Chapter IX: Bloodhound on the Trail

“Och! yes, to be surely, they were all nearly murdered evermore, the bit laddie Shonnie was killed dead whateffer, and tied to a tree so he shouldn’t run away at all, and the bit bonnie lassie was rowed (rolled) in a plaidie and carriet away. Ochne! Ochne!”

“And who did this terrible thing?”

Stuart wasn’t sure. First he thought they were men, and then he thought they were beasties, for their faces were all black and hairy, but now he believed they were “just water-kelpies and nothing else, forbye, whateffer.”

They found the tarn at last. There is practically no night in Scotland north, at this season, and the sky having cleared now, they found poor Johnnie soon enough, tied by ropes to a pine tree.

The boy was not dead, however, and soon pulled himself together sufficiently to tell the story more succinctly than the terror-stricken ghillie had done. They had been attacked by two masked men. Peggy had fainted, while he himself, after being knocked down, was roped and made fast, and the villains fled west and away with the insensible form of his companion rolled in a shepherd tartan plaid.

“But I am sure, father,” added the brave and sturdy lad, “we can find them with Ralph yonder. Had we not forgotten to take him with us, it would have been all right.”

“Well, boy, you had better run back now and wait. Gourmand and I with the hound will follow up the trail, and Heaven help them when we lay hands on them.”

“Go back, daddie? Me go back and dear Peggie in danger? I’m going with you, father, and you may need me. No going back for Johnnie!”

“So be it, lad, but I fear you are not strong enough after what you have come through.”

“I can only fail, father, then I can rest.”

“See, cap’n, what is this?” said Gourmand, holding up something black.

“Why, I declare,” said Fitzroy, “it is a crape mask, wires and all complete. One of the scoundrels must have dropped it. This will come in handy, however.”

The showman was a man of quick thoughts, and actions that just as quickly followed. And now was the time for both. He had been much in for foreign lands, especially in America, and travel in that country sharpens one’s wits.

His right hand passed round towards his pistol-pocket as if by instinct. Yes, it was there, that little friend the revolver, which had saved his life ere now. He had money also, therefore was he prepared to go immediately on the war-path.

Encumbered with the child Peggy, the villains could not have got far away yet, albeit they had many hours’ start.

They would have to carry her when she got tired, or stay and hide with her somewhere. Unless--the thought made him start and turn cold, surely murder was not meant.

He had shown Ralph the crape mask and bade him go seek.

“Hie away, good dog,” he said, “wide away, boy. Your little mistress’s life depends on your picking up the trail.”

After a snuff or two at the mask, Ralph, with an impatient cry, half anger, half grief apparently, made a few circles round, muzzle and long ears down, and then with a more joyful yap, set off at a shambling trot straight away from the tarn and through the pine wood. It was rather dark here, but they soon emerged on to a sheep track which led them upwards in a winding direction until they struck the main road, and northwards went the dog.

His progress was rapid at first and it was all Fitzroy and the others could do to keep up.

And the showman’s thoughts kept time with his pace. They reverted now to the last time an attempt to kidnap poor Peggy had been made. He had certainly put that down to the desire on the part of some one to possess the girl as a speculation, for she was undoubtedly very clever, not only as an actress, but a _danseuse_.

But this second attempt threw a more lurid light on the affair. Peggy, alive or dead, was wanted for some other reason. She was in some one’s way and had to be removed at all risk and all expense. But by whom or why he did not trouble to think for the present.

Moreover, ten to one, the kidnappers--mere tools doubtless of some rich man in whose pay they were--were the same fellows who had made the first attempt, else why did they wear masks?

Should he send Gourmand off to seek police assistance? Better not, he thought. The police, although more methodical in their ways of dealing with things, would more likely hinder rather than help Fitzroy. They would want to deliberate and follow their deliberations up by red-tape cut-and-dry investigation, and so valuable time would be lost and the robbers get off.

Some such thoughts must have been running through Gourmand’s mind at the same time, for he found time to remark--

“Shall we seek for police assistance, cap’n?”

“Hang the police!” cried Fitzroy. “In a case like this they would only be in the way. ‘Sharp’ is the word, my friend, and they don’t know the meaning of it. If this good dog of ours gets me alongside the scoundrels who have stolen my poor Peggy we won’t need policemen, Gourmand, nor handcuffs either. It will be a dear day’s work for them!”

On and on the party went, hour after hour, and it was evident that the kidnappers were making all the speed possible, for wherever the road made a sweep the trail left it, taking a direct course across the heather until on the road once more.

Excitement kept the pursuers up, and they thought neither of sleep nor of hunger.

The trail now left the main road and was picked up again in the adjoining wood. But now for the first time honest Ralph seemed puzzled. He made wide circles, sometimes at a trot, sometimes slowly, as if considering and studying every inch of ground.

There was no doubt, therefore, that for some reason or other the men had separated for a time. The _raison d’etre_ was soon apparent for the dog rushed suddenly on ahead, left the wood and climbed a small hill or knoll, then came as quickly back and took up the old trail.

It was evident enough one of the men had gone up that hill for the purpose of taking his bearings or looking ahead for something.

In less than another half hour, on rounding the corner of a hill, the trail now leading along a mere foot-path, they came in sight of a solitary hut or shieling, no doubt the sheltering bield belonging to some shepherd, and not far below this was a river.

The hound made straight for the door of the little hut and paused.

Fitzroy himself advanced cautiously, making the others wait. It was already broad daylight, and soon the sun would rise.

No sound within, in answer to his knock. But the door was frail, so he boldly kicked it in, then entered, revolver in hand.

The birds had been here but the birds had flown. A fire still burned on the rude hearth, and food was on a small table near it, oatcakes, cheese, and milk. There were two plates, and two knives on the table also, but only two, so that it was evident poor Peggy had not partaken of the frugal banquet.

Was she dead? Had she been murdered? Fitzroy looked at Giant Gourmand.

“Only two plates,” he said slowly, pointedly.

“Yes, yes, I know your thoughts, cap’n. But bless your good soul, sir, the devils wouldn’t have dared.

“Come,” he added, “it was nice of them to leave the table so well covered, and so abundantly. Mountain goat’s milk, too. Sit in and let us do justice to it. We don’t know what is before us. Here, Ralph, dear boy.”

But the hound would not look at food. He had lapped at springs and pools while on the march. That was enough for him; he had work to do. But the giant, with Johnnie and his father, made a hurried but hearty meal, and Gourmand, after finishing the milk with some whisky in it, put all the solids in his capacious pockets.

“In case we cross Mount Hunger,” he said, nodding to the boy.

They were soon on the trail once more and coming to the edge of the water, the hound was once more puzzled.

He stretched his neck up, sniffed and howled a little, then he dashed away along the bank back again to the place where the men stood, then gave voice, impatiently, and plunging in swam right across.

Johnnie had been missed for a short time, he was now noticed rowing up stream towards them in a cobble which he had seen farther down the river on the other side, and to gain which he had boldly swam over. It had evidently been left there by the kidnappers. But the lad’s keen eyes had detected something else that now gave them all heart, namely the impression of Peggy’s boots on the soft ground by the river, so it was evident she was not dead.

The trail was once more found and now it was evident from all that had occurred, and the still burning fire in the shieling hut, the villains could not be far ahead, and that, indeed, they might expect to come up with them at any moment. Johnnie’s fishing line was formed into a leash or leader, and this was attached to Ralph’s collar to curb his extra speed and impetuosity. Neither the hound nor his owners had much experience of this sort of work, and instead of capturing his man or men, the sagacious animal might proceed to attack on sight.

To keep on the trail, however, was by no means easy work, owing to streams of water which the kidnappers had evidently waded, and which for a time destroyed the scent.

It led northwards almost directly, and there could be no doubt, now, that the object of their ambition was to gain the seashore, and either to conceal themselves in some town, or get picked up by a boat.

By noon, when the sun was at its height, rest became imperative, for the day had become very hot, and the pursuers quite exhausted. So tying the dog to a tree, they lay down under its welcome shade and were soon fast asleep.

When they awoke all of a sudden they found themselves very much refreshed. But Fitzroy suddenly sprang to his feet and whipped out his revolver, for there, not ten yards away under the shadow of another tree, stood two rough-looking men with guns across their arms.

They were keepers, however, and Fitzroy’s mind was much relieved, so was Gourmand’s flask which he had handed to the men. There was only a spoonful or two left for decency sake.

And “och! and och! and she was a good dram, and what could they do for the strangers at all?”

These men were wiser far than they looked, and when Fitzroy told them the story of Peggy’s abduction they offered their services at once, and explained their plans. They were just a dozen miles and a bittock from the seashore on a bee-line, but to the left was a town and to the right another, with a small cluster of fishermen’s huts on a tiny cove close by the sea.

They, the keepers, would take different roads, one to the western town, the other to the left, so as to intercept the kidnappers if they took either direction, while Fitzroy and the others would keep up the man-hunt in whichever way the dog chose to lead them.

Luck favoured them for once, for the brave Ralph, after trotting his masters along at the double, for three miles over a high rough heatherland brought them directly to the door of a shepherd’s cottage. A woman answered their loud knocking and they told the story.

“O, the villains, and it isn’t an hour since they left this place. O dear, and O dear, and I knew the weeping lassie who would neither touch bite nor sup wasn’t theirs. And it was the good mind to keep her I had. But I made her lie down in my room, and they, the scoundrels, lay before the fire, for two hours, and if my husband Donald, and his dog Curlin had been at home, sure they would have throttled the pair of them.”

“And which road did they take, my good woman?”

“Is it which road, sir? O, sure then, straight for the little clachan by the sea.”

Fitzroy slipped a silver coin into her hand, they swallowed a draught of milk each, and once more took the road.

* * * * *

The sun was in the west but still high over the blue Moray Firth, and the purple sierras of Ross and Sutherland, when the tired band paused for consultation on the cliff not more than half a mile from the seashore.

Gourmand, still holding the hound, who seemed anxious to tear on, looked round at his companions.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his best stagey manner, “the curtain now rises on the last act of this beautiful drama ‘The Captive Princess; or the Giant, the Boy, and the Fairy Hound.’

“Behold before you the final scene. Down beneath on the green links a solitary hut close by a creek. In that hut hide the villains in possession of the innocent princess. Afar off, the blue sky and blue sea, and on its bright bosom a sprightly yacht with spreading sails, heading for the shore. Presently the anchor will be dropped, a boat will be lowered and impelled by sturdy rowers, head on towards the creek, where the villains----”

“Here, my dear fellow, that is enough,” cried Fitzroy impatiently. “I don’t doubt that the kidnappers are in yonder hut, but let us be moving, and that right quickly too, else we’ll lose the game which now seems so easy to win.”

Nor was there any time to lose or to squander in talking, for already the yacht was nearing the shore, and even as he looked, Fitzroy noticed a flag run up to the peak and as quickly lowered again.

This signal brought a man right out of the cottage. He stood on the knoll for a moment, gave one quick suspicious glance around him, then waved a shawl and disappeared once more.

Fortunately there were some bushes--a rugged sort of seaside hedge--betwixt the cliff and the hut, and, like most fishermen’s cottages, this ran at right angles to the beach, there being no window in the landward gable.

It was along this hedge that Gourmand and Fitzroy approached to the attack. The giant had furnished himself with a club like a weaver’s beam, while the “cap’n” had a stout stick, a stout heart, and his revolver. But Johnnie was left concealed behind a tree at the cliff foot with strict orders not to let loose the hound unless summoned to do so by a shrill whistle.

The two pursuers now dashed quickly past the window, and knocking at the door loudly demanded admittance.

Even as they did so they heard out yonder in the bay, the rattle of the chain as the anchor was let go, and knew there was not a moment to spare, for a boat would speedily be lowered.

“Open the door, lads. Your little game is up!”

No answer.

The fellows inside knew their book.

“Dash in the door, Gourmand!”

The giant’s right shoulder fell on it like a muffled battering ram, and, at the second blow, it fell with a crash almost on top of those behind it.

“Up arms or I shoot,” cried Fitzroy.

This was a vain threat, and I suppose the kidnappers knew it. For to have fired would have endangered the life of poor Peggy.

But Gourmand knocked both fellows down as they tried to escape, and the showman stood over them with his revolver.

The battle was not yet over however. Indeed it had not well begun. There was a shout from beach-wards, and the yachtsmen, six in all, were seen rushing on to the rescue.

And bad would it have gone with Fitzroy and even the giant himself had not at that very moment not only Johnnie with the hound, but the two keepers arrived to join the fray.

That fray would have done an Irishman at Ballyporeen credit, and to have seen how Gourmand laid around him, flailing right and left, would have rejoiced the heart of a Cuscerora Indian.

He fell at last, however, with a shot through his wrist, and there was a lull and a few moments’ parley. But fishermen were being attracted to the scene and dreading capture, the whole band made good their retreat to their boat. Soon they were on board and getting up anchor.

Peggy was saved.