CHAPTER XXV
FAREWELL TO THE SILVER WEST.
We cut the man's cords of thongs, we spread rugs on the grass and laid him gently down, then bathed his poor body with wine, and poured a little down his throat.
In about half an hour the wretched being we had thought dead slowly raised himself on his elbow and gazed at _me_ as well as his swollen eyes would permit him. His lips moved as if to speak, but no intelligible sound escaped them. The recollection dawned on my mind all at once, and in that sadly-distorted face I discovered traces of the man who had wrought us so much sorrow and evil.
I took his hand in mine.
'Am I right?' I said. 'Are you Duncan M'Rae?'
He nodded drowsily, closed his eyes again, and lay back.
We cut branches from the ombu-tree, tied them together with the thongs that had bound the victim's limbs, and so made a litter. On this we placed rugs and laid the man; and between two mules he was borne by the Gauchos slowly homewards to the _estancias_. Poor wretch! he had expected to come here all but a conqueror, and in a position to dictate his own terms--he arrived a dying man.
Our _estancia_ for many weeks was now turned almost into a hospital, for even those Indians who had crept wounded into the bush, preferring to die at the sides of hedges to falling into our hands, we had brought in and treated with kindness, and many recovered.
All the dead we could find we buried in the humble little graveyard on the braeside. We buried them without respect of nationality, only a few feet of clay separating the white man's grave from that of his Indian foe.
'It matters little,' said Moncrieff. 'where one rests,
"For still and peaceful is the grave, Where, life's vain tumults past, The appointed house, by Heaven's decree, Receives us all at last."'
Both Dugald and Archie made excellent patients, and Flora and Aileen the best of nurses. But _the_ nurse over even these was old Jenny. She was hospital superintendent, and saw to all the arrangements, even making the poultices and spreading the salves and plasters with her own hands.
'My mither's a ma_rr_vel at he_rr_bs!' said Moncrieff over and over again, when he saw the old lady busy at work.
There was one patient, and only one, whom old Jenny did not nurse. This was Duncan himself. For him Townley did all his skill could suggest, and was seldom two consecutive hours away from the room where he lay.
In spite of all this it was evident that the ex-poacher was sinking fast.
Then came a day when Moncrieff, Archie, and myself were called into the dying man's apartment, and heard him make the fullest confession of all his villainy, and beg for our forgiveness with the tears roiling down his wan, worn face.
Yes, we forgave him willingly.
May Heaven forgive him too!
At the time of his confession he was strong enough to read over and sign the document that Townley placed before him. He told Townley too the addresses of the men who had assisted him in the old vault at the ruined kirk in Coila.
And Duncan had seemed brighter and calmer for several days after this. But he told us he had no desire to live now.
Then, one morning the change came, and so he sank and died.
* * * * *
It was several months before we could make up our minds to leave 'Our Home in the Silver West.' Indeed, there was considerable preparation to be made for the long homeward voyage that was before us; besides, Townley had no inclination to hurry matters now that he felt sure of victory.
Victory was not even yet a certainty, however. The estate of Coila was well worth fighting for. Was there not the possibility, the bare possibility, that the solicitors or advocates of Le Roi, or the M'Rae, who now held the castle and glen, might find some fatal flaw in the evidence which Townley had spent so much time and care in working out and collecting?
It was not at all probable. In fact, despite the blood-feud, that ancient family folly, I believed that M'Rae would act the part of a gentleman.
'If,' said Townley to me one day, as we walked for almost the last time in the beautiful gardens around Moncrieff's mansion-house, 'we have anything to fear, I believe it is from the legal advisers of the present "occupier"'--Townley would not say 'owner'--'of the estate. These men, you know, Murdoch, can hardly expect to be _our_ advocates. They are well aware that if they lose hold of Coila now the title-deeds thereof will never again rest in the fireproof safes of their offices.'
'I am afraid,' I said, 'you have but a poor opinion of Edinburgh advocates.'
'Not so, Murdoch, not so. But,' he added, meaningly 'I have lived longer in life than you, and I have but a poor opinion of human nature.'
'I suppose,' I said, 'that the M'Rae will know nothing of what is coming till our arrival on Scottish shores!'
'On the contrary,' answered Townley; 'although it may really seem like playing into our opponent's hands, I have written a friendly letter to the M'Rae, and have told him to be prepared; that I have irrefragable evidence--mind, I do not particularize--that you, Murdoch M'Crimman, are the true and only proprietor of the estates of Coila. I want him to see and feel that I am treating him as the man of honour I believe him to be, and that the only thing we really desire is justice to all concerned.'
I smiled, and could not help saying, 'Townley, my best of friends, what an excellent advocate you would have made!'
Townley smiled in turn.
'Say, rather,' he replied, 'what an excellent detective I should have made! But, after all, Murdoch, it may turn out that there is a spice of selfishness in all I am doing.'
'I do not believe a word of it, Townley.'
Townley only laughed, and looked mysterious.
'Hold on a little,' he said; 'don't be too quick to express your judgment.'
'I will wait, then,' I answered; 'but really I cannot altogether understand you.'
* * * * *
Perhaps nothing shows true physical courage better than the power to say 'Farewell' apparently unmoved. It is a kind of courage, however, that is very rare indeed, and all sorts of stratagems have been adopted to soften the grief of parting. I am not sure that I myself was not guilty of adopting one of these on the morning we left that pleasant home by the lake.
'I'm not going to say "farewell" at all,' I insisted, as I shook hands with Irish Aileen and poor old Jenny, Moncrieff's 'marvellous mither.' 'I'm coming out again to see you all as soon as ever I can get settled. Do you think I could leave this beautiful country entirely, without spending at least a few more years in it? Not I! And even if I do succeed in getting old Coila back once more--even that, mind, is uncertain--I sha'n't quite give up Coila New. So _au revoir_, Moncrieff; _au revoir_!'
Then, turning to Jenny, '_Au revoir_, Jenny,' I said.
'Guid-bye, laddie, and God be wi' ye. I canna speak French. I've tried a word or twa mair than once, and nearly knocked my jaws out o' the joint; so I'll just say "Guid-bye." Lang, lang ere you can come back to Coila New puir old Jenny's bones will be in the mools.'
I felt a big lump in my throat just then, and was positively grateful when Bombazo strutted up dressed in full uniform.
'_A dios_', he said; 'my friend, _a dios_. And now you have but to say the word, and if you have the least fear of being molested by Indians, my trusty sword is at your service, and I will gladly escort you as far as Villa Mercedes.'
It is needless to say that I declined this truly heroic offer.
Our party--the departing one--consisted of mother, aunt, Townley, Archie, and myself. My sister and my brothers came many miles on the road with us; then we bade them good-bye, and I felt glad when that was over.
But Moncrieff's convoy was a truly Scottish one. He and his good men never thought of turning back till they had seen us safely on board the train, and rapidly being whirled away southwards.
As long as I could see this honest settler he was waving his broad bonnet in the air, and--I felt sure of this--commending us all to a kind Providence.
The vessel in which we took passage was a steamer that bore us straight to the Clyde. Our voyage was a splendid one; in fact, I believe we were all just a little sorry when it was finished.
Landing there in the Broomielaw on a cold forenoon in early spring would have possessed but little of interest for any of us--so full were our minds with the meeting that was before us, the meeting of M'Crimman and M'Rae--only we received a welcome that, being all so unexpected, caused tears of joy to spring to my eyes. For hardly was the gangway thrust on board from the quay ere more than twenty sturdy Highlanders, who somehow had got possession of it, came rushing and shouting on board. I knew every face at once, though some were changed--with illness, years, or sorrow.
Perhaps few such scenes had ever before been witnessed on the Broomielaw, for those men were arrayed in the full Scottish costume and wore the M'Crimman tartan, and their shouts of joy might have been heard a good half-mile off, despite the noises of the great city.
How they had heard of our coming it never occurred to me to inquire. Suffice it to say that here they were, and I leave the reader to guess the kind of welcome they gave us.
No, nothing would satisfy them short of escorting us to our hotel.
Our carriages, therefore, to please these kindly souls from Coila, were obliged to proceed but slowly, for five pipers marched in front, playing the bold old air of 'The March of the Cameron Men,' while the rest, with drawn claymores, brought up the rear.
On the very next day Townley, Archie, and I received a message from M'Rae himself, announcing that he would gladly meet us at the Royal Hotel in Edinburgh. We were to bring no advocate with us, the letter advised; if any dispute arose, then, and not till then, would be the time to call in the aid of the law.
I confess that I entered M'Rae's room with a beating heart. How would he receive us?
We found him quietly smoking a cigar and gazing out of the window.
But he turned with a kindly smile towards us as soon as we entered, and the next minute we were all seated round the table, and business--_the_ business--was entered into.
M'Rae listened without a word. He never even moved a muscle while Townley told all his long story, or rather read it from paper after paper, which he took from his bag. The last of these papers was Duncan's own confession, with Archie's signature and mine as witnesses alongside Moncrieff's.
He opened his lips at last.
'This is your signature, and you duly attest all this?'
He put the question first to Archie and then to me.
Receiving a reply in the affirmative, it was but natural that I should look for some show of emotion in M'Rae's face. I looked in vain. I have never seen more consummate coolness before nor since. Indeed, it was a coolness that alarmed me.
And when he rose from the table after a few minutes of apparently engrossing thought, and walked directly towards a casket that stood on the writing-table, I thought that after all our cause was lost.
In that casket, I felt sure, lay some strange document that should utterly undo all Townley's work of years.
M'Rae is now at the table. He opens the casket, and for a moment looks critically at its contents.
I can hear my heart beating. I'm sure I look pale with anxiety.
Now M'Rae puts his hand inside and quietly takes out--a fresh cigar.
Then, humming a tune the while, he brings the casket towards Townley, and bids him help himself.
Townley does as he is told, but at the same time bursts into a hearty laugh.
'Mr. M'Rae,' he says, 'you are the coolest man that ever I met. I do believe that if you were taken out to be shot--'
'Stay,' said M'Rae, 'I _was_ once. I was tried for a traitor--tried for a crime in France called "Treason," that I was as guiltless of as an unborn babe--and condemned.'
'And what did you do?'
'Some one on the ground handed me a cigar, and--I lit it.
'Nay, my dear friends, I have lost my case here. Indeed, I never, it would seem, had one.
'M'Crimman,' he continued, shaking me by the hand, 'Coila is yours.'
'Strathtoul,' I answered, 'is our blood feud at an end?'
'It is,' was the answer; and once again hand met hand across the table.
* * * * *
Need I tell of the home-coming of the M'Crimmans of Coila? Of the clansmen who met us in the glen and marched along with us? Of the cheering strains of music that re-echoed from every rock? Of the flags that fluttered over and around our Castle Coila? Of the bonfires that blazed that night on every hill, and cast their lurid light across the darkling lake? Or of the tears my mother shed when, looking round the tartan drawing-room, the cosiest in all the castle, she thought of father, dead and gone? No, for some things are better left to the reader's imagination.
* * * * *
I throw down my pen with a sigh of relief.
I think I have finished my story; my noble deerhound thinks so too. He gets slowly up from the hearthrug, conies towards me, and places his honest head on my arm, but his eyes are fixed on mine.
It is not patting that he wants, nor petting either.
'Come out now, master,' he seems to say, speaking with soft brown eyes and wagging tail; 'come out, master; mount your fleetest horse, and let us have a glorious gallop across the hills. See how the sun shines and glitters on grass, on leaves and lake! While you have been writing there day after day, I, your faithful dog, have been languishing. Come, master, come!'
And we go together.
When I return, refreshed, and run up stairs to the room in the tower, I find dear auntie there. She has been reading my manuscript.
'There is,' she says, 'only one addition to make.'
'Name it, auntie,' I say; 'it is not yet too late.'
But she hesitates.
'It is almost a secret,' she says at last, bending down and smoothing the deerhound.
'A secret, auntie? Ha, ha!' I laugh. 'I have it, auntie! I have it!'
And I kiss her there and then.
'It is Townley's secret and yours. He has proposed, and you are to--'
But auntie has run out of the room.
And now, come to think of it, there is something to add to all this.
Can you guess _my_ secret, reader mine?
Irene, my darling Irene and I, Murdoch M'Crimman, are also to be--
But, there, you have guessed my secret, as I guessed auntie's.
And just let me ask this: Could any better plan have been devised of burying the hatchet betwixt two rival Highland clans, and putting an end for ever to a blood feud?
THE END.
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The Volume of this Monthly Magazine for Family and General Reading contains 856 Imperial 8vo pages of interesting reading, with numerous Illustrations by eminent Artists. It forms a handsome Book for Presentation, and an appropriate and instructive volume for a School or College Prize. Price 7s. cloth boards; 8s. extra boards, gilt edges; 10s. 6d. half-bound in calf.
THE SUNDAY AT HOME ANNUAL.
AN ILLUSTRATED FAMILY MAGAZINE FOR SABBATH READING.
This Volume forms a very suitable Book for Presentation. It contains 828 pages, Imperial 8vo, with a great variety of interesting and instructive Sabbath reading for every Member of the Family. It is profusely illustrated by Coloured and Wood Engravings. Price 7s. cloth boards; 8s. extra boards, gilt edges; 10s. 6d. half-bound in calf.
56, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON; and of all Booksellers.
End of Project Gutenberg's Our Home in the Silver West, by Gordon Stables