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rest of the meal was given up to efforts on the part of the drover to effect a sale. His price came down to fifteen shillings and a glass of whisky. Questioned by Jaikie as to its pedigree, he embarked on a rambling tale, patently a lie, of a friend who bred Solomons and had presented him with this specimen in payment of a bet. Talk made the drover thirsty. He refused a second cup of tea and shouted for the hostess, and when Mrs Johnston appeared he ordered a bottle of Bass.
Jaikie, remembering the plans for the morrow, asked if there was such a thing as a bicycle about the place, and was told that her man possessed one. She saw no objection to his borrowing it for half a day. Jaikie had found favour in her eyes.
The drover drank his beer morosely and called for another bottle. Mrs Johnston glanced anxiously at Jaikie as she fulfilled the order, but Jaikie gave no sign. Now beer on the top of whisky is bad for the constitution, especially if little food has accompanied it, and soon the drover began to show that his case was no exception. His silence gave place to a violent garrulity. Thrusting his face close to the scandalised Mr Craw, he announced that that gentleman was gorily well going to buy the Solomon—that he had accepted the offer and that he would be sanguinarily glad to see the immediate colour of his money.
Mr Craw withdrew his chair, and the other lurched to his feet and came after him. The profanity of the drover, delivered in a hoarse roar, brought Mrs Johnston back in alarm. The seller’s case was far from clear, but it seemed to be his argument that Mr Craw had taken delivery of a pup and was refusing payment. He was working himself into a fury at what he declared to be a case of strongly qualified bilk.
“Can ye dae naething wi’ him?” the hostess wailed to Jaikie.
“I think we’ve had enough of him,” was the answer. Then he lifted up his voice. “Hold on, man. Let’s see the dog. We’ve never had a proper look at it.”
But the drover was past caring about the details of the bargain. He was pursuing Mr Craw, who, he alleged, was in possession of monies rightly due to him, and Mr Craw was retreating from the fire to the vacant part of the floor where Jaikie stood.
Then suddenly came violent happenings. “Open the door, mistress,” cried Jaikie. The drover turned furiously towards the voice, and found himself grabbed from behind and his arms forced back. He was a biggish fellow and managed to shake himself free. There was a vicious look in his eye, and he clutched the bread-knife from the table. Now, Mrs Johnston’s rolling-pin lay on the dresser, and with this Jaikie hit him smartly on the wrist, causing the knife to clatter on the floor. The next second Jaikie’s head had butted his antagonist in the wind, and, as he stumbled forward gasping, Jaikie twisted his right arm behind his back and held it in a cruel lock. The man had still an arm loose with which he tried to clutch Jaikie’s hair, and, to his own amazement, Mr Craw found himself gripping this arm, and endeavouring to imitate Jaikie’s tactics, the while he hammered with his knee at the drover’s hind quarters. The propulsion of the two had its effect. The drover shot out of the kitchen into the rain, and the door was locked by Mrs Johnston behind him.
“He’ll come back,” Mr Craw quavered, repenting of his temerity.
“Not him,” said Jaikie, as he tried to smooth his hair. “I know the breed. I know the very Glasgow close he comes out of. There’s no fight in that scum. But I’m anxious about the little dog.”
The kitchen was tidied up, and the two sat for a while by the peats. Then Mr Craw professed a desire for bed. Exercise and the recent excitement had made him weary; also he was still nervous about the drover and had a longing for sanctuary. By going to bed he would be retiring into the keep of the fortress.
Jaikie escorted him upstairs, helped him to get out of Mr Johnston’s trousers, borrowed an extra blanket from the hostess, and an earthenware hot bottle which she called a “pig,” and saw him tucked up comfortably. Then Jaikie disappeared with the lamp, leaving him to solitude and darkness.
Mr Craw for a little experienced the first glimmerings of peace which he had known since that fateful hour at Kirkmichael when his Hejira began. He felt restful and secure, and as his body grew warm and relaxed he had even a moment of complacence… He had, unsolicited, helped to eject a ruffian from the inn kitchen. He had laid violent hands upon an enemy. The thing was so novel in his experience that the memory of it sent a curious, pleasant little shiver through his frame. He had shown himself ready in a crisis, instant in action. The thinker had proved himself also the doer. He dwelt happily with the thought… Strange waters surrounded him, but so far his head was above the waves. Might there not be a purpose in it all, a high purpose? All great teachers of mankind had had to endure some sojourn in the wilderness. He thought of Mahomet and Buddha, Galileo in prison, Spinoza grinding spectacles. Sometimes he had wondered if his life were not too placid for a man with a mission. These mishaps—temporary, of course—might prove a stepping-stone from which to rise to yet higher things.
Then he remembered the face of the drover as he had last seen him, distorted and malevolent. He had incurred the enmity of a desperate man. Would not his violence be terribly repaid? Even now, as the drunkenness died in him, his enemy would be planning his revenge. To-morrow—what of to-morrow? Mr Craw shuddered, and, as the bedroom door opened and a ray of candlelight ran across the ceiling, he almost cried aloud.
It was only Jaikie, who carried in his arms a small dog. Its thick fleece, once white, was matted in dry mud, and the finer hair of its face and legs, streaked down with wet, gave these parts of it so preposterous an air of leanness, that it looked like a dilapidated toy dog which had lost its wheels. But it appeared to be content. It curled itself at the foot of Jaikie’s bed, and, before beginning its own toilet, licked his hand.
“I’ve bought that fellow’s dog,” Jaikie announced. “It must have been stolen, but it has come through a lot of hands. I beat him down to four shillings.”
“Were you not afraid?” gasped Mr Craw.
“He’s practically sober now,” Jaikie went on. “You see, he barged into the cart beside the door and got a crack on the head that steadied him. There was nothing to be afraid of except his brute of a collie.”
As Jaikie wriggled into bed he leaned forward and patted the head of his purchase. “I’m going to call him Woolworth,” he said, “for he’s as woolly as a sheep, and he didn’t cost much.”
CHAPTER 10
THE SECOND DAY OF THE HEJIRA— THE FORD CAR
The storm blew itself out in the night, and the travellers awoke to a morning of soft lights and clear, rain-washed distances. They awoke also to the pea-hen call of their hostess at the foot of the stairs.
“Megsty me!” ran the plaint. “D’ye ken what has happened? The body in the stable is off or I was up, and he’s never paid for his supper… Waur nor that!” (the voice rose to a keen) “He’s ta’en yae pair o’ the breeks that was dryin’ afore the fire. The best pair! The blue yins!”
These last words drew Mr Craw precipitately from his bed. He thrust a scared head out of the bedroom door.
“What do you say, woman? My trousers!”
“Aye. Your trousers! Sorrow and disgrace yon blagyird has brocht on this hoose! Whae wad keep a public? But we’ll set the pollis on him. As soon as my man’s up, he’ll yoke the gig an’ get the pollis.”
Jaikie added his voice to the clamour.
“I’ll be down in a jiffey, mistress, and I’ll go after him on your man’s bicycle.”
“Ye daurna. He’ll kill ye. He’s a desperate blagyird.”
“Give me my flannel bags,” said Jaikie, “and I’ll be on the road in ten minutes. He can’t be many miles ahead.”
But when the two descended to the kitchen—Mr Craw chastely habited in the trousers