction of the cave mouth. Let us go there." 
 
 He thrust the knife into an inside pocket with the 
 careless certainty of a man used to handling such 
 things. He pushed forward, following the trail. 
 Barbara came panting behind. 
 
 Presently they were among the great boulders in 
 the narrow of the gorge. Yonder it was — the land 
 entrance of the Dulse Cave. But there was some one 
 there before them. A tall man, grey-haired and bare- 
 headed, was sitting on a stone, gazing sadly out to sea.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE MUTINY ON THE " GOLDEN FLAGON " 
 
 " You, Paul Wester, what have you done with my 
 ship ? " 
 
 The voice of Lazun was terrible to hear, breaking 
 the silence of that desolate place, where ordinarily 
 only the peewits cried and the black-faced sheep came 
 to nibble at the fresh grass under lee of the big grey- 
 blue rocks. 
 
 The tall man who had been sitting on a boulder, 
 rose and gravely saluted. They were almost close 
 to him now, Lazun leading. 
 
 " Where is she — my lass — where is Zipporah 
 Katti ? " 
 
 The tall man looked from one to the other in 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " I do not know anything about . . . Miss Palafox " 
 (his voice was that of a cultivated man) ; " but I can 
 tell you about the ship, sir. The crew mutinied, 
 seized me asleep in my cabin, put me ashore, and 
 sailed away." 
 
 The wrath which came up on the face of Lazun 
 Palafox seemed to alter his whole character. Yet 
 he did not break into denunciation. He did not 
 even flush. His customary hale tan became an 
 ashen-grey — his mouth a straight and almost invisible 
 line. His eyes seemed to sink in his head, from which 
 the pupils gleamed with flickerings of dull flame. 
 Barbara fell back and even Captain Paul Wester, 
 though he stood his ground, was manifestly daunted. 
 
 " And you — captain of this ship and my representa- 
 tive — you saw nothing of all this before it was done. 
 Where were your eyes ? " 
 
 224
 
 MUTINY ON 'GOLDEN FLAGON' 225 
 
 " I saw nothing, sir. There was nothing to see." 
 
 The finely shaped hand went up to his brow in 
 involuntary salute. 
 
 " The men worked well and willingly to the last 
 moment. We had completed delivery of our stuff, 
 when I gave the order to turn about and go down 
 with the first ebb. Then after a glance round I went 
 below. I lay down and fell asleep, as has always 
 been my custom. We had to be very careful, sir, 
 as to placing the rafts, and I stayed up to watch the 
 putting on of the sinkers. For the yachts, and 
 especially the fishing-smacks, don't seem able nowa- 
 days to find anything. One would need to put a 
 flagged buoy to pilot them to the place." 
 
 " Well," said Lazun, impatiently, " tell me of the 
 mutiny." 
 
 " Oh, it had been all arranged long before. Yet 
 there must have been good men on board," the Captain 
 answered, " but they had them all accounted for when 
 they came to take me. I had been thirty hours on 
 duty, but for all that I should not have been so 
 stupid unless they had hocussed my drink. I re- 
 member asking the cook for a cup of coffee just before 
 turning in. That sent me over in a minute. They 
 had been waiting for that, and had me trussed and 
 ready to put in a boat before I awoke. They anchored 
 the Golden Flagon out yonder on the line of the 
 lighthouse on Isle Rathan, and rowed me ashore. 
 When they left me, one of the men loitered a httle 
 behind the others and gave a cut with liis knife to my 
 ropes." 
 
 " Lie still till they are gone," he said, and ran after 
 them. He was taking big risks for his life. I could 
 hear them challenging him as to what he had been 
 lagging behind for. He made some excuse or 
 another, but some one sang out, " Playing booty, 
 more like ! " 
 
 " You know that man's name ? " said Lazun. 
 *' You recognized him ? " 
 
 " Certainly, it was Raif Palafox— the fellow 
 who "
 
 226 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " That will do — and the name of the chief 
 mutineer ? " 
 
 " My supercargo, Lupo the Basque. He was cap- 
 taining the ship when I was hoisted up ! " 
 
 Lazun thought deeply, so profoundly that all 
 traces of life left his face and he seemed to be only a 
 block of stone rudely carved from one of the boulders 
 of the dell. 
 
 " Were young Leon and his sister on board ? " he 
 jerked the question suddenly at Captain Wester. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but they were kept below. I did not 
 see either on deck." 
 
 " So ! " said Lazun. " Well, friend Lupo and his 
 gang will find that the arm of Lazun is longer than 
 they think." 
 
 After another pause for consideration he asked 
 Captain Wester if he had been at all confidential with 
 his supercargo. 
 
 " No," said the tall man, " I hardly spoke to him 
 except on affairs of service. He showed me where 
 the parcels were to be sunk. I conned the ship, laid 
 her to, got out the goods and planted them according 
 to his orders. Apart from that, Lupo Palafox was 
 no friend of mine. But they knew what I did not " 
 (he said this with a certain tone of reproach), " that 
 you were somewhere on this coast." 
 
 " How are you sure of that ? " Lazun demanded, 
 turning upon him an eye like a gimlet. 
 
 " Because," said Captain Wester, " Lupo the 
 Basque said to me as I went over the side, trussed 
 as I tell you, ' Be thankful, Wester, that we have 
 not yet had the pleasure of settling accounts with 
 your master, or you would have gone down in blue 
 water with two fifty-sixes at your feet, instead of 
 being only comfortably packed ashore to find him 
 for yourself ! ' " 
 
 Lazun took the knife he had picked up from his 
 pocket. :. 
 
 " Do you know that ? " he asked, holding it blade 
 out on the palm of his hand, but keeping his eyes on 
 Captain Wester's.
 
 MUTINY ON 'GOLDEN FLAGON' 22T 
 
 The Captain took it, looked once at it, and said, 
 " That is a Canary Island knife which the boatswain 
 Felix Lannion picked up at Isle Grande on our last 
 voyage." 
 
 " Um-m ! " Lazun's jaws shut with a snap. " Felix 
 Lannion — and Lupo, my good cousin ! He thinks 
 himself chief already and Lannion second in command. 
 I see they came here to trap me in the Cave, and 
 found his daughter instead " 
 
 " His daughter ! " cried Captain Wester. " I did 
 not know he was married." 
 
 " Yes," said Lazun. " I have the honour to be 
 his father-in-law. He missed me because I was safe 
 at the Manse, the last place he would be likely to look 
 for me. But he has captured my granddaughter 
 Zipporah, and will doubtless try to bargain — with 
 her as a hostage." 
 
 Neither of the men had thought of Barbara, who 
 as they talked had stood wonderfully still, cast back 
 forty years into her old experience, for Lazun's women- 
 folk are trained to keep silence when men do business 
 together. But now she broke out. 
 
 " You took the first from me, Lazun Palafox. I 
 obeyed and was silent. But this one is more precious, 
 more my own. I have watched her grow. You 
 must find her for me. For this I cannot forgive — if 
 any harm comes to her through the murderer of my 
 daughter." 
 
 Lazun turned to her with a marvellous light on his 
 face, a calm, almost beatific assurance of success, which 
 was very communicative. 
 
 " Wait a httle — trust me," he said, " I shall find 
 her, or take such a vengeance as shall make to tingle 
 the ears of those who hear ! " 
 
 " Find her — find her — bring her back to me. No- 
 thing but that — let the rest go." 
 
 " I shall find her — be assured, Barbara. But I 
 shall also punish the guilty. Now go back to the 
 Manse, and say what you can to the good Doctor. 
 I have some pressing business^to talk over with this, 
 gentleman."
 
 228 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Barbara went submissively, the ancient habit of 
 obedience asserting itself. 
 
 " Eh, sirs, wae is me — speak to the Doctor," she 
 muttered as she padded over the short green sward 
 tufted with scabious and sea rocket, " 'tis easy said. 
 But it will break his heart to ken the bit lass in such 
 trouble." 
 
 And she studied, forgetting her own grief, how to 
 soften the news for her master. 
 
 Lazun watched her over the ridge. She turned 
 to look back, and Lazun, who caught the glance and 
 gesture, knew well that it was not to look once more 
 on him who had been her husband, but with some 
 faint hope that Zipporah Katti might somehow have 
 returned. 
 
 Then he turned to Captain Wester. 
 
 " We must have a good deal of talk together — you 
 •and I. Perhaps we had better go down to the inn 
 yonder. I am known there. They will let you have 
 a room, and I will send you over some of my kit. We 
 are about the same build and it is not the first time 
 we have shared together." 
 
 Captain Wester sighed with a deep relief. Lazun's 
 words intimated quite clearly that his chief did not 
 hold him responsible. They had worked so long and 
 so well, in all manner of projects, had broken wholesale 
 the revenue laws of so many countries, that he would 
 have grieved, more perhaps than for anything on 
 earth, to lose the confidence of Lazun Palafox. 
 
 " Thank you," he answered, " it will be as well to 
 go to the inn. I respect the Doctor very greatly, but 
 I cannot flatter myself that I should be anyways a 
 welcome visitor at the Manse." 
 
 Lazun smiled a little grimly, watching Captain 
 Wester the while. 
 
 " Yet you and I seem to have unloaded a good deal 
 of our matrimonial responsibilities upon his good and 
 godly shoulders — your boy and my girl — it is a good 
 deal to ask of a man who has never married." 
 
 Presently they were at the " Maxwell Arms," where 
 an excellent host ministered to the ex-captain of the
 
 MUTINY ON 'GOLDEN FLAGON' 229 
 
 steamer Golden Flagon of Caneale. As the breakfast 
 was cleared away, Lazun set himself to discuss plans 
 for the capture of the runaway. The old chieftain 
 had the more imagination, and in grasp of possi- 
 biHties and readiness of device was far ahead of Captain 
 Wester. But the Captain had all the coal and sailing 
 capacities of the ship at his finger-ends — the possi- 
 bility of her entering into certain ports and the reasons 
 which would compel her to give a wide berth to others, 
 
 " I listened," he said in answer to an inquiry, " when 
 they got the anchor up after they had taken in the 
 boat they had sent ashore with me, and I am sure 
 they went due west through the North Channel, and 
 not south along the English coast — yet that is the 
 direct route to France." 
 
 " They would not go to France in any case," said 
 Lazun — " it is somewhere farther afield than that they 
 are bound for." 
 
 " Well, he dare not try his own country — he has got 
 too many blood feuds there and the Civil Guards 
 would give some good gold for the pelt of Lupo the 
 Wolf." 
 
 " Portugal or the Islands then ? " questioned Lazun, 
 after a pause. 
 
 The ex-captain shook his head. He was light- 
 ing a cigarette with the languid carefulness which 
 characterized his manner in repose. 
 
 " Not Portugal — nor yet the Canaries — too much 
 Elder, Dempster & Co. there nowadays, tourists 
 at ten guineas a trip littering the sea front and half- 
 a-dozen squiffs of Portugee douaniers showing them 
 how to smuggle, or, behind their palms, offering to 
 take them up to ' von nice house in von quiet street 
 vere you will be pleese ! ' No, not any of these Islands 
 — except perhaps the Cape Verdes — or — by Jove, 
 now I think of it, Lupo speaks Arabic like a son of the 
 Prophet — there is trouble, big trouble on the Morocco 
 coast. Some tidy harbours also, wliich he knows 
 better than any man alive. He has not served time 
 at Ceuta with the Spaniards for nothing, and I should 
 not wonder if he took that way. He used to talk a
 
 230 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 good deal of old Hamid, a rich but rather uneasy 
 Sultan down there — who is either up to the neck in 
 rebellion, or else pope and king and everything over 
 some thousands of square miles in the South. Lupo 
 had some concessions there, so he said, waiting for 
 the time when the country was settled enough to work 
 them. Yes, this Sultan of his gave them to him. 
 What for ? Well, I could not be quite sure, but I 
 should imagine it had something to do with the supply 
 of ladies for his hareem." 
 
 Lazun asked a question. 
 
 " No, not Circassians — not really. Though I have 
 little doubt that was what Lupo sold them as — mostly 
 Kabyles run across the French frontier into the 
 Tripolitaine. Some of them are taught in the French 
 schools, too, and have dresses from Algiers." 
 
 " And how long could he go on without coal in the 
 Golden Flagon ? " 
 
 " Oh, he would not use much," said the ex-captain 
 reflectively. " He could go half round the world 
 with what's in his bunkers — that is, if he was not 
 pressed." 
 
 " Ah," said Lazun, " but then he will be pressed — 
 and hard." 
 
 " Li that case a week will see him out, sir," said 
 Captain Wester, " but you must remember, ever 
 since Rojdestzvensky came down this coast from Vigo, 
 the Spaniards of Cadiz and the southerly ports 
 have learned the art of coaling at sea, and there are 
 always some of them hanging off the coast northward 
 of Cape Juby willing and wishful to sell coal (at a 
 price) to ships with excellent reasons of their own for 
 giving Gibraltar the go-by. Some big navies without 
 coaling ports use them too, and find them mighty 
 convenient." 
 
 " I see," said Lazun, " thank you. I think that is 
 all I need at present. I shall have to dispatch you 
 immediately to take over a new command, so while 
 I go to do some little telegraphing, you had better 
 get to bed and lay in a little store of sleep. We shall 
 need all we can get during the next few days ! "
 
 MUTINY ON 'GOLDEN FLAGON' 231 
 
 But in the afternoon Lazun was completely edified 
 as to the intentions of his rival, son-in-law, and self- 
 appointed heir-presumptive. 
 
 A letter was left at the Manse door by a lad as long, 
 lean, and willowy as a fishing rod (so Barbara Simpson 
 described him). He had been running, and as soon as 
 he had thrust the letter into her hand he ran again. 
 
 '' He went hke smoke," she said with a fine ex- 
 plicative gesture, " I thought my gentleman would 
 take the little road to the green gate, but never a bit. 
 My lad ran like an adder in grass straight for the main 
 road. No opening of gates for him. He went over 
 the dyke hke a circus-jumper, and though I followed 
 on to the end of the avenue, there was neither hilt 
 nor hair of him to be seen when I got there." 
 
 Lazun made no remark. He went to his room, 
 and there with the door locked, he read and re-read 
 the letter which called for his surrender. Then he 
 went out and sent a few more ciphered telegrams, 
 to the dismay of the postmaster, who had not yet 
 finished the first batch and had never had such a 
 descent of unknown words and foreign languages 
 since the quiet Orraland post-office was strung to the 
 end of a wire. 
 
 The mutineer's manifesto and ultimatum ran thus : 
 
 " To Lazun Palafox — Wheresoever He May Be 
 Found. 
 
 " I, Lupo Palafox of Zaragoza, born noble, repre- 
 senting all of that family and name who adhere to me, 
 desire you Lazun Palafox of Cancale and other, to 
 take heed to the words which follow. They are not 
 vain words. The cup is full and you shall drink it. 
 
 " Long we have borne because you were the elder 
 and had the power. Many things we passed over. 
 But now, you must render an exact account. We 
 are neither your servants nor your bond-men. We 
 are your brothers and your equals. The wealth you 
 have heaped up " (" Ha, I thought so — now we come 
 to it ! " muttered Lazun grimly between his clenched 
 teeth) " is not yours but held in trust for the tribe. I
 
 232 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 am the next heir and I claim that it should not be 
 alienated. You have recently sent a great sum to a 
 foreign country to buy an estate for that one of all 
 your kinsfolk whom you have chosen exclusively to 
 prefer. This is a great wrong, and I am the better 
 able to denounce it since the favoured one is my own 
 daughter. 
 
 " I have, therefore, in agreement with the Spanish 
 part of our folk, taken means to compel you to refund 
 to us what is ours. I have set your hireling captain 
 on shore, and with all the crew who by blood are 
 interested in the matter of our heritage, I have taken 
 due possession of the Golden Flagon and mean to em- 
 ploy her as circumstances may direct. Chance put 
 the girl, your favourite Zipporah Katti, into my hands, 
 and she shall be our hostage till you do us justice. 
 
 " Accordingly we demand an immediate and 
 equitable division of all your possessions. We will 
 allow you to keep one tenth share for yourself, which 
 is liberal indeed. Or, since we have no means of 
 touching that which you have bought in Scotland, 
 we will allow that estate and castle to be yours. 
 
 " But Gobelet, with all its businesses, and all the 
 properties and interests at St. Malo, Cancale, St. 
 Servan, Vigo, Cadiz, Gibraltar, and elsewhere out 
 of Britain, are to be mine, to be adminstered by me 
 in the name and for the profit of the entire family. 
 
 " Raphael Suarez, Calle Sta. Anna 34, Barcelona, 
 will undertake all the negotiations, and meet whatever 
 faithful man you will permit to represent you, that 
 the necessary discretion may be carefully guarded 
 and conditions observed. 
 
 "Lupo Palafox." 
 
 Lazun considered all this without astonishment. 
 He rubbed his chin meditatively with his forefinger. 
 There was even the flicker of a smile in the deep lines 
 about his mouth — grim humour mingled with a certain 
 appreciation of the fellow's audacity. 
 
 " Lupo," he murmured, " poor Lupo — since when 
 have you learned to phrase a letter like that ? Like
 
 MUTINY ON 'GOLDEN FLAGON' 238^ 
 
 eight out of ten of your people, you would have- 
 trouble in writing your will, and even that would 
 need an affidavit. But this smells the village lawyer 
 a mile off. Who is the Catalan Jew who is taking a 
 hand ? He is either very ignorant or a man of 
 remarkable courage. I would give something to- 
 look Mr. Raphael Suarez of the Calle Santa Anna 
 between the eyes. I must drop in at number 34 one 
 of these days — but not alone. By no means alone." 
 
 Then he went back over the letter in order to taste, 
 as a good critic does style, some of the felicities of the 
 ultimatum of Lupo. 
 
 " Um-m-m ! " grunted Lazun through his nose. 
 " So I am to ' drink the cup,' am I ? Aye, and with 
 it you under the table, Lupo, my friend. You will 
 kindly permit me ' to keep the estate ' — most thought- 
 ful — generous, too. 
 
 " Gobelet, with all its businesses — St. Malo, Cancale, 
 and so forth — um-m-m — ' are to be mine— to be 
 administered by me ' — Lupo, my good simple Lupo — 
 ' for the profit of the whole family ' — Lupo's family 
 would be rapidly enriched after a few months of his 
 care. Sanctissima Trinidad, what is this ? " 
 
 He picked up the envelope which had been crushed 
 in the pocket of Barbara's long " fishing-rod " mes- 
 senger, and pulled from it a long strip of thin paper — 
 obviously the edge of a torn newspaper. There were 
 some words on it roughly done in ink, in staggery 
 script. 
 
 "■ Here we have the real Lupo," he said, " writ with 
 mine own hand ! " 
 
 " You have three weeks to make settlement — if not 
 will sell girl Zipporah to good advantage — several 
 purchasers offering — you must outbid them." 
 
 The grey look came back to Lazun's face. 
 
 " God's blood," he swore in French, though he 
 seldom used an oath in any language, " you have said 
 it, Lupo. I will outbid you. But you shall pay the 
 price — for the threat merely — because you have said 
 this thing — even without intention as a bluff, making
 
 234 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 of yourself a Judas who would sell his own blood to 
 the infidel ! " 
 
 Then Lazun folded both the papers in his hand and 
 put them back into the envelope. His mind was 
 turning over the words of Captain Wester about his 
 treacherous supercargo's knowledge of Morocco. 
 
 " And yet," he murmured, " one must be careful. 
 The rascal knows a Sultan of sorts. He is familiar 
 with the Atlantic ports — and after all who knows ? 
 He went out by the North Channel with a week's 
 coal on board." 
 
 He pondered for five minutes on this, frowning the 
 while, and then strode away across to the Manse to 
 make his adieus. 
 
 " In any case," he concluded, " the sooner Wester 
 and I are at Barcelona the better it will be for all 
 concerned. It is something that Little Eza is on the 
 Golden Flagon, and I think I can be sure of her flitter- 
 mouse of a brother, who has yet more in him than he 
 lets appear. But Raif Palafox is the pick of all. He 
 has a chance now that he might have waited years 
 for — and well he knows it." 
 
 " Besides," he chuckled, as he stood outside the 
 creeper-hung porch of the Manse, " he is in the fore- 
 castle among the men, and will, I wager, conspire all 
 round Lupo and his lawyer Jew. And when it comes 
 to fisticuffs I would rather that Raif Palafox's knife 
 were behind Lupo's shoulder-blades than mine ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 ON BOARD THE " XEPTUNE " 
 
 Lazun and Captain Wester talked together in a 
 first-class compartment of a carriage which a mighty 
 P.L.M. engine was hurrying southward. With them 
 was a young man seated in the corner opposite, who 
 spoke rarely, but who seemed immensely interested 
 in their conversation. Paul Wester the Elder had 
 found Paul the Younger. 
 
 The thing was Lazun's idea. 
 
 " It is a mean thing that he should stay in London 
 in penitence for what, after all, you or I would have 
 tossed over our shoulders, and thought no more of. 
 Let him come along and help. Zipporah will think 
 the more of him, and I shall see that Little Eza lets 
 him alone this time. Such skirmishes form a lad, 
 and we may have some serious work to do before we 
 touch civilization again." 
 
 " No further news, sir ? " Captain Wester ventured 
 to ask as Lazun relapsed into consideration of a batch 
 of telegrams and letters which had been handed to 
 him on the platform of the Gare de Lyon. 
 
 Lazun glanced at one of his flimsy blue oblongs. 
 
 " A vessel answering to her description heading 
 south under full steam was sighted twenty miles 
 west of Cape Trafalgar — ' supposed to be a large new 
 destroyer or old type of third-class cruiser ' — sup- 
 posed by an idiot," commented Lazun scornfully, 
 " as if the Golden Flagon had either the hnes or the 
 colour of these black iron pots " 
 
 " Colour can be changed, though perhaps not 
 quite so rapidly as all that," said the Captain, " and 
 what will we have to catch her, sir ? " 
 
 235
 
 236 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Our own Neptune and Trident from St. Malo 
 will be at Marseilles, I stopped them by a wire to 
 Malta." 
 
 Captain Wester shook his head a little sadly. 
 
 " They have no chance against the Golden Flagon, 
 sir," he said, " she has the heels of anything we can 
 put on her trail." 
 
 " Yes," said Lazun, " when handled by you ! 
 But — I would not trust Lupo with a felucca if I could 
 help it." 
 
 A quick flush rose to the Captain's face. These 
 were almost the first words of praise he had ever 
 heard from his owner's lips, and besides they were 
 spoken to a younger man by the most famous 
 adventurous seaman of a past age. 
 
 Also his son Paul was there, before whom, though 
 he did not admit it to himself, the Captain felt vaguely 
 unquiet and ashamed. Somehow that last circum- 
 stance gave to Lazun's praise a peculiarly heady 
 flavour. 
 
 " Thank you. Chief," he said, " I am glad you have 
 confidence in me." 
 
 " I have, specially in your seamanship," Lazun 
 continued, " and you have served me faithfully and 
 disinterestedly. But there is that girl to be got 
 back " 
 
 " And the ship," said the Captain. 
 
 " The girl is our first thought — our only one indeed 
 — except vengeance. For I can build a better ship 
 than the Golden Flagon " 
 
 "■ A bigger, certainly — a better, never ! " her late 
 Captain was speaking almost reverently. 
 
 Lazun nodded back. He could appreciate profes- 
 sional enthusiasm, and he liked a Captain of his to 
 admire his ship. 
 
 " Well," he went on, " we will save everything if 
 we can, ship and all. But the girl must be our first 
 thought. I am sure our young friend here will agree." 
 
 He turned to Paul the Younger, who, as a young 
 man ought, had sat silent, awed by the wonderful 
 conversation of his elders. He felt himself infinitely
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 237 
 
 small and futile, which at his age is no ill state of 
 mind once in a way. He had done nothing but write 
 a little, and these men spoke of great deeds and wild 
 adventure as part of the day's work. It had taken 
 him some time to realize that the tall man with the 
 grey at the temples and the big blond moustache 
 was really his father. This was not the dangerous 
 adventurer of the good Doctor's counsels, whose 
 blood was always referred to as " running in his 
 veins " each time he misbehaved or had come in 
 late for family worship at the Manse — which last 
 was a crime heinous indeed. 
 
 To Paul Wester his father looked kindly, gentle, 
 and approachable, even a little shy and reserved. 
 But he liked him instinctively. 
 
 Lazun continued to turn over his papers with a 
 rustling sound. " We have a solid chance of running 
 her down if she tries any long distance records — to 
 South America, say, or round the Cape. I know a 
 little protected state somewhere in Europe — I name 
 no names at present — but the rulers of that country 
 are under very considerable obligations to me, and 
 I ventured to remind its President of my claims 
 upon him. The government could not risk all I 
 asked, but they would gladly do what they could. 
 They possess a few ancient ships of little account in 
 any trouble, though good enough for police work. 
 But recently I had my eye upon a smart little destroyer 
 just delivered to them by an English shipbuilding 
 yard, having been built to order. But ever since 
 the JEnglish crew (which has made record speed at 
 trials or in bringing her out) turned her over and went 
 home, the native crew which replaced them has done 
 nothing but sit and look at the engines. If they 
 polished some brass work, it is about all they dare 
 do. Not an ounce of steam has been raised on her. 
 So, as they had not yet put her into their navy, I 
 asked this enterprising government to lend her to 
 me, and I sent enough men from St. Malo to bring 
 her out. She will complete her crew from the Neptune 
 a little west of Gibraltar — and you. Captain Wester,
 
 238 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 are to command her. She has one big 4*7 gun which 
 will be useful if we have any long distance work, 
 and half-a-dozen 3-inchers, besides Maxims — all quite 
 neat and modern." 
 
 " I hope I shall not be compelled to fire at the 
 Golden Flagon,'' said Captain Wester, a little ruefully. 
 
 " I hope not," Lazun agreed, " it shall be our last 
 chance if we do. But such long bowls are rather 
 excellent when it comes to sending a polite message 
 to heave to." 
 
 " What is her speed ? " the Captain demanded 
 with sudden interest. 
 
 " She is rated at 24 knots, but from what I saw 
 of the trials, and heard from the builders, I think 
 we can get 27 out of her. The builders' crew drove 
 her through at a trifle under 31, and could have got 
 more, only they were afraid of scaring the protected 
 state commissioners quite to death." 
 
 " If I get an engineer I can work with " Captain 
 
 Wester was beginning when the old Chief cut him 
 short with his customary brusqueness. 
 
 "I have seen to that — old ' Clydeside ' Whyte from 
 the Neptune, or O'Halloran — " Orange " Halloran 
 from Belfast. You can take your choice. He is 
 coming on the Trident." 
 
 " Then I will take ' Clydeside '," said Captain Wester 
 promptly. " I could do with O'Halloran too, but 
 one would not serve under the other." 
 
 " They would if I told them, at least the Orange- 
 man would." 
 
 " At any rate I am likely to be obliged to take 
 risks enough, and old Whyte will steady everybody. 
 Besides he has served in the navy and understands 
 destroyers." 
 
 " The Rapide du Midi " was now rattling down 
 the breakneck descent which leads by multiplied 
 tunnels through the Cote d'Or into Dijon. They 
 had charming idyllic glimpses of the beginnings of 
 vintage in the brief open intervals before the engine, 
 with a toot and a snort, carried the roaring " Rapide " 
 into darkness again.
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 239 
 
 Lazun in his corner brooded over his plans, and 
 made notes on the backs of telegrams. After a while 
 they came quite suddenly out of a tunnel, and amid 
 much grinding of wheels found themselves in Dijon 
 Station. Captain Wester rose and crossed to sit 
 beside his son. He began talking, pointing out 
 people and places of interest, in a tone of pleasant 
 familiarity and comradeship without the least refer- 
 ence to their relationship, and for this Paul was 
 grateful to him. 
 
 " Yonder is the station-master," said Captain 
 Wester, " the fat man in the full-skirted blue frock- 
 coat, and gold-banded cap. These he wears at this 
 train because it carries only first-class passengers, 
 mostly English, and he is a stout patriot. He will 
 go back into his little den and put on an old inky 
 dust-coat till the up-train comes along to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 " That old man at the coffee-stall has made a 
 fortune by selling cajl-au-lait at a franc a cup — as. 
 well indeed he might. In a year or two he and the 
 gorgeous station-master will take their " retraits '* 
 together, and cultivate cabbages for the rest of their 
 lives in small patches of garden set side by side — 
 and the coffee-pedlar will be the richer man." 
 
 " One would not think it to see them now," said 
 Paul, " the station-master looks as autocratic and 
 solitary as an admiral on the quarter-deck, while 
 the other only perspires and takes in the silver ! " 
 
 After Lyons Captain Wester took his son in to 
 dinner on the dining car. He chatted in a familiar 
 fashion with the fat rubicund old waiter who booked 
 the seats. They had a rear corner place and by a 
 little arrangement a table to themselves. It was 
 pleasant in the evening coolness to look down on the 
 broad smooth stretches of the Rhone lying below them. 
 It looked calm and still as a lake, yet Paul remembered 
 that it " leaps like a tiger on the sea." It was good 
 also to sip the wine of his father's choice and submit 
 to the witchery of his tongue. -^ 
 
 For Paul Wester the Elder had never used more
 
 240 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 x)f his quality of personal seductiveness in wooing 
 any woman, than he now exerted for the conquest 
 of his son. 
 
 At first Paul had not much to say. But he melted 
 in spite of himself. He remembered that Barbara 
 had always had a weakness for his father and never 
 joined in the anathemas of Doctor Septimus. But 
 then Barbara frankly avowed that she liked handsome 
 men. And Paul thought, as he looked at his father, 
 how handsome he must have been in his youth. 
 His eyes were not yet opened to see that never had 
 he been so handsome as at present, with his fine 
 intellectual head, his exquisite manners, and quiet 
 ,air of melancholy. 
 
 Vainly Paul Wester recalled the Doctor's warnings, 
 as to the dangers of turning out a man like his father. 
 They had been forcible, but not precise. And now 
 it was the vagueness of what he had been told which 
 weighed with him. 
 
 Paul had hoped that some day he might have a 
 chance to become a war-correspondent. The memo- 
 ries of O'Donovan and Archibald Forbes were strong 
 upon him. But already he was conscious — as all 
 newspaper men of his time — that the days of special 
 correspondents were numbered. Henceforward in- 
 stead of clustering on the firing line they would be 
 kept at base and told such things as were good for 
 them to hear. 
 
 When Lazun and Captain Wester carried Paul off 
 from the office of the Aurora in Fleet Street, the world 
 flushed suddenly bright for the young man. He seemed 
 to have been merely dreaming before, and now he 
 had wakened to the heat of an engagement — mutiny, 
 pursuit, adventure, all crowded upon him — and two 
 strong calm men were by his side to whom such 
 things arrived with greater regularity than their 
 meals. 
 
 Quicksilver ran in young Paul's veins as his father, 
 with the side of the table for the Moroccan coast, 
 knives for reefs and watches for ships, demonstrated 
 the probable position of the Golden Flagon, and
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 241 
 
 showed how the Neptune, the Trident and the de- 
 stroyer-cruiser of the venal protected state would 
 close in upon her if the plans which Lazun had 
 formed chanced to work out. 
 
 But of course they would — they must. 
 
 Were they not Lazun's plans ? And was not the 
 man who should carry them out before him, calm- 
 eyed, delicate-handed, covering implacable resolu- 
 tion with his curious air of pensive carelessness ? 
 In fact was he not his own father. Captain Paul 
 Wester, the most trusted agent and most faithful 
 lieutenant of Lazun Palafox ? 
 
 • ••••• • 
 
 Through the marvellous Babel of Marseilles, Vieux 
 Port, Paul walked as through fairyland. The clatter 
 and clang of crane and wagon, the bright costumes 
 of all manner of eastern and oriental peoples excited 
 him. He did not grow calm until he found himself 
 on board of a fine new steamer, the Neptune, and 
 presently against a pleasant push of sea wind passing 
 out into the quiet blue of the Mediterranean from 
 eastern Joliette where the big liners lie. 
 
 He saw his father on the bridge and to Paul's 
 eye he appeared wholly transfigured. He seemed 
 taller in his uniform, more commanding, and when 
 he moved his finger, something happened immedi- 
 ately. Paul had never been on a vessel bigger than 
 a channel packet, and though he knew how to sail 
 a fishing boat on the Sol way (and no contemptible 
 sailing that is, either), the life on board a vessel so 
 large, so well found and swift appealed to him like 
 a revelation of the innate subordination of man. 
 
 Lazun himself behaved like a passenger on board. 
 He saluted Captain Wester with deference when he 
 spoke to him, and he never did so without first 
 inquiring through an officer if it would be convenient. 
 Of course, every one knew who he was, and the rever- 
 ence that surrounded him was expressed in the eager- 
 ness of the sailors to do their duty when Lazun's 
 eyes came their way — keen, shining eyes which 
 somehow appeared to rove hither and thither over 
 
 R
 
 242 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 the ship and all on board, with the sudden partial 
 illumination of a searchlight. 
 
 They had their last glimpse of the barbarically 
 striped new cathedral. The tall spire of " Our 
 Lady of Grace " sank in the waters. The rocky 
 cdteau of Provence stretched away barrenly towards 
 the foot-hills of the Cevennes, till they met them 
 on the wonderful rifted table-land of Saint William in 
 the Desert. Then the steamer set her bows in the 
 direction of the Straits of Gibraltar — keeping, how- 
 ever, well to the African side, while on her port beam 
 another vessel followed a couple of sea miles astern. 
 She was the Trident, a sister ship belonging to Lazun, 
 stopped like the Neptune at Malta and now following 
 the chase in her turn. 
 
 Most things that passed on the ship were, naturally, 
 beyond Paul's ken. But his practised reporter's 
 attention kept up a quiet survey and stored away 
 multitudes of things for future use. Still he had 
 much time to himself, till he found an old armourer 
 with whom he spent it. Here, hour after hour, he 
 learned the secrets of the armourer's art, so far as 
 they could be picked up on the Neptune. " For " (here 
 the good man-at-arms lowered his voice), " I'm not 
 saying a word against the ship, Mr. Paul. She's a 
 fine ship and we have a paragon of a captain — I 
 will say it, there's none like him — all the more because 
 he is your father, sir. But for all that the boat is 
 scandalously ill-found in my department. Fancy, 
 Mr. Paul, I can only ' brown ' the metal of a gun 
 or revolver. There's no little retort on board for 
 putting on the ' blue ' till it blushes sweet as the 
 bloom on a grape. And all that I get from the Chief 
 when I happen to mention it, is only just ' So, 
 Adams, and will the gun shoot any the worse for 
 that ? ' 
 
 " He doesn't understand the pride of an armourer. 
 Of course, it will shoot the same, brown or blue, 
 but then brown is common, only used for cavalrymen's 
 carbines and such. And every man ought to have 
 a pride in his work, or his job is mere navvy work,
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 243 
 
 not worth the having. Then the men I get down 
 to help me sometimes are fools — honest tarry Jacks — 
 well enough on deck, but at my work they have hands 
 of sausages and heads of turnips. Now, Mr. Paul, 
 if you was to set your mind to it, I could teach you 
 more than any man on the ship knows of arms except 
 myself. Besides I will set up a sheet of iron for a 
 target at which you can practise with saloon caps — 
 I will make a marksman of you, lad — aye, and I will 
 show you how to fight with the knife, and how to 
 meet one o' them Moorish fanatics if your revolver 
 jams — all things of great use to you if so be we are 
 going to the place the ship's crew thinks of." 
 
 " And where may that be ? " Paul asked curiously, 
 for he wanted to know what was the impression on 
 board the Neptune herself as to the objective of their 
 trip. 
 
 " Well, reely, Mr. Paul, none o' them know, no 
 more'n me. Nobody on board knows anything 
 excepting the old man and your dad — and even he 
 may not be told the why of our going there. But o' 
 course, the men can guess. Gun-running is what 
 this ship, and most others of Lazun's, was built for. 
 And guns they've run wherever there has been a war 
 or a mutiny of troops, or two kings or two presidents 
 (and that's a deal worse) resolved to worry each 
 other till only one king or one president is left. 
 
 " So some of them thinks that this here trip is 
 for the benefit of the Sultan of Morocco to help him 
 fight the Pretender. And some say for the Pretender 
 against the Sultan, so that one of them can go under, 
 and the survivor so left fight the French peaceably 
 with what's over after the battle. They let on that 
 we will surely be met by a big ugly cargo-boat out- 
 side Gibraltar, and that there will be many cases 
 to take aboard, and fresh coal, and all as black as 
 my hat, and everybody except your father swearing 
 awful. The Captain is a pretty shot with any weapon 
 and keeps all he has like jewels — as well as I could 
 myself. But he will say nothing when we are tran- 
 shipping. He will have his meals taken to him in 
 
 R 2
 
 244 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 the cabin and the owner will most likely be there 
 with him, and a sentry posted at the door till all is 
 cleaned up again above stairs. For decks ain't his 
 hobby, as it were, except when they don't please him. 
 And when they don't he calls the first officer and 
 says in that kind of simmering Bessemer steel way 
 of his, ' Mr, Fox, let me suggest that your decks are 
 not precisely like the reputation of Cfesar's wife ! ' 
 
 " Now, it's curious. You would think that no- 
 thing, because it's not a manly way of speaking. 
 But it starts off our Mr. Fox as red and rusty as his 
 name, and he goes right down, and shows the double 
 rows of his clenched teeth to the second and third 
 mates, and he says to them, ' What do you think you 
 are here for — to get your ties straight ? The skipper 
 has been telling me that our decks are as dirty as 
 sin ? ' And the second and third mates, they drives 
 it unsweetened to the boatswain and the other lower 
 deck bosses — sometimes including even Chips and 
 me. But what they say is, ' The Skipper has sworn 
 to disrate the whole of you. He says that the boat's 
 no better than a cattle-pen, and if it is not improved 
 he will put the whole crew of you ashore and have 
 the boat whitewashed and disinfected.' Then the 
 boatswain and them others, when their turn comes, 
 they says hundreds of words only used on shipboard, 
 and in church, to the A.B.'s and ordinary seamen. 
 They call them such names that there's nothing left 
 except to abuse the ship's boys till they are ready 
 to jump overboard. So it's passed on, getting 
 stronger and stronger every time, till it's so thick 
 that every word can stand alone. And yet all that 
 your daddy said, Mr. Paul, was just that these here 
 planks were not like the reputation of Caesar's wife 
 — which must have meant something to our Mr. 
 Fox though it don't to the like of us. 
 
 " Ah," the old armourer concluded, " a man to 
 be proud of is your father — though he maybe don't 
 condescend overly much to them he is sailing with. 
 And right he is, sir. But then most of our fellows 
 have been with him here and there over the world.
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 245 
 
 They can tell how he brought the whole landing party 
 safe through the Government troops encamped out- 
 side Greytown, which is on the Mosquito coast, and 
 a devil of a hole we were in, sir, that day. Aye, 
 even them that hasn't been with Captain Wester 
 there and elsewhere, knows all about it, and there 
 is not one among 'em but would follow him into 
 purgatory itself — aye, or even hotter places." 
 
 They slipped out of the Straits by night, and when 
 the sun rose the Rock of Tarik was only a blue blur 
 of water-colour on a pearl-grey sky. Paul was dis- 
 appointed, but then to his left hand was Africa. 
 He looked long at it, wondering what new thing 
 would come out of it for him. He knew that Zipporah 
 Katti was aboard the mutinied ship, but neither 
 Lazun nor his father had told him more of the danger 
 which threatened her. 
 
 He thought constantly of her, and it was with a 
 sudden jerk of hope that he realized that Lazun did 
 not intend them to be very long separated. If not, 
 why Avould he have brought him away from his work 
 in London to aid in the search ? He knew that Eza 
 Palafox and her brother were also on the Golden 
 Flagon, but the two seniors had not allowed him to 
 imagine that Zipporah Katti was in worse plight 
 than thev. 
 
 That day was long and dull. No attempt was 
 made at speed. Near the corner of the Riff country 
 the African coast was left behind, and the Neptune 
 and Trident steamed out to sea, loafing casually 
 along and waiting for the night. Paul noticed that 
 the crew looked much more numerous than before. 
 Many sailors, stokers, and engineers, none of whom 
 he had seen before, roosted about in wait below. 
 
 He questioned the old armourer. But he only 
 bade him expect no questions to be answered on 
 board Lazun's ships. 
 
 " Those who can answer them are up yonder, and 
 the rest (Tf us have too good berths to risk them by 
 meddling with what does not concern us. If there 
 are more men on board than are needed to work the
 
 246 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 ship, you may be sure that there's a job coming along 
 which will find them all employment, and probably 
 in a devil of a hurry too ! " 
 
 With this meagre information, Paul was obliged 
 to be content. 
 
 He remembered the talk he had heard on the train, 
 however, and he resolved that he would not go 
 below that night. Nobody interfered with him in 
 any way. He took his meals with the first officer 
 and the two mates, who, naturally enough, were a 
 little inclined to be silent before the son of the captain. 
 But his pressman's knowledge of general events, 
 which seemed to them extraordinary, and the frank- 
 ness of his manners finally decided them to trust 
 him. Newspaper-land was quite as wonderful an 
 unknown world to them as the sea was to him, and 
 the constant marvel of how a paper gets filled day 
 after day — a point which remains something of a 
 mystery to pressmen themselves — moved them to 
 ever recurring wonder. 
 
 He explained the various services, the wonderful 
 subdivision of labour, the editorials, the locals, the 
 daily calls, the sporting, markets and book-notices, 
 and the other world of the advertisements. But 
 after he had spent much breath upon them they 
 came back to the old question : " Yes, but how can 
 all these things happen every day — enough to fill 
 a paper ? " 
 
 They could not see that their own world was 
 infinitely more varied and adventurous. It was 
 always the same thing, the officers declared. The 
 senior of them, Fynes, was a Scot from Argyllshire; 
 Haddock, the second mate, a hot-headed, powerfully 
 built son of Bristol Port, while the third mate, Le 
 Breton, hailed from the Channel Islands. 
 
 But of their work they spoke nothing, save of the 
 details of watches and the routine of the ship. They 
 never told of their adventures, or of the dangers 
 they had encountered, though Paul knew that they 
 had just returned from delivering a cargo of Maxims 
 and Lebels to the revolted sheiks of Southern Arabia,
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 247 
 
 without permission either of Aden or of the Turkish 
 Government. Presently these weapons would begin 
 to speak for themselves, but there would be no 
 question of Lazun or of the Neptune — still less 
 of these three men and the old engineer " Clydeside " 
 Whyte, who generally dined hastily in scraps and 
 mouthfuls in his engine-room, but occasionally and 
 always unexpectedly would assert his right to a place 
 at the officers' table by coming and taking a meal 
 with them to show he was as good as anybody else. 
 
 And so between the mates and the armourer's 
 workshop the slow afternoon hours crept by. The 
 sun went down in a flurry of scarlet clouds, wind- 
 frayed at the edges, flocculent, and splashed to the 
 zenith by the incoming breeze. Presently Venus 
 burned like an electric torch over their bows. 
 
 Paul watched the ship all dark about him. He 
 felt curiously muffled, though the stars looked in 
 upon him with myriad pin-pricks of fire. Others 
 were watching too. His father was on the bridge, 
 and all along the bulwarks unseen men huddled in 
 every point of vantage, whispering low to each other. 
 
 The uneasiness of instant expectancy was on the 
 Neftune. 
 
 The Trident was signalling her position a little 
 farther west. Scarcely half-a-mile separated the 
 vessels. They kept this position and waited. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour before midnight, a 
 rocket sprang up to the north and burst green against 
 a sky of blue-black ink. The Trident answered with 
 a white flare, and then quite silently, into the space 
 of darkly heaving sea between the two ships, a mov- 
 ing bulk, long and sinister, thrust itself. It was the 
 destroyer-cruiser built by the English firm for the 
 small protected state which was being civil to Lazun 
 Palafox at the risk of very considerable diplomatic 
 complications. 
 
 Lazun himself was nowhere to be seen. But it 
 was likely that he had slipped aboard the Trident. 
 For it was to that ship and not to the Neptune that 
 the black shadow first turned. Paul could see her
 
 248 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 four funnels as she rounded away from them. They 
 cast a ruddy Hght up on the sky which pulsed Boreahs- 
 hke. 
 
 There ensued a time of waiting that appeared 
 interminable to the young man. He wished much 
 that he dared to approach his father, but he had a 
 wholesome fear — not of Captain Wester personally, 
 but of offending by any incorrectness the ship's com- 
 mander. 
 
 Presently, how^ever, he found himself by the side 
 of " Clydeside " Whyte. The old engineer had come 
 up clad in a double reefer jacket, and now stood 
 looking gloomily over at the new-comer. He had- 
 ordered a boy from below to " lay doon the dunnage 
 at my fit, and stand by." He had also called the 
 same young gentleman " a peeferin' snipe " for quite 
 unknown reasons. 
 
 He was in fact, ripe to grumble, and Paul, who 
 had become a friend of his as a kindred Scot and 
 one interested in machinery, was quite a relief to 
 him. 
 
 " Clydeside," the old man growled (for at such 
 times he did his cursing quietly), " it's ' Clydeside ' 
 here and ' Clydeside ' there ! What for should they 
 tak' me from my engines that I have suckled, as it 
 were, frae their birth, and set me on a soul-racking 
 destroyer when I thought I was quit of the whole breed 
 years ago ! And most like, the dago-dons will have 
 the very harrigals shaken out o' them by this time — 
 James Brown's finest make as they are. But that's 
 Lazun all over — he's a fine maister, for a man of 
 siccan mixed breed, with but little of Scots con- 
 sistency in liis blood, I'm doubtin'. Och, there's 
 few hke him — and doubtless it's a fine poetical thing 
 this stravagin' and adventurin' in destroyers that 
 don't belong to ye. It's the kind of thing that a 
 man feels himself parteeklarly fit for, coming hame 
 from a Burns dinner. But I'm getting ower auld, 
 and besides I hae a bit siller laid by. It's a wild 
 life the sea as I have lived it. But there's some 
 siller in it for them that kens how to tak' care o't.
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 249 
 
 There's few of such — aye, lad, desperate few. I'm 
 no great on the preachin', young man, but I'll no deny 
 that in my het youth — like yoursel', dootless — I, 
 even auld ' Clydeside,' has lookit on the wine when 
 it was red — (though it's a wersh beverage and I'm 
 a patriot even in my drink), and also I hae lookit 
 on a woman when she was bonny. But noo, it's 
 time for me to be drawing in my horns. I maun be 
 settling in a bit hoosie, near a village for company, 
 near the sea because I wad perish else, and above a' 
 under a fine, ripe, experienced auldish minister — ken 
 ye ony sic ? " 
 
 " I do," said Paul, " my uncle Doctor Laird has 
 been minister of just such a parish these forty years." 
 
 " A pairish minister," said Clydeside. " Week 
 I was raised Cameronian in Glasgow, and gaed to 
 Renfield Street to William Symington when I was 
 an apprentice. Faith, I think it was his talk about 
 the auld martvrs and them fechtin' Clavers and Lajr 
 that sent me to this kind o' wark. There's an awful 
 heap o' the Auld Testament in Lazun's methods. 
 You read aboot Samson, and you'll agree. But 
 where awa' is this pairish o' yours ? " 
 
 " Kirkpatrick-Maxwellton, in Galloway," said Paul,. 
 " and the village is Orraland." 
 
 " Then I ken her," said Clydeside, " that is to say, 
 I have mony a time seen the reek o' the houses when 
 I ran up a minute when the Golden Flagon was busy 
 layin' her nest-eggs. Oh, aye, I dare say it's a fine 
 spot, but do ye think it likely that your uncle would 
 be for makin' me an elder ? " 
 
 "That I don't know," said Paul carefully, "he 
 has as many as he wants at present, but one can't 
 always tell." 
 
 " What kind o' a man is your uncle ? " 
 
 " There is nobody like him — simple as the poorest 
 body on the road, yet he was once Moderator of the 
 General Assembly. But I can tell you he is not to 
 be trifled with " 
 
 " He would deal faithfully with the like of me, ye 
 think — a sinner but not a hardened sinner ? "
 
 250 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " I am sure he would," said Paul, " he has often 
 so dealt with me." 
 
 " Aweel," said Clydeside, " I'll e'en think aboot 
 it. I might maybe do worse. A fine pairish, a clean 
 bit cottage, a shepherd that deals faithfully, and does 
 not water the pure milk of the Word. That's about 
 what a battered auld sinner o' the Scots persuasion 
 wants in his latter days. Lord, whaVs yon ? " 
 
 He interrupted the sketched arrangements he had 
 been making for the peace of his future life, to return 
 to the troubled one he was leading. 
 
 "See ye that?" he whispered, catching Paul by 
 the arm. " Yonder go the dagos, and instead of sitting 
 by my ain window-cheek in Orraland, with the roses 
 and marrowfats lookin' in at the window and the 
 hens playin' ' Crake-crake ' at the door, while I 
 contemplate my latter end, with my palm on the 
 open Bible like the auld man in the picture — here's 
 me, puir auld ' Clydeside,' that will have to turn in 
 and set to rights yon engine-room that has been 
 
 harried and driven to shivereens by thae dagos 
 
 (no, I'm nane fit to be an elder yet !). And it will 
 take me a week to get the place even decently habit- 
 able or the least music into the machinery. May 
 the Lord preserve me from the sin of profane sweerin' 
 — but I'm dootfu' — not o' His power but of ma 
 capacity. Sweerin's a foolish thing in the abstract 
 and a greater sin when one has come to the time of 
 hoar hairs, like me. But, faith, lad, it's a fact that 
 my business can hardly get on without it — such a 
 tribe of thewless, bloodless, bakers'-bread eaters 
 as they give a chief engineer nowadays — anywhere 
 that is, except in the Navy, where (at least on a de- 
 stroyer) a man has to fill his clothes and look his job — 
 as I will allow. Ah, here they come. I may get to 
 my supplications, for assuredly the Recording Angel 
 up yonder is dippin' his pen in the ink ! " 
 
 When Paul's father had passed over the command 
 to the first officer of the Neptune, he saw to it that 
 the additional members of the crew who had cum-
 
 ON BOARD THE 'NEPTUNE' 251 
 
 bered the lower decks went in their order into the 
 boats prepared for them. " Clydeside " Whyte 
 exhorted his engineers and firemen, hoarsely but 
 with a vim which showed that he had resolved to have 
 some reason for demanding faithful dealing from 
 whatsoever minister he should decide to sit under. 
 
 Paul had been summoned into his father's boat, 
 but even then he was not able to speak to him. His 
 place was indicated between a young Malta-man 
 and Le Breton, the third mate, from the Channel 
 Islands. Captain Wester sat alone in the stern sheets, 
 unmoved and melancholy as ever. 
 
 Paul wondered whether, ever again, he would see 
 in his father's eyes that look of understanding and 
 kindhness he had surprised as they sat together 
 over their coffee in the Rhone Valley " Rapide," 
 hurrying southward from Lyons. 
 
 Presently he too stood on the deck of the destroyer. 
 Lazun was already there with half of the crew. Of 
 the men who had brought the boat from her national 
 service, there was not a trace. The Trident had 
 taken them back to their unstable little RepubHc, 
 there to prepare for yet other revolutions, and doubt- 
 less also to afford opportunities for the future com- 
 merce of gun-smuggling and ammunition-running 
 directed by Lazun. 
 
 Paul found a little berth in which he curled himself 
 snugly. He was weary with the fatigues of the last 
 thirty hours, and his eyes were soon sealed. He 
 only rem.ained awake long enough to feel the grip 
 and tremor as " Clydeside " started his engines, 
 and then he woke no more till the sun was high in 
 the sky and the destroyer Anonyma, showing un- 
 justifiable English colours, was heading south through 
 a brisk blue run of sea.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 
 
 " Yonder's Souk," said Le Breton at Paul's elbow, 
 *' or rather yonder's where Souk ought to be. There's 
 a harbour of sorts, but there was not a man in our 
 old company who could take a ship in, except that 
 sacrc-d so-and-so of a Basque, Lupo. Maybe that's 
 why we are here on this war canoe with a whole pin- 
 cushion of guns stuck all over us, and that Long Tom 
 of a 4-7 turning her nose to the sky like an elephant 
 going to trumpet. If there are any members of the 
 opposition in Souk who refuse to take our cargo, or 
 to get out when Lazun Palafox says so — I expect 
 Lazun has fetched along this long, mysterious stranger 
 with raking funnels, and that little pop-gun to 
 persuade them." 
 
 The next moment he was summoned to the bridge, 
 where Paul saw him take the marine glass from the 
 Captain's hand and look far and long to the south. 
 
 The Captain nodded as Le Breton reported some- 
 thing, and the next instant he ordered the course to 
 be changed. Then with a great turn to the west, the 
 destroyer soon left the Neptune and the distant coast 
 of Souk far behind them. 
 
 " Snakes," said one of the men standing near Paul, 
 " what has started the Captain off at such a peg and 
 why has he left the Neptune all standing ? " 
 
 " Doing sheep-dog very likely," said another, 
 " there's a craft between us and the shore that we 
 want to drive right up against the Neptune. That's 
 the way they do on the hills. I was brought up to it. 
 I mind a sheep-dog that I had " 
 
 " Shut up, Sim," said his companion, " this ain't 
 
 252
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 253 
 
 sheep that we are drivin' — not by a long chalk. — 
 Hearken, Sim — there's your sheep saying Baa ! " 
 
 There was a rumble of heavy guns back in the haze, 
 and at the first sound the destroyer came sharply 
 about and went full speed towards the African coast. 
 
 " That's the Neptune. I know the crack of the 
 port three-inch ; I ought to, for I have often worked 
 it." 
 
 " Wish we had stayed on her, don't you, Sim ? " 
 
 " Oh, we will have our share of the fun in a while." 
 
 And sure enough hardly had the destroyer begiui 
 to patrol back and forth as if to bar the passage to 
 the south, when out of the haze a vessel came 
 flying. 
 
 The Captain lifted his hand, and the big gun spoke 
 with a noise that made the ship tremble. The shell 
 passed right over the coming ship and spurted white 
 in the sea. 
 
 " Lord, if it ain't the Golden Flagon,'^ said Sim 
 the shepherd, " what in the seven seas are ye firing 
 at her for ? " 
 
 " I wager the Spaniards that were aboard have 
 taken her, and gone off on their own. We may be 
 doing your shepherding after all." 
 
 " More like there has been mutiny and bloody 
 murder," said Sim. " I never liked the Flagon since 
 they got that new crew on her. Too much family 
 ark about her for me — the non-dagos were sure to get 
 their throats cut sooner or later by the ear-ringed 
 pirates and their cursed supercargo, Lupo." 
 
 " That means a wolf, Simmy," said his mate 
 informatively. " It's a wolf chase we're on, that's 
 what it is. Lazun and the Cap are going to take him 
 in a trap." 
 
 " Hope he has not got a den, then," said Sim the 
 shepherd. 
 
 " That's just what we are here for. We will make 
 him go into Souk whether he likes it or not. And 
 when once there we will play at long bowls with him." 
 
 " She can't get away ? " 
 
 " No, but he can go into that harbour — past those
 
 254 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 reefs — they say he is the only man who can, with a 
 ship the size of the Flagon.'^ 
 
 " Lazun would know well enough what he would 
 make for. Watch him by the side of Roberts, our 
 gunner, and his team. The old fox — he does not 
 mean to spoil his own ship if he can help it. See how 
 he is directing Roberts to fire first to one side and then 
 to the other." 
 
 " Flung — plu7ig ! That's the Neptune keeping her 
 end up to tell him the earth's stopped to the north. 
 To Souk he has come and into Souk he must go — 
 and a lot of good may it do him ! " 
 
 Sim the shepherd caught his comrade by the arm 
 and pointed eagerly to the racing ship. She had been 
 making straight for the reefs as if ready to go ashore, 
 but with a sudden shifting of the helm, she swung her 
 bows outward to the south and stretched along the 
 coast southward. 
 
 " The Flagon thinks she has the heels of us," said 
 Jolly A.B. as he followed the Shepherd's finger. 
 " And in fact she can keep closer inshore than we can 
 do, for she draws less water and that oily scoundrel 
 Lupo Palafox knows the coast better even than the 
 Admiralty chart fellows." 
 
 " Only he hasn't old ' Clydeside ' in their engine- 
 room, and O'Halloran is off with the dago-dons in 
 the Trident. We shall soon see who scores. There 
 we go ! They say in the engine-room that this craft 
 we are on can do thirty-two or thirty-three knots, 
 though of course the dons never got within a third 
 of those figures." 
 
 " Whoop — now old ' Clydeside ' is giving her the 
 steam. He will make her go if he opens out her 
 plates." 
 
 " This can't last," said Paul, as his teeth chattered, 
 not with fright, but because he had not grown accus- 
 tomed to the movement. It seemed to be disarticu- 
 lating him. The men looked at him as if sizing him 
 up. 
 
 " It will last as long as old Why tie has an ounce of 
 steam, and you can bet he'll get the ultimate half-
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 255 
 
 knot of speed out of it. The Flagon is a fast boat, 
 and she has the short course on us, but she was never 
 built for track-racing hke this here model yacht." 
 
 " It's a picture — that's what it is," said Sim the 
 shepherd, " coursing hares ain't in it. Watch the 
 Captain. It is his turn now. Le Breton is steering 
 to his orders. He keeps the glass to his eyes as if 
 it were friz there. But you can't ever see his lips 
 move. No, he's not one to give his tongue much 
 work, though he can lift hide when he does, as I know. 
 Even Lazun will not speak to him now." 
 
 Paul watched his father, and then he looked at the 
 flying boat inshore. 
 
 " No time to pop at her now — though that's what 
 the Americans did to Cervera when he came out of 
 Santiago. He was stretching along the coast like 
 that, and they whacking at him as he went. I tell 
 you, matey, she's gaining on us ! " 
 
 " Only looks that way, Sim," said Jolly A.B. con- 
 solingly. " Keep your eye on the Cap. He's laying 
 a wider berth as if he meant to let her out, but be 
 quite sure he has a trick up his sleeve. Lupo the 
 Basque and all his greasy jabberers can't faize him. 
 Ain't he a beauty ? See him dust that fleck of soot 
 off his coat. Cool — I should say so. When he's 
 dead he won't be noticeably cooler." 
 
 " I wonder what his game is, though," murmured 
 the Shepherd anxiously, " of course he has one. But 
 hang me if I see it, and I would be easier if I knew." 
 
 " No, Sim — course you can't see. This is not 
 working collies on a moor, lad. You bet there's 
 a man behind that jacket. They say even Lazun's 
 a bit afraid of him." 
 
 *' Well, who's crossing him ? " growled Sim, " but 
 I wish he would tell old ' Clydeside ' to hurry up a bit — 
 or make young Le Breton hold her a point or two 
 nearer to the land. She'll slip between our jaws yet. 
 The Flagon's as fast a httle ship as floats." 
 
 "'A little ship,' says you, and right you are. But 
 she was not built and engined for destroyers' work. 
 We shall overhaul her as soon as the Captain shakes
 
 256 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 out the tucker he has on the speed. He's only letting 
 her believe she's getting away." 
 
 " Wish he'd hurry, then," said the Shepherd 
 anxiously, " I can feel my hair turning grey." 
 
 It was wonderful to see the two swift vessels running 
 almost parallel, though the destroyer was keeping 
 much farther out than at first, and in consequence 
 the distance between the ships was growing wider. 
 There was no doubt about it — the Golden Flagon was 
 doing justice to her reputation, and others than Sim 
 were anxious. 
 
 Lazun kept his hands behind his back in the attitude 
 in which Paul had first seen him on the beach at 
 Cancale. But his face was pale and he watched the 
 Golden Flagon with his lips pressed close together and 
 his eyes deep withdrawn, but narrow and bright, each 
 like the point of a gimlet. 
 
 Then his face would turn slowly to the figure of 
 his Captain immovable on the bridge. 
 
 He fidgeted, and once or twice appeared to be on 
 the point of making a suggestion. But he thought 
 better of it, and relapsed into his watch of the escaping 
 ship. 
 
 So hour by hour the vessels tore on, till at last 
 when every one was weary, very far ahead a dim low 
 line of the tawny yellow hue of a lion's upper mane 
 began to stretch farther and farther out into the 
 indigo of the ocean. 
 
 " There now, he is letting her have it at last," said 
 Jolly A.B., as he watched the Captain bend over his 
 communications with the engine-room. " I should 
 not like to be the man who would cross old ' Clydeside ' 
 down there at this tick of time." 
 
 " Whoosh ! " said a wave, and something green and 
 all bubbly white passed coolly over them, too fast to 
 let them know that it was really a wave. A heavy 
 salt dew began to fall, and the white could be seen 
 rising in twin pillars under the forefoot. The destroyer 
 was not rising to the waves any longer. She was 
 smacking clean through them. 
 
 " What's yon, Sim, think you — land or sand ? "
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 257 
 
 " Sand — and right in front of the Flagon,'''' said the 
 Shepherd. " I don't know these parts, but I can see 
 enough to make sure that the Flagon will have to 
 keep farther out." 
 
 " Could it be Cape Juby ? " said Paul, who knew his 
 atlas. 
 
 The sailors looked at him with increased respect. 
 
 " Cape Juby — indeed that's the very name of it. 
 I was once there with a fool of a Frenchman, Jacques 
 Lebaudy — Lor', what a yarn that would make ! 
 He was clean crazy, a millionaire, but as close-fisted 
 as — my mother-in-law. But he founded an empire, 
 and hoisted a flag and called himself the Emperor 
 Jacques I." 
 
 " See here. Jolly A.B., is this a time to lie ? I put 
 it to you. It might bring bad luck." 
 
 " It's all true, Sim — true as that you are a fool. 
 And he sent letters and ambassadors to the great 
 powers to get them to acknowledge him, and then the 
 Spaniards came and cleared the blighter off — it being 
 Spanish territory, or claimed as such." 
 
 " Claimed or not, I'll wager that Lupo — he's a 
 Spaniard too — wishes it were not just where it is — no 
 harbours there — only sand — and W5 .' " 
 
 " Hello ! " the exclamation came from both men 
 at once. " We're turning in shore. Are we going to 
 butt into Cape Juby ? " demanded the Shepherd. 
 
 " Cape Booby ? that's you ! " Jolly A.B. shook him 
 by the arm. " Why, man, don't you see ? Oh, beautiful 
 — beautiful ! The Captain knew and Lupo didn't, 
 just how far the Cape ran out. So he kept wide till 
 he sighted it. Then — he forged ahead with all the 
 pace that old Whytie could give him. He passed the 
 Flagon, as of course he would, running thirty knots 
 half-under-water like that. That bit began when the 
 showers began to cool us off. Shepherd. And now 
 when he has forged ahead a bit — bifj — he slides in 
 right in front of her and — there you are ! " 
 
 " Boom — there's old Cotton Wool saying, 'Halt, my ^ 
 son, right wheel, by your left ' — or words to that 
 effect."
 
 258 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 The 4-7 had spoken and the shell, striking straight 
 ahead of the oncoming ship, was not long in producing 
 its effect. 
 
 " Stand ready to go about ! " said Jolly A.B., 
 shading his eyes with his hands. 
 
 " Left wheel, done as neat as a squad o' marines," 
 said the Shepherd ; " now she turns inshore, and we 
 will drive her as good and faithful as it was ever done 
 on a moor o' sheep." 
 
 " She's a lady — she don't like followers — can't 
 abide them ! " jested Jolly A. B. " Now it will be 
 all lounging along — careful and gentle till Lazun has 
 got her where he wants her. For the Neptune will 
 be waiting with old man Fox as nervous as a cat on 
 a branch, and Fyne and Haddock perched as high as 
 they can get on the mast, looking out for us." 
 
 " About we go and away after her — keeping well 
 outside and per previous instructions," continued 
 Jolly. " Now let us lay ourselves to sleep and they 
 can put old Cotton- Wool-in-your-Ears to by-by. He 
 won't be wanted till to-morrow." 
 
 The northward chase was not such a palpitating 
 strain on the nerves as the fierce break for liberty 
 which Lupo had made southward only to be stopped 
 by Cape Juby. Captain Wester left Le Breton on 
 the bridge, and when he came down Lazun shook 
 hands with him before the whole ship's company. 
 Then the two men went to the Captain's cabin. 
 
 " Oooff ! " said everybody, sending the breath out 
 of their chests with relief as the pair disappeared. 
 " Next number, please ! " 
 
 Roberts the gunner, who had served in the navy 
 and was Fox's nephew, was " much made of." 
 
 " Hard work, wasn't it ? " said Jolly A.B. 
 
 " Not at all," the gunner said with careless ease 
 affected on such occasions, " she's a lovely weapon, 
 and the rangefinder is tip-top. But what gave me 
 the shivers was the Chief standing over a fellow like 
 that — makes a man all tremolo stop. I'm still as 
 tingly as a fiddle-string. If only he would keep away ! " 
 
 " Why didn't you tell him ? " suggested Jolly A.B.,
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 259 
 
 grinning. " ' Say old man, stand a bit off — you fidget 
 me ! ' Something like that. Just easy as you are 
 talking to us." 
 
 And the lower deck laughed at the breadth of the 
 jest. But Roberts took no notice. He knew that 
 he had acquitted himself well, though he had not 
 been shaken hands with. But then neither had 
 Captain Wester up to that day, and Roberts was 
 young and cocksure. 
 
 Nothing in all the day's work astonished Paul more 
 than the ease with which all on the destroyer took the 
 affair so soon as the real business was done. Short 
 of a complete breakdown of the engines, nothing could 
 now save the Golden Flagon. She was in a trap and 
 knew it. Lupo also must have seen that he was being 
 driven towards the entrance of Souk harbour of set 
 intent and purpose. Indeed otherwise he had only 
 the choice between surrender and blowing up the ship 
 — either of which he could as easily do inside the port 
 as out. 
 
 Never after that did the Golden Flagon look like 
 having a chance of breaking through. The destroyer 
 sauntered along, keeping wide of any stray shots and 
 ready to cut off any rush. But by the time that the 
 harbour of Souk appeared in the distance, there was 
 the Neptune keeping watch and ward. So Lupo had 
 to curb his pride and take the course which had been 
 pointed out to him with such care. 
 
 Paul watched in mixed hope and fear. He knew 
 that Zipporah Avas on board along ^vith these lawless 
 men of whom even the crew of the destroyer expressed 
 horror, and they were certainly no lambs. Little 
 Eza was also there and her brother Leon. In 
 addition Lazun had mentioned Raif Palafox as being 
 a special safeguard, but what Paul had seen in the 
 dell behind Red Haven effectually kept him from 
 agreeing. 
 
 Still — no doubt Lazun understood all the circum- 
 stances far better than he could do. 
 
 Presently Lazun and his lather came out again and 
 this time they went on the bridge together. Le 
 
 S 2
 
 260 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Breton came down, apparently very much delighted 
 with the events of the morning. 
 
 " He's a wonder, that pater of yours. He held on 
 our course to the very last minute — till I fairly gasped. 
 I thought they would slip by. But he kept saying, 
 ' Lead her on — give her another couple of miles — 
 that won't hurt.' And then, he put about and cut 
 in as neat as a geometrical drawing — base of a triangle 
 and all that sort of thing." 
 
 The signal was given " Dead Slow," and then — 
 she stopped. 
 
 Before them lay Souk. And with Le Breton's 
 glasses Paul could see the Golden Flagon already 
 threading her way among the reefs, and almost im- 
 agined that he could make out the little wizened man 
 he had seen in the courtyard of Gobelet, standing on 
 the bridge and conning her. 
 
 • »•••• • 
 
 The Golden Flagon had safely negotiated the 
 passages into the anchorage of Souk, and now lay 
 motionless upon the burning water which reflected 
 her masts against background of terra-cotta and 
 saffron-coloured rocks behind. 
 
 Outside like baffled dogs the two ships which had 
 shepherded her into this white-hot fold lay still 
 panting with the chase. 
 
 Lazun was in close conference with Captain Wester, 
 doubtless as to the next move. Both were invisible. 
 So Paul, idly gazing shoreward and watching the 
 Golden Flagon, gave himself up to thoughts of Zipporah 
 Katti and the chances of her rescue. It seemed to 
 him that there would now be a certain and immediate 
 capture, and that he might again see that tall girl 
 who had so long been his little friend of the Dulse 
 Cave. The desert was behind and Paul had always 
 pictured it, on the strength of some childish picture- 
 books, as a kind of bowling-green of sand, with hers 
 and there neat little norias or Biblical water-wheeel 
 with many buckets. He now adopted this picture 
 unconsciously, and it seemed that all deserts must be 
 flat, camel-dotted, and provided with those neat wells.
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 261 
 
 Just as all ideas of missions were visualized for him 
 by a tall man in a tall hat with a tiny white book 
 in his hand, sitting on a camp-stool, and teaching 
 a very round and indifferent black baby under a 
 palm-tree. 
 
 To him enter " Clydeside " Whyte, cleansed and 
 grave. He began speaking as he came. 
 
 " And about that eldership ! " he said, " ye think 
 that your uncle would not pester a man like me about 
 it for some time ? " 
 
 Paul was aching to ask questions, many questions, 
 as to knots and speed. He also wished to see the 
 engines, and he wanted the old engineer's opinion 
 on the chances of making the capture. 
 
 He hinted at these requirements, but " Clydeside " 
 cut him short. 
 
 " Oh, I just did my job and James Brown's engines 
 did theirs. The speed — a trifle over thirty-one, 
 maybe more during the bit burst at the last. But 
 these are but gauds and frivolities — leading to sinful 
 compliances and language unbecoming of an elder — 
 though frequently necessary to a chief engineer 
 afflicted with a tribe o' half -witlings just barely clear 
 of complete imbecility." 
 
 And dismissing the subject he added, " But as I 
 was sayin', a man that has followed the sea in the 
 engine-room and been obleeged to express his mind 
 not only wi' his tongue but with the limbs God has 
 given him — that man has a great deal of leeway to 
 make up. He must have time to cool off, as it were, 
 and after such bursts as the engine-room listened to 
 this day (I am speakin', sir, of my modest efforts to 
 cheer and stimulate yon pack o' potterin' slowbellies) 
 it takes a good while for the heat to die out o' you, 
 even after the fire's drawn." 
 
 " Orraland would do your job," Paul promised, 
 for he had grown to like the " Old Ironclad," as the 
 men called him, " and I am sure that my uncle would 
 take you in hand." 
 
 " He is faithful in rebuke, then ? " he asked 
 anxiously, " ye see I think ye said that there are twa
 
 2G2 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 public-hooses in the village, and I never was a man to 
 be unsocial — na, I always hated secret drinking." 
 
 " My uncle, Dr. Laird," Paul advised him, " is not 
 a man to go roaring up and down his parish. But he 
 knows every inch of it. He has baptized every man, 
 woman and child in it under the age of forty years. 
 He has made most marriages, and he spoils the result- 
 ing children with sweets out of his coat-tail pocket. 
 If the folk of Orraland and the parish generally have 
 an}^ misdeeds to do, they carry them out of the parish. 
 For if the minister hears of the thing, he may rebuke 
 them once, twice, and perhaps in extreme cases 
 thrice — but after that he will preach a rouser of a 
 sermon that will make the whole congregation look 
 about to see whose ears and neck are turning to beet- 
 root. Then the parish is in a buzz for days, and all 
 the old wives come to their doors as the unfortunate 
 goes by." 
 
 Paul had coloured a little to impress " Clydeside," 
 for indeed the Doctor had only done this once — when 
 Jock Malcolm had come home with a jar of whisky 
 from the harvest, turned his children out of doors 
 with their mother, and refused to let them in till he 
 had finished. " A memorable and glorious Sabbath 
 day " had followed, but during the week the Doctor 
 weakened the effect by seeking out Jock, reinstating 
 him in society by walking the length of the village 
 arm-in-arm with him, and setting him in the garden 
 of the Manse to dig Barbara's potatoes. 
 
 " Aye, man," said " Clydeside," much impressed, 
 " that's the sort for me. Slow to anger — but a regular 
 Bay-of-Bengal-er when he gets started ! Now there's 
 me — I always blew a gale right from the start, and 
 no man could call me slow to anger even now, when 
 my natural force is sore abated. But do you think 
 that the minister would consider it if I told him the 
 sort of special temptations I had had in this dog's 
 life — the sloths, loblollies, and converted steerage 
 stewards that I have had to work with — would that 
 make him a bit easier with me, think you ? " 
 
 " Never a bit," affirmed Paul accommodatingly.
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 263 
 
 since he seemed to wish for it, " he would give it to 
 you so much the worse. For he would say that it 
 was you that chose the kind of life that suited you 
 to lead, and not the life that led you. ' Clydeside ' " (he 
 whispered), " if you want to go to your long home with 
 soft words and easy walking — never you set a foot in 
 Orraland. You will not be able to call your soul 
 your own." 
 
 " Clydeside " stood up jerkily and rubbed his hands 
 as if he would pull the knotted fingers out by the 
 roots. 
 
 " Oh, it's grand," he murmured, smacking his lips 
 as if to relish the words — " not call my soul my own — 
 / don't want to^ man ! ' Walk in the fear of God and 
 of the minister all the days of your life ' — just the 
 thing ! The verra article ! Man, it's fine to think 
 on it." 
 
 " You'll have to attend the Wednesday's prayer- 
 meeting every week at seven," Paul hazarded. 
 
 " Clydeside " looked a little scared. 
 
 " And if I don't ? " he said. 
 
 " Then ye will have the Doctor knocking at your 
 door before ye are up the next morning to know 
 whether you are ill or backslidden. And you need 
 not to think to palm off lies on him, for he will have 
 been round the village before that to learn where you 
 got it. Whereupon he will execute whoever has aided 
 and abetted, and then with all his broadside charged, 
 he will come in, bar the door and wrestle with you 
 till you want to go down and throw yourself in the 
 Solway — only he will prove to you that it is better 
 to suffer and have time for repentance, little as the 
 saving of such a worthless soul can matter even to 
 yourself ! " 
 
 To see " Clydeside's " face in the hot glare of the 
 African sun, glorified by the thought that there were 
 faithful dealers yet left in his native land, was to be 
 taken back to Orraland, its cool trees and breezy bay. 
 Paul saw the green wind-tossed glimmer of the Max- 
 wellton tree-tops and the bossy purple of the bens 
 and cairns behind.
 
 264 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " Oh, man," said the old engineer, " I'll resign 
 as soon as I touch a civilized country. Do ye 
 ken of any decent house to be had in the village ? 
 I would take it — aye even buy it to make sure, 
 if I could send a wire to the post-master this very 
 moment." 
 
 " Go slow," Paul counselled cunningly, " better 
 go down there and look round a little. You may not 
 like it after all. The Doctor's discipline may be too 
 strict after your years of freedom." 
 
 " It just couldna'," he cried, bringing down his 
 great rough hand with a masterly clack upon the burn- 
 ing plates, " not though he fairly took me doon in 
 the Auld Man and set me up in the New. It's what 
 I want, that." 
 
 Paul felt that he must convey come of this extreme 
 desire for faithful ministration to the Doctor, or his 
 uncle might fall short of the expectations he had 
 aroused. So he interjected a word at this point. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " I speak rather feelingly, 
 for he will not permit me to go near the village — me, 
 his only living relative and heir." 
 
 " Ah," he said, squinting up at Paul with a quaint 
 look, " he has been dressin' you down too for your 
 good. Capital ! Told you to go and be — ahem, 
 just that — till you knew how to behave yourself in his 
 parish. Now what was the matter — out with it, 
 young man ? " 
 
 Paul looked at the flaky deck and stirred a foot 
 discreetly about. 
 
 " Was it ... a bit matter of a lass ? " "Clyde- 
 side " demanded. 
 
 Paul was silent and let him think what he 
 might. 
 
 " Ye have nothing to say, laddie — then I take it, 
 'tis for that very job ye are here. But he will forgive 
 ye, surely ? " 
 
 '"Maybe someday," said Paul, shaking his head 
 dubiously. " Then there is my father — the Captain — 
 he durst not go across to the Manse when he comes to 
 Orraland. And they say he takes to the woods
 
 A HOT BURST SOUTHWARD 265 
 
 whenever he sees the minister coming, though he be 
 half-a-mile away ! " 
 
 " Say nae mair," cried " Clydeside," wringing the 
 young man by both hands, " Orraland's the place 
 for me. If your uncle can fear the Captain, the devil 
 himself has but a poor chance in Orraland."
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 
 
 About an hour before sunset Captain Wester sent 
 Paul word that he was to hold himself in readiness 
 to come with the boats in the night attack which had 
 been decided. He was to go at once to the armourer 
 and be fitted out — a couple of navy revolvers would 
 be sufficient. 
 
 " And of my best you shall have," Old Man Adams 
 promised joyfully, " and not with no old navy scrap 
 either, but with them new Herbesthal Belgians with 
 as many eight-cartridge extra magazines as you like, 
 all ready to be shoved in. I'll show you the trick." 
 
 And he set Paul opposite the bullet-headed target 
 he called his "bonhomme," which represented with 
 early-art roughness the upper part of a man's body. 
 Paul learned quickly. He had the natural gift of 
 firearms, so much so that the armourer soon adopted 
 him as a kind of unofficial assistant, saying : " Do what 
 you can with what they bring you. Show them how 
 to oil and clean, and pass anything you don't under- 
 stand on to me." 
 
 Paul was glad to consume the time in any sort of 
 employment, and when his father came in to see how 
 the armourer was getting on, he found Paul with his 
 coat off, grease and powder-stains to the eyes, busy 
 with the mechanism of a magazine rifle which had its 
 feeding spring broken. 
 
 Captain Wester smiled but said nothing. He 
 nodded to Paul, however, and was certainly not 
 displeased to discover that his son could be trusted 
 to find work for himself. For, though he had held 
 himself severely aloof since he took command, he had 
 
 266
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 267 
 
 been at some pains to ascertain with whom Paul 
 made friends and how he spent his time. 
 
 He approved of letting a boy " find himself," and 
 he liked the choice of Le Breton, of the armourer, 
 and specially of old " Clydeside " as companions. 
 In Paul's confidences with Sim the shepherd and 
 Jolly A.B. the experienced eye of the leader of men 
 discerned more than a reporter's instinctive choice 
 of good material. His son had chosen to con- 
 sort with the safest and steadiest portion of the 
 expedition. 
 
 As it grew darker the excitement on the two 
 attacking ships increased. Lazun himself had gone 
 on board the Neptune and would lead the supporting 
 part of the equipment — the Captain would direct 
 the whole. 
 
 " And you'll see, he won't direct it from the tail, 
 as they say the fellows on land do — generals and so 
 forth," it was Able Seaman Jolly who was speaking. 
 " If your pa isn't first man over the side it will be 
 because he is dead." 
 
 By the care of that parent of whose courage and 
 tenacity the men had such an opinion, Paul found 
 himself in the boat over which the engineer was to 
 rule. The old fellow was furious. 
 
 " Yesterday I should not have cared one tinker's 
 blessing," he confided to Paul. " And the reason ? 
 Well, I had not heard about your uncle then. I 
 thought that the stiffness had gone out of the old 
 breed of ministers. One more chance to get myself 
 killed would not have made any difference. But 
 now I want to sit under your uncle and let him get 
 to work on reforming me. It's a long job that, lad — 
 for the engine-room grime has gritted into me through 
 and through, and your uncle is noways a young man. 
 He might be failing one of these days, not to speak 
 of me being no chicken myself." 
 
 To console him Paul informed " Clydeside " that the 
 general object of this expedition was not so much to 
 retake the Golden Flagon and punish the rebels, as 
 to save the girl who was the apple of Dr. Laird's eye,
 
 268 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 and had been brought up by him almost from child- 
 hood. She had been seized instead of Lazun, and 
 was now on the ship in Souk harbour. 
 
 " That ship yonder ? " old " Clydeside " repeated 
 incredulously. 
 
 " The same," said Paul. " No, I'm not ' pulhng 
 your leg ' as you call it — better not talk slang to my 
 uncle, or he will remind you of the pit from which 
 you were digged. ' Slang and swearing — younger 
 and elder brother,' he says, ' and the devil is the father 
 of them both.' " 
 
 " And he will not let up on me, that have heard 
 little else for five-and-thirty years ? " 
 
 " Neither on one nor the other. He will tell you, 
 as he has told me, either to cleanse your tongue or 
 to hold it. And then as like as not he will put you 
 out for polluting his study." 
 
 " Not by violence ? " said the engineer, startled. 
 
 " God forbid — he calls that a poor fleshly weapon — 
 but he will speak to you slow and solemn, pointing 
 his finger at the door till you wish he would take his 
 foot to you. And you go out with the feeling that 
 to crawl the distance on your belly would be the 
 proper way to leave the presence — ' Physical force ' — 
 Lord, man, ye'll be asking for it the first time you get 
 my uncle's tongue on you ! " 
 
 " Glory ! " cried the engineer so suddenly that 
 some of the crew turned to look at him, " but I'd 
 give half I have laid by to be clean out of this 
 mess, and home to let your uncle get in his fine 
 work." 
 
 " Clydeside " thought awhile, and then as if 
 troubled with a scruple, he said — 
 
 " Suppose we get this . . . young lady . . . back, 
 and the minister is glad, he would not be the man to 
 let me off any the easier because I did a bit to help 
 her out here in this filthy Morocco ? " 
 
 " Not at all — don't you worry — nothing that you 
 have done or can do will matter one docken leaf. He 
 will go for the root of the matter at once — which is, 
 that you are as bad a lump of clay as ever came out
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 269 
 
 of the hands of the potter — as you are — you know 
 you are ! " 
 
 "Well," said " Clydeside " with sudden unex- 
 pected wrath, " suppose I am, what's that to you ? 
 You are not your uncle. Keep your mind on that 
 girl and what sent you out here. There's enough 
 clay in j'^our own carcass to keep you from worrying 
 about mine ! " 
 
 " All right," said Paul, " no offence. I was only 
 telling you for your good. Besides, if he is inclined 
 to be grateful, we can always tell him that you turned 
 tail before the fight." 
 
 The engineer cast a murky eye upon him, and his 
 face grew grim again. 
 
 " That's the way little boys get their heads broken," 
 he said in a very different voice. " Keep on mindin', 
 sonny, that my Old Man is not cast out yet. Dinna 
 you be getting it into your head, laddie, that there's 
 no kick left in the old mule just because he is thinking 
 of going to grass. Undeceive yourself — captain's 
 son or minister's nephew, d'ye think I don't know the 
 sound of cheek when I hear it ? " 
 
 Paul threw himself instantly upon the mercy of 
 the court. He had been led away by the enthusiasm 
 of the moment. He had been trying to meet 
 " Clydeside's " objections. 
 
 " See, laddie," said the old man with grave sen- 
 tentiousness, " there's a heap of things that ye can 
 say of old Whyte and never tell a lie. There are 
 more that they do say which are not true, but are 
 just faceable enough to sound as if they might be. 
 But ' running ' away from trouble is not one of 
 them. Who would you get to believe you ? Not 
 your uncle after he had seen me once. For he 
 is a plain dealer and a knowledgeable man. He will 
 know full well that once a fighter is always a fighter, 
 and that the best fighter for the Lord is the man who 
 has fought staunchly for the devil. But a dish-clout 
 is always a dish-clout, wet or dry! Mind that ! " 
 
 Paul Wester, who had been letting his tongue run 
 away with him, begged pardon again, and with such
 
 270 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 earnestness that the old engineer reached out his 
 hand with the words ; " There, laddie, say no more 
 about it. Keep as close to me as you can in the 
 boats, and I will see that Sim and Jolly are at hand 
 to elbow you out of mischief. Lower away there ! 
 You engine-room fellows, you had better come with 
 me. If you don't fight harder than you work, the 
 Lord have mercy on you, for I winna ! " 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 At last the boats got away in the darkness, the 
 Captain's leading. A sHm, swarthy Arab lad who was 
 reported to have sailed with the rebel supercargo 
 was in the bows. Captain Wester had placed 
 O'Halloran — Orange O'Halloran from County Tyrone 
 — a man who stuck at nothing, by the fellow's side 
 to persuade him. O'Halloran first strapped himself 
 wrist to wrist with the Arab and informed the youth 
 that if he did his best nothing would befall him. But 
 if he attempted to escape he would certainly get 
 hurt, while if he called out or made any signal by 
 way of treachery, his time on earth would not be 
 long. He should go to Allah and his Prophet by a 
 singularly direct route. And as a sort of single 
 ticket to the houris, Orange cocked his Smith & 
 Wesson and set the cold rim against the nape of the 
 young man's neck. 
 
 Noiselessly the boats stole towards the shore, in 
 single file following Captain Wester. It was real 
 forlorn hope service. The reefs were dangerous and 
 numerous, the night dark, and only the phosphor- 
 escent glow of the sea dimly revealed the perils which 
 strewed their path. 
 
 The greatest danger, however, was in the chance 
 that the Golden Flagon might have her guns all ready 
 trained on the narrow opening by which the intricate 
 passage-way opened out on the little lagoon inside 
 that served for the harbour of Souk. If all the boats 
 got out in silence, then the attack would gain a great 
 point. But on the other hand, there was always a 
 possibility that the enemy might destroy them one 
 by one as they were coming out of the channel.
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 271 
 
 "Clydeside" was in command of the third boat — 
 the Captain being first, Le Breton second, and then 
 came the engineer, who was busy under his breath 
 disquahfying for any immediate promotion to the 
 office of elder in the kirk of Orraland. 
 
 He followed, however, and presently they were in 
 among the sharp edges of the reefs which glanced 
 at them every little while, a ghastly white under the 
 feeble light of stars, like the teeth of some shark 
 turning on his back to bite. 
 
 The rest of the way was done in deep silence. The 
 final double turn at the exit into the lagoon-like port 
 of Souk was hushed and filled with an intolerable 
 sense of strain. When would the guns speak ? They 
 would be standing ready, doubtless, on the Flagon to 
 blow the whole expedition out of the water. The 
 men took pains with their oars. A splash, the grating 
 of a boat-hook fending off the rocks might bring a 
 tempest of bullets. 
 
 But one boat passed out and turned to the right 
 without the expected outburst of flame — then Le 
 Breton disappeared and it was their turn. Paul 
 saw the hull of the Golden Flagon a quarter of a mile 
 off. They had hitherto seen only her spars owing 
 to the height of the intervening ledges. 
 
 Presently the whole expedition was spread widely 
 out and a large part of the danger had passed. Lazun's 
 boats from the Neptune went round by the other side 
 to cut off access to the land. The Captain advanced 
 straight across the narrow strip of still water. The 
 Golden Flagon lay at her moorings, not a light showing, 
 fires extinct, as still and silent as if she had not moved 
 for a hundred years. 
 
 " I dinna like the look o' this. It's no naitural," 
 whispered " Clydeside." " If they had been going 
 to fecht, there would have been powder burnt before 
 now. And if not, depend on it there is a trap. What 
 kind I cannot say, possibly connected with the powder 
 magazine and a foot or two of slow-match. 
 
 " But there — we will soon ken ! Up with you 
 there ! " For already the Captain was slinging
 
 272 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 grappling hooks and soon the deck of the Golden 
 Flagon was swarming with men. Paul was hauled 
 up, he never knew exactly how. 
 
 There was not a man of the mutineers to be found 
 on board. The Captain had gone straight to the 
 powder magazine, and found it empty, swept and 
 garnished. Not a cartridge or an ounce of powder. 
 Lanterns were soon dancing and the ship was 
 thoroughly examined. 
 
 It was clear that all had been ready for abandoning 
 her. In the cabins the remains of careful packing 
 were evident. Paul picked up and put in his pocket 
 a little lace handkerchief that had belonged to 
 Zipporah Katti. He remembered the way she had 
 of tucking it into her belt. So it was obvious that she 
 had been here and that not so long ago. 
 
 But Paul had little time for sentiment. Captain 
 Wester made his report to Lazun Palafox, and then 
 leaving a guard on board the Flagon, he ordered the 
 men to tumble back into the boats. 
 
 Pursuit might be quite useless, but still neither 
 Lazun nor his acting commander were men to stop 
 before they got as near as they could to the end of 
 the passage, and found out all there was to know. 
 
 Before them they saw a beach of a pale bluish 
 whiteness, dotted with black shapes like seals drawn 
 up on the sand and shingle. The expedition was 
 advancing pretty much abreast now, and, having no 
 fear of any attack from the ship the men were making 
 the water fly with their oars. 
 
 " Boats ahead ! " cried the Captain, standing sud- 
 denly erect, " get to shore, men, and cut them off ! " 
 
 The men splashed waist deep in the sea and were 
 soon among the beached boats. They were empty. 
 Their oars and equipment, however, were intact, and 
 indeed, admirably arranged. 
 
 Lazun went the rounds with a lantern. He exam- 
 ined and considered everything. Then with his chin 
 dropped on the knuckles of his left hand, he delivered 
 his verdict : " Lupo Palafox has not destroyed the 
 property of the family. He has respected it, and this
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 273 
 
 shall be remembered to him for righteousness. He 
 shall die an easier death ! " 
 
 Captain Wester arranged his men and gave them 
 their orders. He sent Paul with " Clydeside," his 
 stokers and engine-room men, to the southern flank, 
 where the sand-dunes were highest and the strip of 
 foreshore most narrow and difficult. They were to 
 climb straight up and advance, reporting to him by 
 messenger anything they might run across. They 
 were to take prisoners any one they found, Moor, 
 Arab, or European, but they were not to fire first. 
 
 Finally Paul, as a landsman and a good shot, was to 
 lead under the guidance of " Clydeside's " experience. 
 This last message filled the young man with extra- 
 ordinary elation. Tears rose to his eyes. At last, 
 his father was giving him his chance. He flung 
 himself at the sandhills, where his comparative 
 lightness and his practice since infancy as a cliff- 
 climbing boy, gave him a great advantage over 
 sailor-men. He laboured to bring up his followers, 
 and in particular, he almost hauled up " Clydeside," 
 who as he expressed it, was " all of a lather o' sweat ! " 
 For " Clydeside " used the plainest words and never, 
 even when his engines were red-hot, broke into a 
 " perspiration." 
 
 At last they neared the top and found the dry 
 mealy run of the loose sand change into more solid 
 footing. Sand it still remained, but sand skinned 
 over with the fibrous roots of " alfa " grass and bound 
 down with creepers and wild esparto. The hooked 
 spikes of the false cactus, called the Fico del Moro, 
 pricked the men's legs and made them swear. Whereat 
 " Clydeside " reproved them, in words which made 
 their attempts sound like the innocent babble of 
 infants at their play, and announced punishments 
 dire and awful as soon as he " got them below again." 
 
 As they went forward it soon appeared that they 
 were crowning the heights at a higher level than the 
 rest of the men, and were also much farther advanced. 
 The Captain and Le Breton were keeping along the 
 valley of Souk, which opened out from the narrow 
 
 T
 
 274 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 bottle-neck leading back to the harbour, into a wide 
 plain closed in by a range of very abrupt and craggy 
 mountains to the east, seen in silhouette against an 
 auroral sky of pink and primrose. 
 
 " But where is Souk ? " Paul kept saying to himself. 
 " I cannot see the town, or fortress, or anything that 
 is Souk ? " 
 
 The dawn was coming up fast now. The little 
 band of engineers and stokers had attained to the 
 highest point of the ridge they had been crossing, 
 when they observed something of the nature of mist 
 or steam rising into the air before them. As he 
 climbed, Paul had been watching a cairn on a point 
 to the right. He ran scrambling forward, and from 
 thence as the sun rose and cast his shadow over the 
 burnt-out " alfa " grass and the labouring climbers, 
 he saw beneath him — a town still on fire, the roofs 
 fallen in and lazily smoking, white walls smoke- 
 blackened, and a little open market-place all suspect 
 with ugly irregular patches and black heaps that 
 looked like fallen men. 
 
 With a cry to " Clydeside " to push on, he sped along 
 the top of the ridge which led down into the valley 
 to carry the news to his father. The town of Souk 
 had been taken and sacked. 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 Lazun's part of the expedition was lagging a little 
 behind. The men drafted from the Trident were, 
 doubtless, less accustomed to desperate enterprises 
 than the band which Captain Wester had picked for 
 himself. He halted and sent word to his chief. 
 Lazun promptly crossed over to the Neptune's com- 
 pany, since its leader could not leave his position to 
 come to him. 
 
 The two seniors consulted together, Paul standing 
 by and answering when they desired further details 
 of what he had seen. 
 
 " A poor little town," he said, " but with something 
 like a fort at the corner. . . . Yes, that is destroyed, 
 too — so far, at least, as I could see ! The black things 
 I took to be bodies. They lay thickest there, by
 
 THE NIGHT ATTACK 275 
 
 the fort. No, sir, no flag was flying, but there had 
 been a flagstaff stuck in the cairn up there, and there 
 were signalhng things about — a semaphore and bits 
 of white cloth." 
 
 Lazun looked anxious at once. 
 
 " They have been surveying," he said, " the 
 people in the fort. Who could have been there ? — 
 They might be French or German, or even some 
 Spanish up from Cape Juby, though that is not likely. 
 However, come on. Wester, we shall soon see." 
 
 " Take on your men, sir," said his father to Paul, 
 in words that were of a kind of holy anointing oil of 
 coronation to the young man. 
 
 Paul saluted in close imitation of Le Breton, and 
 went off without a word. 
 
 No shot assailed them as they advanced, and Paul 
 was soon treading the sodded glacis of the little fort. 
 The dead bodies of men much despoiled and almost 
 destitute of clothing, lay about in all manner of 
 strange attitudes. Yet even in death they retained 
 the unmistakable air of trained and civilized men. 
 
 Paul turned one body over, that farthest from the 
 covered way leading to the fort. He had a broken 
 sword in his right hand, which he held stiffly in front 
 of him, the blade lying on the sand as if he had 
 fallen in the very act of making a last charge. 
 His left arm was bent under him out of sight. But 
 as the body swung heavily over, the ann rose stark 
 and awkward like the sail of a windmill, and from 
 the wrist dangled the bloody shred of a tricolor — red, 
 white, and blue. 
 
 T 2
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 
 
 The expedition came to an amazed halt while 
 Captain Wester waited for Lazun to come up. Then 
 with Paul showing the way, they passed into the little 
 low fort. It had, Captain Wester said, been a post 
 of about twenty men. There were many such 
 scattered along the south of Morocco holding lines of 
 communication, or guarding the trade routes leading 
 to the immense French territory to the south which 
 stretches without a break to Lake Tchad. But he 
 had never heard of one getting so far north as this. 
 
 The fact, however, was evident enough, but how 
 and when had the havoc been wrought ? Most of 
 the men had been killed about their field guns, though 
 apparently they had not been able to use them. 
 The ammunition was found intact and the guns, with 
 " Creosot-Schneider " stencilled in red upon them, 
 had not even been stripped of their white jackets. 
 The surprise had therefore been complete — they had 
 simply been rushed. 
 
 The Frenchmen were engineers of the 1st Colonial, 
 but the officer with the tricolor had belonged to the 
 5th battalion Foreign Legion. The dead had been 
 killed, for the most part, by bullet wounds in front 
 inflicted by quite modern weapons. But here and 
 there, chiefly in corners, soldiers had been surrounded 
 and worried to death with knives. 
 
 It was difficult to explain this difference, and the 
 two leaders looked at each other blankly. 
 
 " Come on," said Lazun at last, " perhaps it will 
 come clearer in there." The town of Souk had been 
 a small but (considering the country) well equipped 
 
 276
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 277 
 
 settlement. The amount of space given to camel 
 caravanserais and the innumerable norias testified to 
 abundance of trade and also to the careful culture of 
 the valley land. Traces of irrigation were everywhere. 
 
 " Coast Moors, at least — Berbers, perhaps also 
 a few Jews — yes, look at that old man with the beard. 
 Israelite is written on his face." 
 
 " There are no women, and I have only seen one 
 cliild — a boy with a spear head gripped with both 
 hands. What does that mean ? " 
 
 " Sir," said the Captain, " I think I see a way to 
 get at the truth more quickly. There is that young 
 Arab who was with me in the boat. He has sailed 
 this coast with Lupo Palafox, and, of our whole 
 expedition, he is the only man who has ever set foot 
 in this place before. He will be able to tell us whether 
 this has been Lupo's work or if the place had been 
 wiped out before." 
 
 " Certainly, have him up," said Lazun, " though 
 it may be more difficult to make him speak." 
 
 " I think not," said the Captain softly, " I found 
 him very amenable in the boat. O'Halloran was 
 beside him helping him to remember the way through 
 the reefs." 
 
 " Well," said Lazun, " if necessary we can have in 
 O'Halloran again." 
 
 " I do not think it will be necessary," said Captain 
 Wester. " The lad is the son of a pure-blood Arab — 
 an Arab of Arabia. The marauders of this part of 
 the country wiped out his father's caravan — we sold 
 him guns for the Bournu rebels, you remember. His 
 son was then a child travelling with the caravan, and 
 was kept as a slave somewhere about here for years. 
 Then he escaped to the coast. He came to me through 
 the English consul in Mogador, who wanted him 
 expatriated. He should know the trade mark of 
 every rascal gang in this hinterland, when it comes to 
 burning and slaying. He can tell us what they are 
 here for." 
 
 Lazun nodded and the three men waited in the gate 
 of the town. A painful odour of burning sickened
 
 278 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 their nostrils. Le Breton had organized a little 
 bodyguard of good shots, who with loaded rifles stood 
 at attention ten paces or so to the rear. A surprise 
 rush was always possible, and nothing was more likely 
 than that in the plundered town some knot of 
 desperate men might have been overlooked, who were 
 now anxious to win Paradise by slaying one of this new 
 band of white infidels. 
 
 Soon Yusef came, slim, well-featured, his dark eyes 
 steady, and, with the high-bred impatient womanish 
 mouth which his people conceal so early when, like 
 the tarriers at Jericho, " their beards are grown." 
 
 Lazun addressed him in trader's Arabic, the lingua 
 franca of the North African seaboard. But Yusef 
 answered at once in good English. He had, he said, 
 very good will to serve the chiefs. Yes, he knew all 
 the tribes. 
 
 Did the sheiks of the English warship give him 
 permission to look ? 
 
 He examined the French dead first, bending over 
 them but not touching any of them. He kept his 
 hands clasped behind him. 
 
 " All these," he said, " come from the South, 
 very far South, Kanim, Boumu, perhaps the river of 
 Toumbuk where my father went and I also, though I 
 was then too young to remember." 
 
 And one by one he ticked off the Frenchmen in the 
 interior of the fort, whether dead by their pieces or 
 trapped in corners. 
 
 " Du Genie — as you say, R'yal Ingeneers 1 But all 
 from the South ! So ? " 
 
 To one dusky-skinned man in a uniform of dark 
 green which had not been stripped off like the others, 
 he gave no salutation of respect. 
 
 " Him Haussa ! " he said, and passed from the man 
 as if he had been a dead dog. For the black Haussa 
 levies of the French Congo are not exactly popular 
 with the Arab traders of the North. But he paused 
 longer at the body^of the officer with the colours round 
 his arm. 
 
 *' He from the North — Algeria, I think. But I
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 279 
 
 heard that the stranger's ' mehalla,' of whom was this 
 man, had come into the lands of the Sultan of the 
 North to help him against Hamid and the Beni M'Tir. 
 This man is from Mekines. He had come with a 
 message — that message was to tell the French from 
 the South that they were soon to meet with their 
 friends from the North. Yes ! " He smiled like a 
 confident child at Lazun and Captain Wester. 
 
 " How do you know that ? " said Lazun. 
 
 The Arab smiled subtly. It was easy to him. 
 
 " They had made an arrangement, Chief," he said 
 quietly, " otherwise they would not have been here 
 on the lands of Hamid. There is a little army of men 
 like him marching from the North to war against 
 Hamid, Sultan of the South. Yes, I have said." 
 
 They went on into the town, and there the young 
 Arab's expression changed entirely. He passed from 
 one heap to the other with the same curious action of 
 putting his hands behind his back. But when he 
 desired to turn any of the bodies over, he beckoned a 
 negro cook who had followed him Hke a dog, and bade 
 him do it. 
 
 For a long time Yusef gave no sign of his feelings, 
 and the two chiefs let him be, knowing that he was 
 reading like a book what was wholly hidden from them. 
 
 Only twice did the serenity of his disdain give way. 
 
 In a dark corner of one of the inner rooms he stooped 
 over something formless. He straightened himself 
 suddenly and with a superb wave of his hand indicated 
 the man at his feet. 
 
 It was the body of one of the Basque sailors who had 
 served on the Golden Flagon. The characteristic 
 gold rings had been torn from the ears, and there were 
 other things beside. 
 
 " Woman's work ! " said the Arab briefly, and 
 turned away. 
 
 They passed in silence through the market place, 
 but at the farther gate he examined the tracks with 
 great care, getting down on his knees and smelling the 
 warm dust. He rose, dusted himself and walked three 
 paces out of the eastern gate of Souk.
 
 280 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 Then his eyes seemed to fix themselves in their 
 sockets at something he saw. Yet it was only a man 
 in a costume not unlike his own, who was leaning 
 against the massive worn stones of the outer wall. 
 He was, when Lazun and his companion caught sight 
 of him, pulling himself painfully into a sitting posture 
 by the aid of a tethering ring sunk in the stone. 
 
 In a moment, quicker than any eye could follow, 
 indeed, Yusef had drawn his knife, sprung upon the 
 wounded man, and laboured him with blows each one 
 more deadly than the other. The hand at the ring 
 relaxed, clawed in the air as if seeking Yusef's throat, 
 and dropped powerless. 
 
 Then the man rolled his eyes upward, started slightly 
 at sight of his aggressor and died. 
 
 Still Yusef struck and struck in a sort of blind rage, 
 till he was pulled off and held at the muzzle of the 
 Captain's revolver. 
 
 " Oh," he cried, " I cannot ever be sure that he 
 knew me. I should first have told him who I was, and 
 why he was going to die. Fool ! Fool ! " 
 
 And in spite of the pointed revolver, he spurned the 
 body with his foot, till it slowly collapsed into the 
 ditch. Then he wept aloud, calling in English upon 
 his father to forgive his haste, and upon the Prophet 
 of Allah in his own tongue. 
 
 When Yusef had recovered from this torrent of wail- 
 ing, he was not for some time able to make any explan- 
 ation of his conduct. The fact that he had slain an 
 enemy wathout giving him time to recognize his slayer, 
 preyed exclusively upon his mind. But when he 
 looked again, the agony on the dead man's face gave 
 him hope that even this boon might not have been 
 withheld from him by Allah. The man's lips had 
 writhed themselves into a fierce snarl which revealed 
 the white teeth clenched as if biting hard, his eyes 
 were fixed in a white stare, and even in death seemed 
 to single out the Arab. 
 
 Seeing this, Yusef smiled and soon became cheerful 
 and communicative. He even excused himself in a
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 281 
 
 quiet well-bred way as for an involuntary breach of 
 etiquette. 
 
 " I sorry not find him when by myself — iJien — 
 I would have him properly arranged. Too late now. 
 But now I tell you all about this." 
 
 Lazun and Captain Wester waited, not hurrying 
 him in the least, and Le Breton thoughtfully moved 
 his men a little out of earshot of the conference, but 
 bade them keep their arms ready. 
 
 "My Chiefs," Yusef began in a gentle voice of the 
 high-caste Arab of Oman, " you are English. They 
 are a great people on my father's coast, and against 
 them I have nothing. But yonder man was my 
 father's murderer — a slave-trader, of the hareem. He 
 kills men to take the women. He killed my father, 
 and took my mother and me. Her he slew, and me 
 he enslaved. He is a base-born Arab of Africa, a 
 dog of Tripoli, a dung-carrier and the son of a sweeper. 
 I have defiled his mouth. He called himself a Moslem 
 for money, saying many prayers, but I have made him 
 to die a death viler than the death of the Nasrani 
 (pardon, great Chiefs, he was mine enemy). I have 
 slain him with a dog's death. Pah, let him lie till the 
 vultures come. Behold, already they are croaking on 
 the gates ! " 
 
 " But the taking of the city — who did that ? " said 
 the Captain, who knew that the Arab was as discur- 
 sive and as liable as an Irishman to lose himself in 
 side issues. " Tell us that — and quickly. For we 
 must pursue — there is haste. We must go forward." 
 
 " Forward ! " said the young Arab, contemptuously, 
 " can you sail on sand or fly through the air ? " 
 
 " Tell us what you have seen written there," said 
 Lazun, " we cannot read the tale as you can. For 
 we are not of the soil." 
 
 Yusef was pacified. His pride also began to take 
 sides in the game. He kept one hand in front of him 
 palm upwards, and demonstrated into it with the fore- 
 finger of the other after the manner of the Arabs of 
 Hadramaut. 
 
 " Upon the nam.e of the Prophet, I will speak the
 
 282 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 truth. It is an oath. Thus it happened. There 
 was an agreement. The men from the ship we pur- 
 sued, Senor Don Lupo being the leader, came hither 
 to meet the ' mehalla ' of El Hamid, who is the 
 Sultan's brother and calls himself Sultan of the South, 
 though he is a dog, the son of a female dog. Now 
 with this ' mehalla ' of Hamid there came that carrion. 
 He was a pander and a hareem-feeder for Hamid — 
 who is a Solyman only so far as concerns his belly, 
 having a head nothing better than a rotten gourd. 
 
 " Well, with this woman -hunter there came, doubt- 
 less, others of his tribe — one brother in especial with 
 whom I desire greatly to converse. They slew the 
 Kadi of Souk, a poor sheik, a man with the heart of a 
 Jew trader but a wholly harmless man. I saw him 
 lie back there in the Street of the Slipper-makers with 
 his tongue slit into ribbons, because (as they would 
 doubtless affirm) he had spoken many lies to Hamid 
 his master. Also he was rich, which makes Hamid 
 easily observe treason in any man's heart." 
 
 Yusef saw the growing uneasiness on the faces of 
 the two tall white men listening to him. 
 
 " I will hasten. As I say, Hamid's men and these 
 Tripoli Arab dogs came hither on their errands — mean- 
 ing to meet with the men from the ship. It had 
 been a business provided for. But what they had not 
 foreseen was that they should find this little matter." 
 
 He pointed to the French fort. 
 
 " Hamid has seen many of these," he went on. 
 " They have driven him from the southern markets, 
 and since he quarrelled with them he has been obliged 
 to get to the South through the lands claimed by the 
 Spaniards. They are naught, the Spaniards. They 
 cling like limpets to the coast. You have seen them 
 in Melilla and Ceuta. They rule no farther than their 
 guns will range, and even so far — only when the sun 
 shines. But with the people of the three-coloured 
 flag it is not so. They are brave, though often rash 
 and foolish, seemingly uncertain of their minds. But 
 they keep on, and when one is killed another comes 
 along with more of these soldiers — the Genie men
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 283 
 
 first, then the green uniforms from the South, and last 
 and worst of all, the ' I Forestieri ! ' " — (Yusef meant 
 the Foreign Legion). 
 
 " No, Hamid's men did not like that. They had 
 fought with the ' I Forestieri ' before, and many of 
 them were dead and more needed the hakeem. But 
 the Arabs of Tripoli bade them wait till the tallow- 
 coloured Spanish men came with the good rifles from 
 the ship, and then it would be easily done, all in one 
 rush, like the whirl of a sand-storm, with its pipe 
 spinning in a thunder-storm. 
 
 " So it happened. We chased the ship of Lupo in. 
 He landed many men as soon as he came up. We 
 could not see, because of the deep Ghor that runs 
 down to the landing-place. It is likely (but this I do 
 not know for certain), that at the first the Frenchmen, 
 who are not distrustful of men white like themselves, 
 admitted some of Lupo's men to the fort. And then, 
 at night, when all were landed and the caravan ready 
 to start, the gate of the fort was opened, and the sailor 
 white men rushed in, with some of the ' mehalla ' with 
 them. Ye saw those who had died under the knives, 
 fighting in corners. And the town was burnt and the 
 Souk men slain, while the rifles were dealing with the 
 fort. The Frenchmen died bravely. They have their 
 honour. Now, gather them up and burn them. 
 There is plenty of wood, and they deserve not the 
 vulture ! " 
 
 He bowed and was retiring, when Lazun spoke again. 
 
 " Can you follow the trail ? " he said. " Could 
 you find Lupo and his caravan ? " 
 
 " I could find them, but how shall ye follow ? 
 Where are your horses and camels ? " 
 
 " Good," said Lazun, disregarding the question, 
 " think well if there is any way to help us to do this 
 thing. There is a great reward — given without 
 counting." 
 
 " How much ? " said the wary Arab, in whom the 
 fondness for money increases according to the purity 
 of his blood. 
 
 " A thousand pounds," said Lazun quickly.
 
 284 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " How much is that in duros ? I shall reckon it 
 better thus " 
 
 "Five thousand duros — twenty-five thousand 
 francs ! " said Lazun. 
 
 " Make it fifty thousand, if I succeed in all that you 
 desire." 
 
 " Fifty be it," said Lazun, who was in no mood for 
 bargaining. 
 
 " Then I shall need to go over to these mountains," 
 pointing to the foot-ranges of the Southern Atlas. 
 " Oh, not far — one night's march. I have one of my 
 kin there — a rich man, whom my father loved not 
 greatly, but who may, for a share of the money, help 
 us on our way. The horse hire, and that of the drome- 
 daries, besides the drivers' wages, are not to be counted 
 in the fifty thousand francs ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Lazun, " is this a time to 
 chaffer ? But note, there are two maids with that 
 caravan, taken from my ship. They have been stolen. 
 They are dear to me. So in addition to the fifty 
 thousand there is also ten thousand for saving the hfe 
 of one and thirty thousand for that of the other, when 
 each is delivered safe into my hand." 
 
 " And how shall we know which is she of the thirty 
 thousand, and for whom there is but ten thousand to be 
 paid ? " 
 
 " That you shall know only when I pay. Save ye 
 both of them ! " 
 
 Yusef, a smile of confident cupidity on his fine dark 
 face, bowed again and retired. He had made a good 
 bargain. 
 
 Then Lazun ordered the bodies of the French officers 
 and soldiers to be placed on a pile of wood. There 
 was abundance on the shore as dry as tinder. Captain 
 Wester took a Prayer Book printed on India paper, 
 small as a vest diary, out of his purse and read as 
 much of the Burial Service as is used at sea. The 
 ship's company stood at attention with bowed heads. 
 
 Presently the smoke of their burning mounted up. 
 Captain Westei's last act had been to untwist the 
 torn battle-flag from the officer's wrist. Underneath
 
 THE SACK OF SOUK 285 
 
 he found a leathern belt containing a gold watch which 
 had marvellously escaped plunder. A girl's photo- 
 graph, the head only, was within the case at the back 
 with the single pitiful word Reviens ! written across 
 it. And that was all. 
 
 Captain Wester placed these in his breast-pocket 
 and dismissed the matter. He had other things to 
 think about. First, the party to accompany the Arab 
 Yusef had to be chosen. The duty was one so serious 
 that Captain Wester asked for volunteers. He ex- 
 plained the danger, but said that the greater the 
 difficulty the greater the honour. Only young and 
 vigorous men could be accepted. 
 
 Nor was he displeased when his son stepped out the 
 first of a score of volunteers. Le Breton was there 
 also, with Sim the Shepherd and his friend Jolly. 
 " Clydeside " looked most unhappy. 
 
 " Lord, it's an awfu' thing to be auld," he groaned, 
 " never did I think of considering my legs ! " 
 
 But Captain Wester assured him that he could not 
 spare him in any case. He had other work for " Clyde- 
 side." He must go and get a working crew on the 
 destroyer, take her to find the Trident fifty miles north 
 of Teneriffe, get her taken over by her own govern- 
 ment crew, and bring back the Trident to Souk as 
 soon as might be with a fresh supply of coal. 
 
 " Clydeside " pleaded that O'Halloran should go in- 
 stead, but Captain Wester was firm. O'Halloran had 
 the legs of the Scot, and in any case his place was on 
 the destroyer. 
 
 Finally, the ten who were to accompany Yusef were 
 chosen. Arms and forty rounds of ammunition were 
 served to each man. Le Breton and Paul had a 
 hundred cartridges each for their Herbesthal revolvers, 
 but Adams the armourer slipped a dozen loaded 
 detachable reservoirs into Paul's pockets. 
 
 " If ye are very pressed, there's nothing like it," 
 he said. " Mr. Le Breton has his pocket sextant to 
 carry, but take you the cartridge-carriers, plenty to 
 eat also. I recommend meat biscuits if you do not 
 suffer from indigestion."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 THE CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 
 
 While Paul and Le Breton were climbing the dusty 
 foothills of the Southern Atlas, led by the Arab Yusef 
 in search of his more or less predatory uncle, a well- 
 ordered, admirably equipped caravan was leisurely 
 holding its way westward. It had come by the 
 eastern oasis route, once a great and flourishing one, 
 but which the encroachment of French territory, for 
 ever hemming in Morocco more and more closely, 
 has rendered a debatable land, full of razzias, forage- 
 cuttings and cattle-drivings wherever there are any 
 cattle to drive. 
 
 Our well-appointed caravan came all the way from 
 Twat, a French post on the recently pacified French 
 hinterland, very far to the south of Algeria. Twat 
 is an oasis and, already linked up by " wireless," it 
 now only awaits the practicable flying machine to 
 become a sort of desert Venice. At present Twat is 
 not sure of anything, not even of its own orthography. 
 For it is variously spelled, Tvat, Toouat, Tiwaat, and 
 even T'va,t. 
 
 Now it is curious — so curious as to be unbelievable 
 except for the universal attestation of experience — 
 that whenever a region on the face of the earth be- 
 comes a danger zone, precisely similar convoys of 
 adventurous Englishmen or Americans start off 
 towards it, as if drawn by some sympathetic chord in 
 their natures. 
 
 Of course international rascals, broken officers, 
 doubtful financiers — all the fraternity of things 
 vulturine — flock thither also. But not of them do 
 I speak. Rich and well-considered men, young for
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 287 
 
 the most part, equip these expeditions, and on various 
 pretexts (or often on none at all) set themselves 
 tranquilly to run their heads into danger in order to 
 " see what is going on." 
 
 Expeditions of this kind were frequent during the 
 time of the Mahdi. Most of them came to a bad end, 
 but the news, when filtered through desert channels 
 to the fitting-out place, did not in the least deter the 
 next team who were busily buying camels there. 
 They could only " try their luck," they said. 
 
 Of course when by chance the adventurer does get 
 through, he has a marvellously interesting story to 
 tell. And we may be grateful, for without this in- 
 stinct we should miss most that is interesting and 
 delightful in Arthur Young's Travels in France during 
 the Great Revolution. Who else could have told us, 
 like the Suffolk farmer, what rural France was like 
 about the time of the early Terror ? With Stephens 
 and Catherwood we see the break up of the almost 
 forgotten Federation of Central America. Several 
 unknown Englishmen saw the deadly guerrilla warfare 
 of the first and second Carlist Wars, and one at least 
 escaped to write of it in a book which is priceless to the 
 writer of romance. Finally, one of many, Hudson, in 
 a delightful and too much forgotten book, tells with 
 much youthful picturesque imagination the strife of 
 the Blancos and Colorados in Uruguay, the " Purple 
 Land which England Lost." 
 
 The adventurers on the present occasion were un- 
 hampered by any purpose except that of going where 
 they had no right to go, and coming as near to getting 
 themselves killed as possible. As in all such cases, 
 they had with difficulty escaped from the authorities. 
 Their own consuls, from the august Consul-General 
 at Algiers down to the last vague representative of 
 Britannic Majesty at El Golea, had tried to turn them 
 back with prayers and imprecations, and had at last 
 been compelled to let them depart with a warning 
 that they went wholly at their own proper risks and 
 perils, 'plus the information that if they got into 
 trouble — or rather when they got into trouble — not a
 
 288 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 finger would be lifted to help them out. Further it 
 was premised, that having so carefully made their 
 beds, they were at perfect liberty to lie on them with 
 their throats cut — which was the lightest thing they 
 could reasonably expect to happen to them. 
 
 But they laughed and held on — as the consuls 
 expected. For they had had many such sets of 
 particularly-to-be-condemned fools through their 
 hands before. Indeed they rather liked them, treated 
 them well, and if they had any womenkind, these 
 cried over the young men whom their husbands, 
 brothers, and fathers wickedly allowed to go to their 
 deaths. 
 
 Whereat the consuls shrugged their shoulders, 
 disengaged their responsibility, and waited quite as 
 anxiously as any one else for the news that filtered 
 from the various Red Belts into which their particular 
 fools had disappeared. 
 
 Our Twat-ers were two in number, but they had a 
 goodly array of followers. For general protection, 
 as well as for guides, horses, camels, and local pro- 
 visioning, they depended on a considerate chief of the 
 Western Beni Abbas, a famous man on the Debatable 
 Land. His name was Muhammed AH, but he was 
 universally known at El Hatovi, which merely means 
 in Beni Abbas-land, the Big 'Un. 
 
 The more intimate direction, cookery department, 
 home secretaryship and the gift of tongues were in 
 the hands of Daniel, a Syrian Christian by birth, but 
 an expert and green-turbaned Hadji of the strictest 
 observance when in Moslem lands. He was a coward 
 — or at least he represented himself as one. For no 
 real coward would have allowed himself to go where 
 Daniel went and do the things which Daniel did. On 
 Sundays and Saints' days he served dinner in dress 
 clothes with all the distinction of an English butler. 
 Furthermore he spoke the truth, mainly — only it 
 was a different form of the truth suitable to each man 
 according to his skin, religion and preferences. 
 
 The leaders were two young men of about the 
 same age, Grant and Amisfield. Amisfield had been
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 289 
 
 Grant's tutor during his minority, and had success- 
 fully restored his ward to the jurisdiction of the 
 Courts of Chancery after many long wanderings from 
 Novaya Zemlya to the China Ports. Now they were 
 friends and allies, though owing to gifts of temper 
 and the habit of years Sir Ian Grant, Baronet, was 
 ready enough to give way to the judgment of Stephen 
 Amisfield. 
 
 They called each other " Steve " and " Ian," but 
 Grant frequently forgot himself and said " sir," a 
 habit for which Amisfield thundered at him. 
 
 " We will have to be a bit more strict," said Grant, 
 " or at least I will. One of these devils of camel- 
 drivers grinned at me to-day when I told him to load 
 up. I don't know what he said, exactly, but he looked 
 wicked." 
 
 " I know the fellow — old Camera Legs again, I 
 suppose," said Amisfield, stretching his tawny sun- 
 burnt length, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe. 
 " The fact is that the truck — plates, cameras, ammu- 
 nition and book-box — are the least bit solid, and no 
 camel-driver quite yearns for them. Besides, there's 
 the tent, an unwieldy business though not heavy. I 
 don't mean the big one — that goes with the advance 
 drove. But the spare one to stick up if anything 
 happens before we get to our proper camping-ground, 
 that is what they grumble about." 
 
 "I don't beheve it's only that," said Ian Grant; 
 " there's a general all-overish uneasiness — thunder 
 in the air. These Beni Abbas devils are always looking 
 out to the West. Old ' Big Fellow ' says it is a cara- 
 van. But what would a caravan be doing down this 
 route ? Trading — not much ! Well, what do you 
 think ? " 
 
 " The Life Guards Black are all right," said Amis- 
 field, looking over at a dozen men seated, each with a 
 rifle and a rag, round one of the cooking fires. 
 
 " Yes, I think so — they are so far from home that 
 they have got to be. If we got cut up, so would 
 they. We are all in one basket and they know it." 
 
 " Good 1 " Amisfield begun filling his pipe agai,n 
 u
 
 290 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 desisted, and put the tobacco back into the little 
 tin-lined box he carried in his breast-pocket. 
 
 " Smoking is bad before breakfast," he remarked 
 aloud in regretful accents. 
 
 " Another won't hurt you ! " said Ian Grant, who 
 sat on the sand watching him. It was still very early 
 morning and the sun had not yet looked over the 
 horizon to the east. 
 
 Amisfield sprang to his feet and stood looking down 
 at Ian Grant, whose round head, covered with thick 
 curls, spoke the Celt. He was sitting cross-legged 
 trying to do conjurer's tricks with stones, but he 
 always dropped them at the critical point. 
 
 " Get up, you lazy devil," said Amisfield, " come on 
 and let's have another tub." 
 
 " Thanks, Daniel washed the dishes in it last night, 
 I believe ! " 
 
 " Nonsense — come on. It's clean enough. We 
 have only used it four times and it looks quite clean 
 if you pour fast." 
 
 Ian Grant grumbled but turned a somersault on to 
 his feet. 
 
 " All right then — I'll toss you for first go." 
 
 The young men went into their tent to clothe them- 
 selves in all that remained (and only the barely 
 essential did remain) of two pairs of battered bathing 
 drawers. They did their ablutions before the people, 
 and they had observed that nothing put the camp 
 in a better temper than their manoeuvres on such 
 occasions. They chose a place where the sand was 
 hard. They spread a carpet, for were they not 
 sheiks of no mean degree. A collapsible rubber 
 tub was brought out and planked down. Then came 
 a waterskin to which the " rose " part of a garden 
 watering-can had been attached simply but efficiently 
 by Amisfield. 
 
 " Heads," said Ian Grant. 
 
 " Heads she is — luck again ! " growled his friend. 
 
 And he prepared to operate. The camp stilled and 
 the watching became intent. The curtain was about 
 to rise. So was the sun. And as the first drops
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 291 
 
 sprayed out of the battered green " rose," they were 
 instantly stricken to diamond spray by the first rays 
 of the sun. For a moment every inch-high desert 
 ripple and wind-wreath held a shadow, blue as that 
 on snow, and the figures of the two young men stretched 
 away westward in the direction of the sea. 
 
 As the lukewarm dribble touched his bare skin, 
 Grant sprang with a straight bound into the air, 
 hitting his head on the rose and upsetting his friend 
 off the cube-sugar packing case on which he was 
 standing in order to " siphon " at more ease. 
 
 " You idiot, why didn't you tell me you were going 
 to monkey ? " cried Amisfield, as the camp rocked 
 with laughter. When he rose to his feet he found that 
 Grant was balancing himself on his hands with his soles 
 in the air. 
 
 " Go on," said a voice from below, " can't stop like 
 this long, the b-bub-bub-blessed stuff is running into 
 my mouth. It tastes of hair oil. Why will you use 
 it?" 
 
 Without answering Amisfield watered him feet 
 upwards, and then the athlete, always keeping within 
 the tub, presented all manner of angles and rhomboidal 
 surfaces to the " rose," till every drop had been 
 poured over him. 
 
 " Your turn, I'll souse you ! " said Grant, who, 
 glistening all over, was getting up on the cube-sugar 
 case. 
 
 " Now, then, Ian, no larks — at least none that will 
 spill the water — better dirty water than none." 
 
 "OOOFF-F! That's good," he sucked in his 
 breath as he felt the cool swish of the water on his 
 head and shoulders. 
 
 " I say, let's filter it through sand," suggested 
 Grant looking at the doubtful mixture in the india- 
 rubber tub. 
 
 " No fear, put it back just as it was in the old 
 ' bota.' D'ye hear me ? I'd rather be dirty than 
 gritty any day of the week." 
 
 They did not trouble to dry themselves. They 
 were dry in the first minute, and perhaps the quick 
 
 U 2
 
 292 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 evaporation did them more good than anything else. 
 Then, without speaking, Amisfield went and brought 
 out two pairs of boxing-gloves, to the back of each of 
 which he had carefully adjusted a " clowning clack " 
 to make the blows resound. They were good enough 
 blows, but the sound was the main thing in the 
 circumstances. 
 
 The camp drew near and even Daniel, busy with 
 the breakfast, could hardly refrain from leaving his 
 red charcoal embers. 
 
 They sparred carefully for a while, and the circle 
 closed in. The Imperial Guard (called the Life Guards 
 Black), Soudanese who had served in British regi- 
 ments, stray Haussas and Zouave deserters — fighters 
 by choice as well as by race, loomed up behind, for 
 they were very tall men. They leaned on their rifles 
 and grinned at the strange Sahibs. 
 
 Spat ! Spat — Nip and tuck ! The first rounds 
 were fairly equal, till suddenly Grant, who danced all 
 round the brawnier Amisfield, miscalculated, slipped 
 forward, received a resounding body blow from 
 Amisfield and went down. 
 
 " Han ! " grunted the crowd with the sound that a 
 butcher makes when he brings down his poleaxe. 
 
 But Grant was up and at it again in a minute. He 
 dodged about, backwards and forwards, till with a 
 swift punch from beneath he got in a tap on the 
 nose. 
 
 A few drops fell on the clean skin of the ex-tutor, 
 and the crowd applauded to the echo. It was their 
 favourite stroke. Nothing pleased them so much, 
 and they began to encourage the combatants with 
 all manner of uncouth noises, probably the same as 
 had been heard in the arenas of Carthaginian Rome 
 from just such men as these. 
 
 The woman's " Loo-loo — Lulah — Loooo-oolah " was 
 heard from the rear, though no women of any colour 
 were supposed to be in the camp. The crowd thrilled 
 to this special encouragement, only granted to gladi- 
 ators, or to those who come home in triumph from the 
 bloody field.
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 293 
 
 The two men were at it ding-dong now, and the 
 shouts redoubled. 
 
 The crowd cheered at each formidable clack, and 
 leaped in the air as the marks of the blows showed up 
 beautifully on the bare white skins. Bets were 
 exchanged quite freely, the odds being indicated by 
 held-up fingers. 
 
 " Who's the favourite ? " gasped Grant as he danced 
 about waiting for a look in. 
 
 " You are to-day ! " said Amisfield, " two to one 
 offered and taken ! " 
 
 " Better let the favourite win this morning then ! " 
 
 " Right ! " grunted Amisfield, and with that his 
 opponent came at him livelier than ever. 
 
 Amisfield guarded high, and in a moment— pi^a- 
 'pat, he got it double-barrelled, one on the shoulder 
 and the other on the chin, and so went down. Grant 
 counted ten over him in a solemn manner. 
 
 " Bing — Bang — Bo ! " cried a grinning Sambo, 
 imitating as well as he could the noise of the re- 
 enforced gloves. 
 
 The two combatants shook hands with the gravest 
 politeness and each carried in his own gloves, the 
 victor taking the lead. 
 
 " We shall have no more trouble to-day," said Ian 
 Grant, when the tent drop fell. " We have put the 
 whole caravan in a good humour." 
 
 " Don't be too sure," said Amisfield, " I had my 
 eyes about me while you were strutting into the tent 
 like a crowing bantam. There, by the book and 
 camera pack was that beastly driver — Abd' Amara, 
 one of S'neissa's men — squat like a toad by his camel 
 and not a single article had he touched. I fear I shall 
 have to deal with him myself." 
 
 " Oh, let me ! " cried Grant, who was polishing 
 himself from head to foot with a stiff-bristled nail 
 brush. " It's tny day. I'm popular this morning — 
 and I might fetch him." 
 
 *■' He didn't see you," said his friend, " and besides 
 you would get monkeying. No, stay where you are, 
 Ian, and look at the armoury. Put the cartridge
 
 294 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 belts handy and give a touch of grease — just a touch — 
 to the Mauser chps so that they will slide easy into the 
 magazine." 
 
 Amisfield strode out, a tall, brown-headed, brown- 
 skinned, brown-clad Northerner of that Viking blood 
 and Viking name which are scattered so thick and 
 close on both sides of the Cheviot border. He made 
 a bee-line towards the unloaded baggage camel with 
 the owner of which he had already had some con- 
 siderable friction. 
 
 The man possessed one of the best and strongest of 
 the camels, and as the beast could easily carry the 
 heaviest, though not the most cumbrous, of the single 
 loads, Amisfield had set it apart for the work of waiting 
 behind for their personal traps, stopping over the 
 noon halt, and continuing with them till sunset. This 
 meant that the man's camel, though a fast animal, 
 must remain with the main body all day, a thing by 
 no means to the liking of the camel's master. 
 
 It was the habit of the caravan, so long as the chief 
 of the Beni Abbas could be in a way responsible for 
 the safety of the country, to send on Daniel with the 
 tents and kitchen equipage to choose and set up the 
 camp for the night, and have the dinner ready for the 
 travellers on their arrival. 
 
 The post of " kitchen kettle carrier " was much 
 sought after. For not only the whole march for the 
 day was got over in one spell and at a comparacively 
 early hour, but men and camels were set free to gossip 
 and drowse. In addition to which, for those who were 
 civil to Daniel, many much considered trifles happened 
 along for the picking up. 
 
 But both Amisfield and Grant had decided that it 
 was better to keep such a sulky dog as Abdul Amara 
 under their eyes. For Abdul had shown himself not 
 onl}' chronically discontent, but, in the quiet by the 
 watch-fires, during those interminable confabulations 
 which the Arabs hold with each other, he preached 
 nothing less than actual revolt and bloody murder. 
 
 As he went Amisfield remembered that the man was 
 dangerous, but he said to himself that after all he was
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 295 
 
 a real man of the desert and no coast rat. So he 
 argued that deep down somewhere he must possess 
 some sort of rudimentary soul — pluck he would have 
 as a matter of course. 
 
 So he mustered not only his com age but his small 
 store of Arabic — not the college sort he had learned 
 under the Rabbi of Ellon (may his spiiit commune 
 with those of Isaiah and that of the man who wrote 
 Ecclesiasticus), but the rough camp sort spoken on the 
 edge of the Great Thirst from Egypt even to Cape 
 Verde. He began at once. 
 
 " What dost thou, O camel-driver, with thy load. 
 Be speedy. Load up there ! " 
 
 And he pointed to the boxes of books and photo- 
 graphic mateiials. 
 
 The driver stood up and scowled fiercely. The men 
 of the camp went on with their packing, dragging at 
 their ropes to get the proper " cinch." But all the 
 same they kept an ear and an eye for the doings of 
 Abd' Amara and the Brown One. 
 
 " Get to Eblis, Infidel thrice-accursed ! " said the 
 driver, grinning fiercely. 
 
 Out shot Amisfield's left with the weight of the body 
 behind it. The blow took the man straight on the 
 mouth and he went over like a bag of wet grain, as 
 the connoisseurs who were looking on were not slow 
 in remarking. 
 
 Up came Amara again. With both arms wide and 
 his fingers clawing he made to seize Amisfield by the 
 hair. But a right hand met his chest like a kicking 
 stallion's heel and down he went again, stiff this time 
 as a falling log. 
 
 Yet such was the stubborn quality in the man that 
 the next moment he had drawn a knife from somewhere 
 under his camel-driver's dress, and crooking his knees 
 outward he half crouched, half squatted on his hams, 
 ready for a spring. 
 
 Amisfield never took his eyes off him, but kept 
 advancing with equal steps towards the squat figure 
 fingering the glittering knife. 
 
 " I hate to do it," he said to himself, " but with a
 
 296 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 fellow like that — ah, he is going to throw the knife ! 
 I must stop that ! " 
 
 His foot shot out in the full savate. The knife rose 
 twirling in the air, and Abd' Amara collapsed writhing, 
 his head striking the ground first. 
 
 " Han ! " cried the camp joyfully. But none went 
 to his rescue. He was a man without a chief, so the 
 Beni Abbas and their sheik looked on as at a good 
 show for which they had obtained front places free of 
 charge. 
 
 Then Amisfield, first assuring himself by a rapid 
 search that Abdul had no more steel toothpicks upon 
 his person, lifted his head upon his knees. Grant 
 came from the tent with a cordial of considerable 
 strength, and the sting of the raw spirit on his palate 
 caused Abd' Amara to open his eyes. 
 
 " All Eblis is running down your throat, my friend," 
 said Amisfield. " You see what it is to disobey 
 orders in this camp. Now get up and load your 
 beast." 
 
 Abd' Amara was on his feet, and in a minute he 
 had the big book -box on one side and balanced by the 
 other with the "A. H. Baird " developing case and 
 the plates. He danced about and shouted not un- 
 gleefully, singing the praises of the fighting sheik. 
 He was perhaps a little drunk. Arabs are very ab- 
 stemious and very little affects them. At any rate he 
 was no longer the surly dog he had been. He did his 
 work well, and in the evening after dinner, when the 
 men were about the camp-fires and the two explorers 
 were smoking a last pipe in the cool of the desert 
 night, Daniel glided into them, and with great secrecy 
 and a most mysterious air he beckoned them to follow. 
 They passed stealthily behind the cookhouse into the 
 big sleeping tent, and from the tent flap nearest to the 
 fire they could hear and see the comedy which was 
 being enacted there. 
 
 All the camp was clustered in a wide circle. Besides 
 the usual members of the expedition, several others, 
 apparently well known to the Sons of Abbas, were 
 present. To them, Abd' Amara was relating his
 
 CONVERSION OF ABD' AMARA 297 
 
 adventure. The men in the tent could not hear his 
 words, but in a whisper Daniel translated. 
 
 Even when he did not, Abdul's gestures were the 
 perfection of mimicry. 
 
 " Thus was I — the black dog being heavy on my 
 back. For my sins I cursed the Big Brown Sheik. 
 ' Go to Ebhs, Giawr ! ' I bade him." 
 
 " That was very evil," said the cliief of the Beni 
 Abbas sententiously. " It was to curse the salt you 
 ate. Mark, O men, the penalty." 
 
 And then Abd' Amara took up the tale, nothing 
 abashed, but most cheerfully grinning. 
 
 " And the Fighter stood in front of me and said, 
 ' Load ! ' But I was devil-possessed and only bade 
 him try to make me. And lo, as though a blue slab 
 out of the heavens had fallen on my head, I fell on the 
 sand. Also it thundered ! " 
 
 And Amara parodied the loud " smack " he had 
 received, smiting his breast with the open palm and 
 falling straight back on the ground. 
 
 Then he parodied the second assault, the knife and 
 the straight drive in the chest. 
 
 "Regard, oh, regard — with your eyes. Here is 
 the very mark still, and here under the lip to the left 
 there's a dog's tooth missing. Here also is the tooth, 
 I picked it up from the sand. It has not been 
 cleansed. Take care, ye that touch, lest it be cleansed. 
 It must remain bloody. Let it be an heirloom. No, 
 it is not a vendetta. Why ? Because the blood was 
 not shed with steel. Thou foohsh black ' nigger,' thou 
 art surely woolly also within thine head. Do not the 
 young sheiks fight every day, sometimes till they be 
 all red ? Is there a vendetta between them because 
 of this ? No, they shake hands and go in to eat and 
 drink. I have learned a lesson. Also all Eblis ran 
 down my throat, so that I was on fire within. But 
 it was a good Eblis — oh, very good. I became light 
 within me and of a frolicksome spirit ever after, and 
 I begged the chief to pardon . . . and to give me a 
 little, ever so little, more of Eblis to drink. But he 
 would not. Only laughing and bidding me to my
 
 298 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 work. Oh, very strong and wonderful is the fighting 
 witliout any blood feud to settle. I have learned the 
 secret from the Fighting Sheik. Will any venture 
 with me ? " And Abd' Amara put himself into what he 
 considered a posture of defence. 
 
 No one took up the defiance, but all that night there 
 was much coming and going, and deep in the heart of 
 the night Amisfield awoke, and, hearing a noise, he 
 looked out. Not that there was anything remarkable 
 in a camp noise. Arabs are always moving about at 
 night — sleepers sitting up to scratch, or lighting a 
 pipe at the fire. They draw three whiffs and lie down 
 again. But this was what Amisfield saw when he 
 peeped from the edge of the tent door after midnight — 
 Abd' Amara still busy, retelling his tale for the 
 twentieth time to new listeners. " Thus did he — 
 smack — and so down fell I ! " 
 
 And then came the dull thud of the falling of Abd' 
 Amara's body in the dew-damp desert sand. 
 
 Such is the tale of the conversion of Abdul Amara, 
 the chiefless man who from that moment vowed 
 himself of the clan of his conqueror and became on the 
 spot Abd' Amara ben Amfili — that is to say of the 
 tribe of Amisfield.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 
 
 Next morning very early, a little after the Phantom 
 Dawn but before the time of the reddening of the 
 East, Amisfield was out on the face of the desert. 
 The camp was now at its stillest and the night cool 
 and quiet. He had slept indifferently and now sleep 
 had quite departed from him. So he went out to 
 see if all the sentinels were awake also. 
 
 His eyes were still dark with sleep, so he easily 
 saw the dusky rim of the desert ascending from him 
 every way. He seemed to be in the bottom of a 
 bowl. Of course it was not so, because he knew the 
 sand to be flat, though accidented. But it seemed 
 as he turned from the camp that he was ascending 
 a long slope towards the lip of the world. 
 
 He went towards the south till he was almost out 
 of sight of the tents. Then he sat down on a stone 
 and listened. He may have dozed. At any rate 
 certain it is that he must have closed his eyes. For 
 when he opened them again he saw — what he first 
 took to be an hallucination — the figures of two girls 
 clad in simple European clothing, standing within a few 
 yards of him. One was taller than the other and she 
 was supporting her companion, who appeared to be 
 crying. 
 
 Stephen Amisfield rose suddenly to his feet, and 
 at sight of his dark figure the weeping woman uttered 
 a piercing scream and fell back into the arms of the 
 other. 
 
 " Lay her on the ground ! " said Amisfield in Eng- 
 lish, without thinking where he was, and with his 
 instinct for taking matters in his own hands. " Give 
 
 299
 
 300 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 her to me," he added, " and run to the camp for some 
 sal volatile. Grant has it." 
 
 As the girl did not answer, Amisfield suddenly 
 remembered that it was rather futile to expect a 
 woman in the middle of the desert to understand 
 English. So he tried manfully to reconstruct his 
 recommendation in his best coast Arabic. But the 
 translation of sal volatile stumped him. 
 
 He became conscious that the taller girl had de- 
 posited her companion on the sand with her head 
 resting on a rock. Her hand was now stretched out. 
 He could see the fine line it made with her shoulder, 
 shapely neck, and sinall head. He became conscious 
 at the same time that the dark object which she 
 seemed to be handing him was really a revolver with 
 its muzzle pointing directly at his breast. 
 
 " Stop, or I will shoot ! " said the figure, in an 
 English voice which at any other time would have 
 struck Amisfield as fresh and pleasant. 
 
 " Of course I'll stop," he answered, " but don't 
 fire. I am not going to hurt anybody. Tell me 
 who you are and — — " 
 
 " Who are you and what are you doing here ? " 
 the voice demanded sharply. Amisfield was sur- 
 prised and a little hurt to observe that the revolver 
 was still maintained in position. 
 
 " Who am I ? Stephen Amisfield, once of Border- 
 shire, lately of London, and presently travelling with 
 my friend Ian Grant— a man whose Celtic name will 
 not deceive you into thinking him Irish " 
 
 The pistol dropped a little, perhaps involuntarily. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only believe you ? " The words 
 came with a deep gasp like a man's sob. 
 
 " I should advise you," said Stephen, " to keep 
 your pistol covering me till you are perfectly sure that 
 you can. I should, in your place. But there is your 
 friend coming to, and it is getting light enough to 
 see. Now, look here, I shall sit down on this rock 
 with my back to you. I shall toss a bundle of papers 
 in my pockets. Can you catch with one hand ? I 
 happen to have my passports and all that, in a case
 
 ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 301 
 
 given me by the Consul General in Algiers. ' And 
 may God have mercy on your soul,' he said when he 
 handed them over. ' If I had a black cap I should 
 put it on.' " 
 
 The papers were tossed and deftly caught. 
 
 " Oh, well held ! Now read these things and see 
 if I am to be trusted. There is a description of my 
 friend Ian Grant, too. He is a baronet but quite 
 respectable. I made him so. I was his tutor." 
 
 " I am sure it is all right," said Zipporah Katti, 
 " you must forgive us. But we have been, and still are, 
 in terrible danger — and I have my friend to think of." 
 
 " Drop a little fine sand down the back of her neck 
 — or, better still, a few of these pebbles — the ones 
 damp with dew — counter-irritant — I have worked 
 it with Grant often. It makes him quite spumy. 
 He wants to slay me. But he gets up directly—I 
 do it mostly when he is in bed. I suppose a faint 
 is much the same." 
 
 " There now, darling," he heard a voice say behind 
 him, " you feel better now. This gentleman is one 
 of a caravan in the neighbourhood. He is English 
 and so is his friend." 
 
 " Celtic fringe," corrected Amisfield. " I'm mostly 
 Norse — or was a thousand years ago. My friend 
 is Highland. But have a look at the papers." 
 
 " We trust you — take us into your camp ! " 
 
 " Then I can turn round — you are really fully 
 satisfied and the pistol put away ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Amisfield wheeled sharply about and found him- 
 self face to face with two girls, one tall and dark who 
 held herself erect. He recognized the arm at the 
 end of which he had seen the black chunk of the 
 revolver. The second, with her hands clasped about 
 the arm of her taller friend, was fair and very foot- 
 weary. Her face was pale. There were half-moon 
 shadows under her eyes, partly of fatigue and partly 
 owing to the shadow cast, in the slant sunshine of 
 the morning, by the longest and darkest lashes 
 Amisfield had ever seen.
 
 302 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 " I don't like that tj'^pe of girl," Amisfield said to 
 himself, emphatically, but not with any real strength 
 of conviction. The lashes trembled as if they had 
 heard their own condemnation. Amisfield noticed 
 that there were the tiniest beads of wetness stringing 
 out along the upturned ends. Then they lifted like 
 a veil, and Stephen Amisfield saw that the blue eyes 
 beneath were wet too. 
 
 Whereupon he revised his position as rapidly as a 
 politician after an unfavourable general election, and 
 decided promptly, " Well, I don't hke the type, 
 but this girl is differ ent.^^ 
 
 Then he said to himself, " I wonder what Grant 
 will think of this — but it doesn't matter. At any 
 rate it will be worth gold to see his face during the 
 introductions." 
 
 Amisfield had a very convincing way with girls, 
 and on this somewhat extraordinary occasion he asked 
 no questions, accepted the presence of Eza and Zip- 
 porah Katti on the Trans-Atlantean desert as the 
 most natural thing in the world. He had an old 
 college cap on his head, a thing marvellously reassur 
 ing in itself — and he walked beside Zipporah and Eza 
 as if he had been escorting them down Piccadilly. 
 
 The Arabs of the Beni Abbas paused to stare, but 
 they had too good manners to show surprise. Be- 
 sides all this concerned only their chief. The soldier 
 sentries merely saluted as the three came into the 
 camp. 
 
 As she walked Zipporah Katti was busy measuring 
 the strength of the caravan, and she realized at once 
 that one of the two men must be very rich. She had 
 a presentiment that it must be the unseen Grant. 
 Amisfield, her present conductor, had not that look. 
 But then neither had she. At any rate it did not 
 matter. What really mattered was the strength of 
 the caravan, and what the two Englishmen would say 
 when she told them her story. 
 
 They might not want — and the thing was natural — 
 to mix themselves up in her difficulties. Eza and she 
 would be followed — so much was certain. They had
 
 ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 303 
 
 escaped without taking even Leon into their confi- 
 dence. They had known nothing about how to 
 conceal their tracks. Zipporah had steered as nearly 
 north-west as she could, because she knew that she 
 would find Europeans and English, French, or Spanish 
 vessels at the northerly Atlantic ports. Raif Palafox 
 had told her so. Both on board the Flagon and on 
 the march he had showed an eagerness to make the 
 position as easy as possible for her. But she could 
 not trust him. Eza and she had stolen away in 
 desperate haste, because they had heard that the 
 Sultan el Hamid was coming from the south to meet 
 them, being drawn by the report of the marvellous 
 beauty of the two white maids Lupo Palafox was 
 bringing him. 
 
 This story she told presently to Grant and Amisfield, 
 in the tent where an entirely civilized breakfast had 
 been served for them. The young men listened with 
 intense eagerness, only glancing across at each other 
 occasionally. Little Eza lay on the divan of pillows, 
 nestling contentedly, and the men thought her very 
 fair. Zipporah (they felt) was much more kin to 
 themselves. She planned and led. She had initia- 
 tive. She suggested and questioned. She was 
 browned with the sun and there were lines of resolu- 
 tion and courageous acceptance of facts about her 
 mouth. She looked you straight in the eyes as a 
 man would have done. But Little Eza lay there 
 all roseleaf blush and wet pearly eyelash. She looked 
 from one to the other, as if to plead with them separ- 
 ately not to give her up. They saw the little swal- 
 lowing motion of her white throat, the anxious 
 check of soft breathing, the rise and fall of the silken 
 scarf she had worn on tier head for a veil. They 
 felt she was a woman to be protected. They were 
 not so sure about Zipporah Katti. 
 
 " Well," said Zipporah Katti when she had finished, 
 " what are we to do ? " 
 
 The two men had been chiefly employed in looking 
 at Eza, but the conclusion of the tale of the wicked
 
 304 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 mutineer cnptaiii astonished them. They had, of 
 course, heard of the traffic in white girls. No one can 
 cross the Atlas-Biskra way or by Ouargla without 
 hearing much talk of that. But they had believed 
 it to be confined to women marketable in their own 
 lands — girls from Khabylia and imports from Asia 
 Minor brought in by Sidra and Tripoli. 
 
 But girls of their own race and speech, educated 
 girls — ladies ! The mere thought was enough to set 
 the men's blood tingling. 
 
 What would they do — why of course — fight. 
 
 Zipporah posed them with the single question : 
 " Could they trust their Arab Sheik and the tribe 
 that chief led ? " 
 
 Yes, the two young men thought so. They had 
 had some pretty close calls on the way from Twat, 
 and Sidi Muhammed ben Abbas had behaved very 
 decently. They were on the borders of his own 
 country still, though the fear of the French had made 
 most of the Beni Abbas take to the hills. Still 
 
 " And the drilled men she had seen as she came 
 into the camp ? Could they trust them ? " 
 
 " Absolutely," said Amisfield, with much assur- 
 ance this time. " They will be fighting for their own 
 lives. Their rifles were worth more than their weight 
 in duros, and if the caravan broke they would be 
 massacred to a man." 
 
 " You had better have in your chief," suggested 
 Zipporah ; " we can see w^hat he recommends. Does 
 he speak any English ? " 
 
 "I'm afraid not," Amisfield admitted; "he can 
 understand French a little, but I fear we shall need 
 to call in Daniel as an interpreter — which is a pity, 
 for he will be sure to make the most of all difficulties. 
 What a fool I was not to learn more Arabic of the 
 colloquial sort. Daniel, I fear, is a necessity." 
 
 " I used to be able to speak Arab," said Little Eza 
 softly from the divan, " I lived as a child at Constan- 
 tine and Tangier. I don't beheve that I have quite 
 forgotten. At least I understood perfectly well what 
 the men said in the ' mehalla ' over there."
 
 ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 305 
 
 " Yes," corroborated Zipporah Katti, " if it had 
 not been for Eza we would not have known many 
 things which even Raif Palafox was in the dark 
 about." 
 
 " ' Mehalla,' " said Amisfield who had been think- 
 ing, " were there so many as all that — ' mehalla ' 
 means an army corps, does il; not, or something like 
 that ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Zipporah, " that was what 
 they called it, but I don't think there were more than 
 a thousand people in all. And of these many were 
 women and children — poor creatures, they wailed 
 till the men silenced them with blows." 
 
 " If you have to speak to our old Sidi Muhammed 
 ben Abbas, don't call it a ' mehalla.' The very word 
 would set them pointing for the hills, which would 
 leave us mighty short-handed." 
 
 Accordingly they dispatched Daniel. He had been 
 hovering about the door sulkily, ever since Amisfield 
 had hurled a camp-stool at a round boss which out- 
 Hned itself on the side of the tent nearest the cook- 
 house — to carry their compliments to the Sheik 
 Muhammed and request him to come to the tent so 
 that the white chiefs might ask his invaluable advice. 
 
 " Shall we veil our faces ? " said Eza a little dole- 
 fully. 
 
 " No," said Amisfield, " he is a clean-run Bedu, 
 and the Beduin do not veil the faces of their women 
 Hke the Moroccans." 
 
 " Besides," said Zipporah, smihng, " it would be 
 a little late, seeing that we walked through the camp 
 at daybreak with our faces bare." 
 
 " I am so glad," said Little Eza, " I believe I could 
 talk Arab more easily to him that way — I mean 
 persuade him." 
 
 " Well, first," said Amisfield, " let us see what we 
 mean to tell him. You were carried off by a few 
 mutineers from a ship at Souk. The leader of the 
 rascals was going to sell you both in the south. But, 
 though you are poor girls, you have very rich and 
 powerful friends, who are noM' marching to recapture
 
 306 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 you with a great force. The Sheik el Islam is with 
 them. The Sheik el Islam is your brother-in-law ' 
 
 ^1 What— of both of us ? " said Zipporah. 
 
 " Certainly, you are sisters — it will be safer — 
 more comprehensive. The Sheik el Islam is the 
 biggest rehgious card in Africa; I saw him once in 
 Tangier up near where the deposed Sultan now hves, 
 and the beggars congregate about the gate like flies." 
 
 Eza nodded. " Anything else ? " she said. 
 
 " I think not — except to impress him with the idea 
 that there will be a great reward when he gets you 
 either into the hands of your friends, or to one of the 
 ports where there is a foreign war vessel — Mogador 
 and Agadir are the nearest, I beheve. — But, mind, 
 your friends will certainly be at Souk by this time. 
 Oh — and don't, as you value your life, mention the 
 word ' mehalla.' " 
 
 The presentations were effected by Amisfield. 
 Sidi Muhammed was a tall dark man about forty, 
 with a full beard and piercing black eyes. He 
 salaamed in the quiet manner of his tribe, and ac- 
 cepted the presence of women in the tent of his 
 masters without any sign of surprise — though he 
 would not have been human had he not marvelled 
 how it was that Brown Fighter had strolled out into 
 the night and brought the pair back with him to the 
 camp. 
 
 He did start, however, when Eza sitting up with 
 her veil slightly shadowing her face, though not con- 
 cealing it, began to speak to him in his own tongue. 
 He fastened his eyes upon her and nodded slightly 
 now and then as she told her tale. 
 
 The three — Zipporah, Grant, and Amisfield — under- 
 stood little of what Little Eza was saying, but they 
 heard the name " Souk," the title " Sheik el Islam," 
 and occasionally the word " cannon," which last 
 puzzled them very much. But at last Eza came to 
 the anxious part. Evidently she was asking the 
 chief what would be their best course. 
 
 The sheik looked at the ground and made no answer. 
 Eza kept at him fluently, but he sat apparently
 
 ON THE FACE OF THE DESERT 307 
 
 unconvinced, slowly shaking his head without answer- 
 ing. Then suddenly Eza threw back her veil, stood 
 erect, and with quivering lip and denunciatory 
 finger, fired what sounded a desolating anathema 
 at him. 
 
 " Easy — go easy," whispered Amisfield, " don't 
 drive him into a corner," 
 
 But the httle lady took no notice. She gave Sidi 
 Muhammed another volley and only ceased when he 
 became satisfactory. 
 
 " It is willed. I %vill help," he said. " But we 
 must go at once and with speed to a certain place I 
 know of." 
 
 " Remind him about the reward," said Amisfield. 
 
 And then the sheik astonished them. He spoke 
 in fair English to Amisfield, " Time enough to talk 
 of the reward if at the last we are left alive." 
 
 Then he went off to give orders, and the men 
 congratulated Eza, who took the matter smilingly. 
 
 " What were you sticking down his throat near 
 the end ? " Grant asked; " you made him squirm — 
 I was watching him." 
 
 " Telling him that if he failed now, the Sheik el 
 Islam would curse him for a Persian heretic, and take 
 his green turban from his head ! But that, if he 
 helped us, my sister, who was the holy man's only 
 wife, would speak to her husband and make him 
 standard-bearer of the Green Flag of Islam in the 
 next jehad — that is, Holy War." 
 
 X 2
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 FORT EZA 
 
 Arabs do not entrench. They sometimes build 
 " zaribas " with the great prickly thorn of the desert 
 and cactus set hke sword-blades. But even so, the 
 thing is chiefly useful as a protection for the animals 
 of the caravan, and to keep the camels from breaking. 
 But the Sidi of the Beni Abbas was no common 
 sheik. He had seen campaigning almost to the 
 Lake itself — which is Lake Tchad. He had some 
 notion of what two Englishmen might want for de- 
 fence purposes, and though he had not the least idea 
 of staying within himself with his horsemen, he fully 
 intended to render as faithful service as he could 
 without endangering his tribal authority. Also, and 
 especially, he meant if possible to get the promised 
 reward. 
 
 He had always found that Grant and Amisfield 
 faithfully performed their word. He had eaten salt 
 with them. He had heard of the power of the Sheik 
 el Islam, a kind of Moslem Peter-of-the-Keys. So, 
 for these varied spiritual, secular and financial reasons 
 he was resolved to play as fair as he could — which is, 
 all things considered, a good deal from an Arab of 
 Southern Algeria. 
 
 The " place of strength " he led them to was on 
 the first spur of one of the outworks of the Atlas. 
 Behind it the cliffs rose clear. The little flat- 
 topped clump of rock lay out like a shut hand 
 laid back upwards on a table, and the sands of the 
 desert lashed about it like a sea. A couple of hundred 
 feet high with only one practicable path for camels, 
 the place had been used as a fort more than once 
 by the French, when they were engaged in flanking 
 
 308
 
 FORT EZA 309 
 
 Morocco to the south and so carrying their empire 
 westward to the Atlantic. 
 
 The defences they had built were not extensive. 
 They consisted of rude rifle-pits, breastworked with 
 stone and bullet proof, set along both sides of the 
 winding path which led to the summit. But there 
 was a good wall and gate where that path debouched 
 upon the plateau. There a little grazing could be 
 had. A spring of water descended the cliff and was 
 caught in a carefully concreted basin. Beneath, the 
 desert spread like a brown ocean. 
 
 The young men were delighted, and at once set 
 about placing their men and finding positions for every 
 one. Their first care was for the girls — or rather 
 for Eza. For Zipporah intimated very plainly that 
 she could shoot as well as anybody, and that she meant 
 to mount guard and fight with the rest. 
 
 For Eza, therefore, they found a sheltered place 
 quite close to the cliff. It was a kind of rifle-pit, 
 well out of reach of the stray bullets ricochetting from 
 the " sangars." 
 
 They unloaded and made the camels He down be- 
 hind the wall, with their drivers beside them. They 
 were the camels of the Beni Abbas, and the sheik 
 demanded a signed agreement that he should be 
 wholly indemnified for any damage done them in the 
 course of the fighting. If not, it would take the heart 
 out of the men. Grant gave the necessary assurance, 
 at the same time pointing out that if the Sultan 
 Hamid's people had found his camels, he would never 
 have received a farthing and got his throat cut into 
 the bargain. 
 
 Then as soon as possible Sheik Sidi Muhammed 
 went his way down, and presently from the rocky 
 fort, newly christened Fort Eza by mutual consent 
 (of the men), they could see his horsemen stretching 
 out to the left in order to escape from the neighbour- 
 hood of a dust-cloud which was approaching them 
 from the south. Soon the white burnooses of the 
 Sultan's cavalry could be made out, and his green- 
 and-black standard with many streamers was carried 
 by a splendid cavalier on a white horse. The slow
 
 310 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 marching crew of the Golden Flagon showed many 
 gaps in their ranks since they left Souk. Still there 
 remained quite forty of them, and it was evident to 
 Amisfield that his camel-drivers, with one or two 
 exceptions, were wholly useless for fighting. 
 
 " We number twenty-five all told, Miss Palafox," 
 said Amisfield ; " I beg your pardon — twenty-six, 
 rather ! You Grant, take the ' sangars ' with eighteen 
 of the best shots. Miss Zipporah and I will keep our 
 sergeant with us to encourage the fag end of our 
 defence. I have armed five or six of the best 
 Soudanese porters. I think they will fight, but I 
 must keep an eye on them. The sergeant and I will 
 stay behind to see that they don't take a pot at you 
 fellows down in the ' sangars ' by mistake ! " 
 
 "By Jove, yes," said Grant; "that would be 
 discouraging." 
 
 " I'll make it all right. The sergeant, Miss Zip- 
 porah, and I have magazine Mausers with plenty of 
 extra clips all nicely greased. So off you go and 
 don't worry." 
 
 " Shall we fire first ? " Grant asked at the top of 
 the path. 
 
 " Certainly ! We have no time to do the Fontenoy 
 business — very noble and all that, but this is stark 
 business. We have " — (he was going to say " women 
 to protect " — but changed his phrase as he glanced 
 at Zipporah Katti) — " to hold on here till that thief- 
 o'-the-world Sidi brings back help. I hope your great 
 Mr. Lazun will hurry. He has plenty of ships and 
 influence, but he will find it the devil and all to fit 
 out a caravan even as big as this in an empty port 
 and a burned town. Sidi has friends near here, and 
 on the whole he is our best hope. I rather felt about 
 him giving his bridle-reins a shake and riding off all 
 so easy and comfortable. But his ramping cavalry 
 would have eaten us up. Goodness, look there, is 
 there to be any end of them ? They have cavalry 
 and infantry — white at that, the infernal renegades — 
 I'd put a bullet into any one of the turncoats with 
 pleasure. But I don't see much provender. They 
 mean to finish it quick — make a short job — and that
 
 FORT EZA 311 
 
 is the best for us. They've got a small field gun too, 
 as neat a little toy as ever you saw. It is packed on 
 a truck. Most unpleasant, that, but we can't help it. 
 The splinters will come off the cliff. I must go and 
 see that Miss Eza is all right." 
 
 And he went, leaving Zipporah and the ex-Zouave 
 sergeant to see to the placing of the new levies. The 
 Darfur porters were dibbled out between the regular 
 drilled men, and as these had Mausers, the fire of the 
 single-barrelled rifles belonging to the porters and 
 camel-drivers would be superintended and in a manner 
 also directed. 
 
 As the " mehalla " came on, the horsemen opened 
 out in a fan, and the late crew of the Golden Flagon 
 began to skirmish forward. There was no waste of 
 time in searching. The trail of the camels and horses 
 was unmistakable. The girls had previously been 
 traced to their meeting-place with Amisfield in the 
 morning. The feet of a man were seen accompanying 
 them back to the deserted big camp where the fires 
 still smouldered. And from that point the road was 
 as plain as a turnpike. 
 
 The first signs of the impending attack came from 
 some impatient men on the flank of Lupo's advance. 
 About a dozen sprang at the road with a cheer. They 
 had hated the desert march, in which they had often 
 " laired " to the knees in the loose sand. But here 
 they were on clean hard ground at last, and every 
 Spaniard of the North is a past master of hill 
 climbing. 
 
 But at that moment Grant gave an order to the 
 men in the lower pair of " sangars." These rude 
 breastworks of overlapping rocks piled together, 
 had been set like the wings of a broad arrow, and their 
 fire converged directly upon the narrow stone steps 
 on which the men had set their feet. The clear 
 crisp bark of the Mausers spoke out, and the cliff 
 joyously sent back the sound. The other " sangars " 
 took up the firing, and the little assaulting party 
 melted away. 
 
 " Hold— steady there," cried Grant, speaking in 
 French, because the soldiers understood commands
 
 312 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 in that language; "don't waste a cartridge! We 
 may need them all yet ! When they come again 
 we must let them get higher up. They have not yet 
 tasted what Amisfield has waiting for them on the 
 top." 
 
 The Spaniards fell back reluctantly, taking ad- 
 vantage of every bit of cover — which, however, was 
 not much. For the height of the little spur of rock 
 gave a beautiful clear drop to the Mauser bullets, 
 and more than one man rolled over behind his stone, 
 smitten from above as he lay. 
 
 "Now we are going to get it!" cried Grant; 
 " look out, Amisfield ! " And the tiny shells came 
 spat-spatting against the breastworks. Grant 
 followed the example of the men, who had seen more 
 of this sort of work than he had. They laid down at 
 once with the butts of their rifles covering their heads, 
 and all their accoutrements arranged along their 
 backs. 
 
 " I don't believe this can keep on," thought Grant: 
 " they have only sailors down there and these pom- 
 poms are delicate mechanisms. At least so the gunner 
 fellows tell me." 
 
 But he rose quickly as he heard the crackle of 
 Amisfield's fire from the plateau above, and glancing 
 over, was just in time to catch a glimpse of full thirty 
 of the mutineers bounding up the path towards him. 
 He shouted, and the men rose smartly to their feet. 
 The shell fire was still continuing, and out on the 
 plain the rest of the crew were making rifle practice. 
 From all round came a great noise of shooting. Those 
 of the " mehalla " who had been armed with guns 
 were letting them off. They could not be said to be 
 aiming, but the bullets whizzed through the air hke 
 bees swarming, and in the " sangar " immediately 
 above, one of the men turned round upon himself 
 with a groan and dropped. 
 
 The main assailants were within fifty yards, led by 
 a big man holding a revolver in his left hand and a 
 long Spanish knife in the other. 
 
 " Now, shoot fast," cried Grant in English. But 
 just then the men understood any language.
 
 FORT EZA 313 
 
 They pulled at the trigger of their Mausers as fast 
 as they could. The big man fell. Many of the others 
 went down, but still the rest came on. Grant's 
 Mauser needed recharging, and there was no time to 
 slip in the loaded carrier. 
 
 But from the " sangar " above the butt of a rifle 
 was thrust into his hands. The wounded soldier had 
 recharged his own gun and handed it to Grant. 
 
 " Thanks ! " cried Grant, sliding the muzzle between 
 the stones. " I'll — crack — not — crack — forget that ! " 
 
 So the big charge failed. The sailors turned and 
 fled as they had come, dropping all the way, for from 
 overhead on the roof-garden of Fort Eza, Amisfield, 
 the sergeant, and Zipporah Katti, were now saying 
 their little say. 
 
 After this drastic discouragement there was a long 
 truce. The mutineers drew off and consulted. The 
 circling horsemen tried to find another way up. 
 Amisfield shouted down to Grant behind his breast- 
 work that they had been prowling all about, and that 
 he had managed to empty a saddle or two. 
 
 It was now four o'clock in the afternoon, and sun- 
 down was only two hours off. They had a short 
 time of quiet, and Amisfield ventured down to the 
 " sangars " with his little armament of surgeons' 
 instruments, together with the necessary hnt and 
 bandages. He dressed the three wounded men. 
 Two of them were only slightly touched, but the third 
 man had a bullet through his shoulder, which for the 
 moment could not be extracted. 
 
 " We will take him up as soon as the sun sets. 
 They will likely have at us again in the night, and 
 that will be a serious business. Meanwhile, I dare- 
 say you can manage to send up five at a time to feed. 
 The ladies have everything ready." 
 
 " I will come last batch," said Grant ; " these 
 fellows down here are not too far away to have 
 another try at us." 
 
 " Not just now," Amisfield answered ; " thej^ have 
 the night before them. For my part I wish to God 
 that either Blucher would come or night stay away."
 
 314 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 But in spite of all Fort Eza was quiet during the 
 hours of darkness. Of course no one slept, unless 
 it was some of the camel-men who had not been 
 entrusted with a weapon. They were well fed, and 
 there was water for their beasts. They would not 
 have their throats cut — at least there was no greater 
 risks of that than they ran every day of their lives. 
 
 Grant mourned that he had not Amisfield's luck 
 of being able to go every hour or oftener to see that 
 Little Eza was in want of nothing, while above 
 Amisfield mourned because the inconsiderate Zip- 
 porah had taken that task upon herself. It was clear 
 that she did not appreciate Eza as he did. 
 
 Above, the stars sparkled, and down in the plain 
 were many fires, red and sullen one moment, and then 
 as more of the scrub and thorn was thrown upon them, 
 blazing up suddenly. Two long three-quarter circles 
 of them there were, pitting the face of the greyness, 
 affording illuminated glimpses of white-clad forms 
 going this way and that, of picketed horses, and (in 
 front of a black tent, long and low) of a flag which 
 drooped from a staff. Before this a group of men sat 
 about a fire which they kept clear and played a noisy 
 game. Their occasional bickerings could easily be 
 heard up on the plateau. 
 
 But in the centre of the " mehalla " was a space 
 black and unlighted, without camp-fire or tent. 
 
 " Jack ashore is tired, or mourning his dead," said 
 Amisfield to Zipporah. 
 
 " I am not so sure," Zipporah Katti answered. 
 " I know Lupo the Wolf. He has not done with me 
 yet, I am convinced." 
 
 The night dragged on interminably, till as the 
 day grew bright to the east, it became clear that the 
 mutineer crew of the Golden Flagon had marched off. 
 
 " What," cried Amisfield, " have they given up 
 already ? We must have dosed them yesterday to 
 some purpose ! " 
 
 But at that moment Amisfield had news of the 
 Flagon^s crew and of its captain. Zipporah had been 
 a true prophet. Grant was handing out sandwiches 
 to his men when a shell dropped right between him
 
 FORT EZA 315 
 
 and the man he was serving — and the next he knew 
 the whole place seemed to be full of exploding fire- 
 crackers. Grant got his men out, but as some of them 
 were wounded he was obliged to leave two behind, 
 making them as comfortable as he could. One big 
 Haussa had been struck in the spine and was already 
 dead. 
 
 " Whatever has happened ? " gasped Grant, as he 
 stood breathless beside Amisfield in the half shelter 
 of the inner French wall. They were compelled to 
 crouch on the outer side of it. The shells smacked 
 and burst a few feet off, but on the opposite face — 
 that nearest to the precipice. 
 
 " They have climbed the ridge from behind and 
 crowned the cliff," he answered. 
 
 " If Lupo has enough men left to assault in front — 
 which I do not believe, we are — well — there will be 
 nothing for it but to shake hands and get rid of all 
 except the last cartridge." 
 
 " You understand ? " said Grant very gravely, 
 looking at the girl beside him. 
 
 " Yes," said Zipporah Katti, " I shall keep two. 
 I shall attend to Eza also." 
 
 The men glanced at one another queerly. Then 
 with a common impulse they lifted their hats. They 
 would have kissed Zipporah's hand if they had be- 
 longed to any other civilized nation. But the public 
 expression of emotion is difficult to the folk of the 
 larger Britannic Island. 
 
 " Hm-m," said Amisfield, after a pause, as the 
 shells ceased coughing and spluttering about them; 
 " take it all round, I should say we are pretty close- 
 hauled. They have got the gun up there during the 
 night with trace-ropes, but they don't need to keep the 
 whole team on top. We shall see them down well 
 within an hour, and — there will be quite a flurry 
 then." 
 
 " What we have to do is to build a little shelter 
 at that corner — to the left nearest the cliff," said 
 Zipporah, pointing to the place. " I don't beheve 
 they can get the shells to burst there. The rock 
 behind is too perpendicular and they dare not take
 
 316 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 their gun any nearer the edge. It must be very 
 slippery up even where they are. Yonder's a fellow 
 who will be over if he does not mind." 
 
 " Good," said Amisfield readily. " I believe you 
 are right. We shall go and make it. Grant, carry 
 something to drink to your hospital cases down there, 
 and tell them I'll be down during the first lull to do 
 what I can for them." 
 
 The refuge they managed to construct was a poor 
 place. There was no time for much, but at least the 
 men could lie where the shells could not touch them. 
 Moreover they could aim from shelter, poking their 
 guns between the stones. With the pick of the good 
 shots concentrated there, the path could still be 
 commanded, though the " sangars " might not be 
 saved. Finally, after consultation, as it became 
 evident that the lower " sangars " could not be 
 guaranteed, it was soon necessary to get out the 
 wounded from them. It was ' a tough job — but, 
 fortunately, it was got over without provoking a 
 repetition of the pom-pomming from the top of the 
 chff. 
 
 " Yonder they are just as I foretold," said Amis- 
 field, after the job was done ; " they will be at us soon. 
 We had better get into our places." 
 
 " Take your lunches with you," cried Zipporah, 
 handing out provisions and placing several camel- 
 drivers' pails full of good water on a convenient 
 flat stone. " Take each a flaskful, pocket your sand- 
 wiches, and be off to eat them in the refuge." 
 
 " And the name of it," said Amisfield, " is Bastion 
 Zipporah Katti." 
 
 " Well, call it Bastion Z — and go there ! " said the 
 bastion's god-parent, without any acknowledgment 
 of the honour. 
 
 However, they were not immediately attacked. 
 The heat down on the face of the sand must have been 
 exhausting. On the kopje itself there was still some 
 breath of air, which blew along the cliff wall and 
 spouted out of the side gullies. 
 
 It was not till four o'clock that the enemy made 
 a move. In the camp of the Spaniards they could
 
 FORT EZA 317 
 
 see a figure well defined, and in front of him the men 
 standing quietly to attention. 
 
 " Good disciplinarian, that Captain Lupo," said 
 Grant ; " first buccaneer of my acquaintance who 
 could keep his men steady. And he doesn't seem to 
 lead them either when it comes to the fighting " 
 
 " He will this time," said Zipporah quietly. 
 
 " Ah, well, please tell me what the gentleman 
 looks like — thanks ! I hope to pay my respects to 
 him. It would be a pleasure." 
 
 Zipporah judged it useless to inform Grant and 
 Amisfield that Lupo was her father. It involved too 
 much explanation when events were moving so rapidly. 
 
 Then quite suddenly. Grant with his eye to the 
 telescope, reported — 
 
 " They are coming on — all except two or three 
 who are left to communicate with the gunners above. 
 They have a flag-signal station up there working on 
 some prearranged sj^stem." 
 
 " Now don't fire till the fellows pass that polished 
 black rock below the ' sangars ' where they have to 
 turn sharply to get at us. Let me show you which 
 one ! " And Amisfield threw a well-aimed sighting 
 shot. " A hundred and fifty yards, I should say ! 
 And a nice distance. We shall stop them again if 
 we are careful. We must, you know ! " 
 
 The final attack had already commenced. The 
 shell fire was distracting the watchers up on the 
 plateau, and sending them scurrying to the lee side 
 of the old French defences, in spite of the fact that 
 the " mehalla " started ball practice upon them as 
 often as they showed themselves. On the scarp of 
 Fort Eza all knew that the critical moment had ar- 
 rived. No one really dared do more than hope for 
 victory. In the little redoubt they waited with 
 their muscles tense and eyes laid along the sights of 
 their rifles. 
 
 What could be keeping them ? Was there some 
 other trick — some trap, perhaps ? In Bastion Z, 
 every muzzle was laid for that black rock at the corner 
 which the assailants had to pass. There they would 
 " get it warm " before they had time to throw them-
 
 318 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 selves right and left into the " sangars " just above. 
 If they took these, it would be only a question of 
 time. But the rock remained a mere shining black 
 target. No men came between their rifles and its 
 polished surface. 
 
 A sound of shouting came from above. High on 
 the verge of the cliff flags flapped and dipped. It 
 meant something, but in Bastion Z they could not 
 see what. They were too close in to the chff. 
 
 " I think," said Zipporah Katti, her calm voice 
 breaking the strain, " those men up there with the gun 
 can see something the others don't yet know about. 
 They are trying to attract their attention." 
 
 Amisfield, unable to wait longer, ran to the edge 
 in full range of the shells and looked over. What he 
 saw was wonderful. 
 
 The " mehalla " of the Sultan was in full flight to 
 the south as hard as their Arabs could gallop. A 
 cloud of new horsemen, apparently sprung from 
 nowhere, came sweeping round the lower foothills 
 from the direction of the main chain to the west. 
 Evidently they had debouched unexpectedly from 
 some valley of the western hills. 
 
 More than a hundred men had already dismounted, 
 and were advancing in skirmishing order towards the 
 foot of the path to Fort Eza. The mutineers had no 
 horses on which to flee, and stood clustered together, 
 uncertain what to do. 
 
 " Come here," cried Amisfield, waving furiously 
 to those in the refuge ; " oh, come on, it's great, I tell 
 you ! And, I say, bring the Union Jack and we vnW 
 hang it out. Where's that Kanim spear ? It will 
 make a first-class flagstaff." 
 
 Then as no one but Grant and Zipporah showed 
 signs of moving from cover, he shouted, " Never 
 mind the pom-pom. The fellows up there have some- 
 thing else to think about just now. They won't fire 
 — at least not at us." 
 
 And indeed, the perky little nose was no longer in 
 evidence on the cliff edge above them. 
 
 An advanced guard of rescuers, about half-a- 
 dozen in number, rode their horses right to the foot
 
 FORT EZA 319 
 
 of the ascent, dismounted, and came bounding up. 
 The men in Bastion Z got ready to fire. But Zip- 
 porah Katti, snatching Grant's binocular, flushed 
 suddenly red. 
 
 " They are friends — don't shoot ! " she cried. 
 " Eza, Eza, come here and order them not to shoot. 
 It's Paul — Paul Wester — Paul that I told you 
 about ! I was sure he would come." 
 
 And, lest any one should yet make a mistake, she 
 went the tour of the fort knocking up all the gun- 
 muzzles, so that when she got back most of the 
 welcomes were already said, and Eza was clinging 
 fondly to Paul Wester. For she had already kissed him 
 several times — to see how Amisfield and Grant would 
 stand it. She had also kissed his father and Lazun. 
 
 So when Zipporah Katti came forward, she merely 
 held out her hand to Paul and said : " Thank you for 
 coming — I was sure you would ! " 
 
 • ••••• • 
 
 Down below, the face of the desert swam in plain 
 tragedy. The dead lay thick along the line of pursuit. 
 The surviving mutineers were being handcuffed for 
 transport to the ships in Souk harbour. Only sixteen 
 of them were on their feet. They found Lupo the 
 Wolf with a knife hafted in his back. He had been 
 leading the attack, as Zipporah Katti had expected, 
 but somehow he and Raif Palafox found themselves 
 
 too far ahead, and so . But the matter did not 
 
 need to be explained to Paul Wester the Younger, 
 who remembered the dingle at the back of the Red 
 Haven. Paul and his father drew Lupo's body into 
 a " sangar " and stood side by side covering it till 
 his daughter had passed by. 
 
 Raif Palafox went to his place in the loyal ship's 
 company of the Neptune in spite of the growls of 
 " Clydeside," and his tenfold strengthened resolve 
 to be done with playing shipmate to such a scoundrel. 
 But Lazun nodded to Raif as he passed, and all the 
 ship's crew knew what to think of that. 
 
 The whole caravan, with the two young men, Grant 
 and Amisfield, went back to Souk, where it was broken 
 up, and all claims duly satisfied with usury thereto.
 
 320 THE SMUGGLERS 
 
 But the most interesting disputed claim of all still 
 stands open, and would take to recount its settlement 
 (if the gods will) another Odyssey of the present 
 dimensions at least. For it was a great and wonderful 
 competition and the lady had marvellous difficulty 
 in making up her mind. Indeed, had the law allowed 
 the thing anywhere else than in Tibet, Eza might 
 have taken both Ian Grant and Stephen Amisfield 
 to husband. But in the end she was compelled to 
 choose. And the thing which compelled her so to do 
 was perhaps the most curious of sublunary mishaps. 
 Little Eza did not want the least in the world to 
 choose, but she had to. The moon and the stars 
 compelled her — which is a mystery. 
 
 And as for Zipporah Katti and Paul Wester, Lazun 
 said that Paul might have Zipporah when he could 
 keep her for a year on his own proper salary. Paul 
 answered that he liked that plan very well, but that 
 he must have Zipporah in order to try the experiment 
 fairly. Lazun smiled, and after brief necessary delays 
 the Doctor himself married them. " Clydeside " got 
 his first public dressing-down from his minister on 
 the Sunday following, for drinking over-well and most 
 under-wisely in honour of the wedding. 
 
 Whereat " Clydeside " merely remarked, " Och 
 man, but yon was graund ! " And started immedi- 
 ately for the vestry, to thank Dr. Septimus Laird 
 for his faithfulness. But he stepped back when he 
 saw the Doctor, for the first time in his life, shaking 
 hands with his brother-in-law. Captain Wester, while 
 Barbara with wet eyes stood holding Paul by one 
 hand and Zipporah by the other. 
 
 A pace to the rear he saw Lazun with his hands 
 behind his back, gravely smiling, but still self-con- 
 tained and inscrutable as when we saw him pacing 
 the be^ch at Cancale. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Richard Clay dc Sons, Limited, London and Sungay.
 
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