XVIII
SPADEADAM WASTE
About eleven o'clock next morning Foster stopped at the top of a hilland sitting down on a broken wall lighted his pipe. In front, theundulating military road ran straight across the high tableland to thewest. To the south, a deep hollow, the bottom of which he could notsee, marked the course of the Tyne. Plumes of smoke rose out of thevalley and trailed languidly across the sky, for the river flowed pastwell-cultivated fields, old-fashioned villages, and rows of sootycottages that clustered round pithead towers. Human activity had setits stamp upon the sheltered dale, alike in scenes of quiet pastoralbeauty and industrial ugliness.
It was different to the north, where the shaggy moors rolled back inbleak, dark ridges. There were no white farmsteads here; one lookedacross a lonely waste that had sheltered the wolf and the lurking Pictwhen the Romans manned the Wall, and long afterwards offered a refugeto outlaws and cattle thieves. Foster's way led through thisdesolation, but his map indicated a road of a kind that ran north tothe head of Liddel. He must decide whether he should take it or plungeinto the wilds.
Since Graham was in front of him, he had probably gone to Liddesdale,with the object of finding if Foster was at the Garth. If he did notcome back by the road he had taken, he would watch the railway thatroughly followed it across the moors from Hexham, which seemed to closethe latter to Foster and make it dangerous for him to go near the Garthat all. Nevertheless he meant to see Alice before he looked for Daly,and he turned to Pete.
"On the whole, I'd sooner keep off the road. Is there a way across theheath to the upper Liddel?"
"I wouldna' say there's a way," Pete answered with a dry smile. "But Ican take ye ower the Spadeadam waste, if ye do not mind the soft flowsand some verra rough traiveling. Then I'll no' promise that we'll winfarther than Bewcastle to-night, an' if there's much water in theburns, we'll maybe no' get there."
They struck across a rushy field, crept through a ragged hedge, andcame out upon rough pasture that gradually merged into the heath. Agreen bank and a straggling line of stones, some fallen in large massesand some standing two or three feet high, presently stretched acrosstheir path, and Foster stopped for a few moments. The bank andmoat-like hollow he looked down upon marked the _vallum_; the squaredstones, to which the lime still clung, apparently undetachable, the_murus_. He was looking at the great rampart a Roman emperor hadbuilt. He understood that it was higher and less damaged farther westand would have liked to follow it, but he had something else to thinkabout than antiquities.
The heath got rougher when they left the wall. Spongy moss grew amongthe ling that caught their feet, and the ground began to rise. Lookingat the sun, Foster saw they were not taking as northerly a line as hehad expected, but the back of a bold ridge rose between them and thewest and he supposed Pete meant to follow its other side. They stoppedto eat the food they had brought where a stream had worn away a hollowin a bank. The sun, striking the wall of peaty soil behind them, waspleasantly warm. It was a calm day, with slowly-drifting clouds, andgray shadows streaked the wide, brown waste.
There was no house in sight and only in one place a few scattered dotsthat looked like sheep. Getting out his map, Foster noted that theywere crossing the high neck where the Pennine range slopes down to meetthe southern spurs of the Cheviots. He had seen nothing in Canadawilder or more desolate than this bleak tableland.
In the afternoon they toiled up the rise he had noticed in thedistance, winding in and out among soft places and hummocks of thepeat, but when they came to the top there was not the dip to a valleyhe had expected. The ground was rougher than before, and the moorrolled on, rising and falling in heathy undulations. By degrees,however, it became obvious that they had crossed the water-shed andwere descending, for streams that increased in size crossed their path.So far, none were deep, but the ravines they ran through began to seamthe gradual slope and Foster understood Pete's remark that somethingdepended on there not being much water in the burns.
Looking back after a time, he saw the crest of the moor run up behindthem against the sky, and the next ravine they came to was awkward toclimb down, while he was wet to the knees when he crossed the burn. Amile farther on, he reached another that was worse and they had to workback along the crumbling sides of its channel to find a place to cross.After this their progress was marked by erratic curves, and Foster wassoon splashed with black peat-mud and green slime. By and by they cameto a broad level, shut in by a ridge on its other side, and pickedtheir way carefully between clumps of rushes and curious round holesfilled with dark-colored water. The ground was very soft and walkingbecame a toil, but Pete held steadily to his winding course and Foster,although getting tired, did not lag behind.
They were some time crossing the bog and when they reached the foot ofthe rise, which ran in a long line between them and the west, the lightgot dimmer suddenly. A yellow glow that seemed to come from low downflushed the sky, but the rough slope was dark and the hummocks andgullies on its side were losing their distinctness. Foster feltsomewhat daunted by the prospect of pushing across the waste afterdarkness fell, and doggedly kept level with Pete as they went up thehill obliquely, struggling through tangled grass and wiry heath. Whenthey reached the summit, he saw they were on the western edge of thetableland but some distance below its highest point Though it wasbroken by rolling elevations, the ground ran gradually down to anextensive plain where white mist lay in the hollows. A belt of saffronlight lingered on the horizon, with a half-moon in a streak of greenabove, and one or two twinkling points showed, faint and far off, inthe valley.
"Yon," said Pete, "is Bewcastle dale, and I ken where we'll find awelcome when we cross the water o' Line. But I'm thinking we'll keepthe big flow in our left han'."
Instead of descending towards the distant farmsteads, he followed thesummit of the rise, and Foster, who understood that a flow is a softbog, plodded after him without objecting. The heather was tangled andrough, and hid the stones he now and then stumbled against, but it wasbetter to hurry than be left with a long distance to cover in the dark.Indeed, as he caught his feet in the wiry stems and fell into holes, hefrankly admitted the absurdity of his adventure, a sense of whichamused him now and then. He was in a highly civilized country, therewere railways and telegraph lines not far off, and he was lurking likean ancient outlaw among the bogs! It looked as if there must be betterways of meeting his difficulties, but he could not see one. Anyhow, hehad determined to save his partner, and now, if his plans were hazy andnot very wise, it was too late to make a sweeping change.
After a time Pete stopped abruptly, and then dropping into a clump ofheather, pointed backwards down the long slope on their right hand.Foster's sight was good, but he admitted that the poacher's was better,because it was a minute or two before he saw any ground for alarm.Although there was some light in the sky, the rough descent was darkand it was only by degrees he distinguished something that moved acrossthe heath, below and some distance away. Then he realized that it wasa man, and another became faintly visible. They might be shepherds orsportsmen, but it was significant that there were two and they seemedto be ascending obliquely, as if to cut his line of march. Heremembered that as he and Pete had kept the crest of the ridge theirfigures must have shown, small but sharp, against the fading light.
"It's suspicious, but I wouldn't like to say they're on our trail," heremarked.
"Ye'll soon ken. Watch the bit scaur."
Foster saw a faint dark line down the hill, and supposed it was agully, torn out of the peat. It ran nearly straight up, crossing thestrangers' indirect course to the summit, and would make a very roughmeans of ascent, but if they entered it the men would be out of sight.He blamed himself for not looking back before but had felt safe in thewilds, and even now it was hard to believe that the men were followinghim. Straining his eyes, he watched them move towards the gully, andset his lips when they disappeared. It was plain that they meant toget as close as possible
before they were seen.
He did not move for the next few moments, but his brain was busy.Graham might have come back down the north road in his car andafterwards taken to the moors, but it was difficult to understand howhe had found Foster's track. Chance, however, sometimes favored one ina curious way; the fellow might have found out that he had left theroad and expected him to stop the night in Bewcastle dale. SinceFoster had Pete with him, he was not, in one sense, afraid of Graham.Although the fellow was, no doubt, dangerous, he was not likely toforce an equal fight. The risk would come if Graham found him aloneand at a disadvantage, when Foster thought it would go hard with him.This was why he could not have the men on his track, watching for theright moment to strike. It was, however, possible that the strangerswere police, and he lay in the heath with knitted brows until Petetouched him.
"They wouldna' find us easy if we keepit still, but I'm no' forspending the night among the bents," he said. "I'm thinking we'll trythe big flow and lose them in the mire."
He rose and crossing the summit started down the incline, while Fosterfollowed as fast as he could. It would be some time before the othersreached the spot they had left, but the light of the sinking moontouched the face of the hill and as long as they were moving theirfigures could be seen. When they reached the bottom Pete headed west,and presently stopped at the edge of a wide level space. Tufts of wildcotton gleamed lividly in the moonlight, and here and there a sparklemarked a pool, but, farther on, a trail of mist stretched across thebog. It did not look inviting, and when Pete stopped for a few momentsFoster heard the water bubble through the wet moss in which his feetsank.
"The black burn rins on the ither side, and there's just one placewhere ye can cross," Pete said thoughtfully. "An old shieling standson a bit dry knowe near the middle o' the flow, and I wouldna' say butwe might spend the night there, if it was needful."
Foster left it to him, although he was not much attracted by thethought of spending the night in the bog, and Pete moved forwardcautiously. He seemed to be following a track, because he wentstraight ahead, tramping through clumps of rushes, and splashing intopools. Foster noted that the latter were shallow, though he had falleninto bog-holes that were deep. They tried to move silently, but theymade some noise, and he felt relieved when they plunged into a belt ofmist that would hide them from their pursuers. By the look of theground to left and right, he imagined that a stranger who lost thetrack would have serious trouble in regaining firm soil,
When they came out of the mist, however, he began to find the silencedaunting. On the hills one could hear the grouse and plover crying andthe murmur of running water, but an oppressive quietness brooded overthe flow. Nor could he see much except rushes, treacherous moss, anddully-glimmering pools. By and by, however, a dark mass loomed throughthe haze and Pete stopped and looked back.
For a moment or two Foster heard nothing, and then there was a splashand a noise, as if somebody was floundering through the rushes. Thesounds were nearer than he had thought possible, and he glanced at hiscompanion.
"They're no' traiveling badly and they've keepit the track so far,"Pete remarked. "Maybe ye wouldn'a care to try their speed for the nexttwo or three miles?"
"Certainly not," said Foster; "that is, if there's another way."
"Weel," said Pete, "they're surely nearer than I thought, and might seewhere we crossed the burn. There's nought for't but the shieling onthe knowe."
He went on, and the dark mass ahead grew into a rocky mound coveredwith small trees. They were birches, because Foster saw theirdrooping, lacelike twigs above the low mist; and the indistinct objectamong their stems was the shieling. It was obvious that the hut wouldcatch the eyes of the men behind if they came close enough, and hestopped where the ground rose.
"We'll no' gang in yet," said Pete.
They skirted the mound, which was larger than Foster thought and brokenby out-cropping rock, and when a thick screen of the birches rosebetween them and the building, crept into a nook among the stones.Foster imagined that the others might search for half the night withoutfinding them unless they were lucky. Then Pete remarked in a meaningtone: "There's just the twa, and I hae a good stick."
Foster smiled. He was tired, wet, and savage, and would have liked toconfront Graham and settle their differences by force; but the mattercould not be treated in this primitive way. He could not shoot themen, and would be no better off if he overpowered and threw them in thebog. They would know where he was and would follow him as close as wassafe, while he wanted to shake them off and make them uncertain whetherthey were on his track or not. Besides, his antagonists might avoid aconflict.
"The thing's too complicated to be straightened out by knockingsomebody down," he said. "But I'm glad I'm not here alone."
In the meantime, the others were getting nearer, for Foster heard themsplash through the wet moss and stumble among the rushy grass. Theywere walking fast, which indicated that they thought themselves somedistance behind the fugitives; but stopped when they saw the birches,and then came on again cautiously. Foster could not see them untiltheir blurred figures appeared among the trees. So long as he keptstill there was little chance of his being found.
The moonlight filtered through the low mist that rose half-way up thethin birch trunks on the top of the mound, but the shieling stood on alower level, and when they went towards it the men's forms got veryindistinct. They vanished, but he knew they had gone in when a palestream of light flickered among the trees.
"A polisman's trick," Pete said in a low voice. "A poacher would notha' let ye see the light."
Foster felt that he must find out who the men were. The thing wasrisky, but it was worth trying, and he crawled out from behind thestones. The rock was rough and wet; his hand plunged into some waterand he scraped his knee, but he made a few yards and then stopped andlay flat as the light went out. It looked as if the others had heardhim, and he lowered his head until his face was buried in witheredfern. There was silence for a few moments, and then his nerves tingledas he heard steps; the men, he thought, were coming out to look forhim. He did not move, however, and the footsteps got farther off. Byand by there was a sharp rustle and he cautiously looked up. Two hazyfigures showed among the trees, but it was plain that they were goingaway.
It was impossible to follow them without being heard, and he waiteduntil Pete joined him. So far as he could judge by the noise theymade, the men were hurrying across the bog.
"They're awa', but I wouldna' say they'll no' come back," Peteremarked. "If they dinna' strike the right place, they'll no' find iteasy to cross the burn. She rins in a deep cut an' the bottom's saft."
"What's likely to happen if they get off the track?"
"Weel," said Pete, with a chuckle, "it's verra possible they'll stop inthe flow till morning, maybe up to the knees in mire. I dinna' thinkthere's much reason they should get in deeper, but they might."
"But suppose they find the way and cross the burn?"
"Then, if they ken the dale, I would expect them to haud a bit southfor Shopford, where they would find an inn, or maybe west by theClattering ford to Canonbie. If they dinna' ken, it's likely they'llhae to sleep behind a dyke. Noo, however, we'll turn back and gang upthe dale."
They recrossed the bog and skirted the moor for some time, after whichthey went down a long slope and reached a level space of grass andheath. They followed it north until a light shone ahead and thebarking of dogs indicated that they were approaching a farm. Pete wentin first, and Foster did not know what explanation he gave, but thefarmer told him to sit down when he entered the big, flagged kitchen.He was not surprised when a woman who came in looked at him curiously,because he was wet and splashed, and bits of fern and heather stuck tohis clothes, but his hosts asked no questions and presently gave himsupper.
Soon afterwards he was shown a comfortable room and went to bed,leaving Pete with the others in the kitchen. Foster was glad to feelhe could be trusted not to
tell them too much, although he would, nodoubt, have to satisfy their curiosity to some extent. A hint went along way with the reserved Borderers.