The Eagle Cliff - Robert Michael Ballantyne (read people like a book .txt) 📗

/> Their hilarity was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed on Eddie's digits, until Flo's little voice arose like a strain of sweet music to dissipate the clouds.

"Oh! never mind," she said; "I's got anuzzer pot in my bag."

This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination, and felicity was restored.

"What are you going to photograph?" asked Milly, seeing that Archie was busy making arrangements.

"_You_, Cousin Milly. You've no notion what a splendid couple you and Mr Barret look--stuck up so picturesquely on that little mound, with its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel, too--so suggestive! There, now, I'm ready. By the way, I might take you as a pair of lovers!"

Poor Milly became scarlet, and suddenly devoted herself to the _lusus naturae_! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:

"Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption."

"Yes, they always do that," said Milly, recovering herself, and looking calmly up from the cow--which now resembled a megatherium--"but you must remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a _painter_, and therefore understand about attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer. So, if I condescend to sit, you must take your orders from _me_!"

"Fire away then with your orders," cried the impatient amateur.

"See, sir, I will sit thus--as if painting," said Milly, who was desperately anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some awkward proposition. "Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking earnestly at the picture--"

"Admiringly," interposed Barret.

"Not so--earnestly, as if getting a lesson," said Milly, with a teacher's severity; "and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care (hold it, dear,) of my palette."

"More likely to make a mess of it," said Junkie.

"Now, are you ready? Steady! Don't budge a finger," cried Archie, removing the little leather cap.

In her uncertainty as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo nervously moved them all.

"You're movin', Flo!" whispered Junkie.

"No, I'm not," said Flo, looking round indignantly.

"There, I knew you couldn't hold your tongue, Junkie," cried the photographer, hastily replacing the cap. "However, I think I had it done before she moved."

"And look--you've got the nigger in!" cried Junkie, snatching up the black doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner's knee all the time.

"Never mind, that'll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an' quick march," said Archie, closing up his apparatus. "We have got plenty of work before us, and no time to waste."

Obedient to this rather inaccurately given word of command, Archie's troops fell into line, and, with a whooping farewell, continued their march up the glen.

During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupil continued at their "fascinating" work. Shall we take advantage of our knowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced a few more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all the rules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shall we reveal the multitude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wild attempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing? No; it would be unwarrantable--base! Merely remarking that painter and pupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever in the art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood of Kinlossie House.

It was a wide grass-field from which the haycocks had recently been removed, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there were two points of interest in that field which merit special attention. One was a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the shaggiest of coats, and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking a short cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in one hand, and an umbrella in the other.

We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article, by explaining that, on the day before--which was rainy--the laird, had with an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river, at which point their roads diverged; that he had stayed to see MacRummle make his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared, inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank, after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day our angler found and took charge of it.

That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by the extra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of his basket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protruding tail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole of itself, inside.

"You're a lucky man to-day, Dick," murmured the enthusiastic angler to himself, as he jogged across the field.

Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrived at a very different estimate of his fortunes!

The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached the centre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its most distant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespass on its domain.

It suddenly bellowed in that low thunderous tone which is so awfully suggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short. He was naturally a brave man, nevertheless his heart gave his ribs an unwonted thump when he observed the bull in the distance glaring at him. He looked round in alarm. Nothing but an unbroken flat for a hundred yards lay around him in all directions, unrelieved by bush, rock, or tree, and bounded by a five-foot wall, with only one gate, near to where the bull stood pawing the earth and apparently working itself into a rage.

"Now, Dick," murmured the old gentleman, seriously, "it's do or die with you if that brute charges, for your legs are not much better than pipe-stems, and your wind is--Eh! he comes!"

Turning sharply, he caused the pipe-stems to wag with amazing velocity-- too fast, indeed, for his toe, catching on something, sent him violently to the ground, and the basket flew over his head with such force that the strap gave way. He sprang up instantly, still unconsciously holding on to rod and umbrella.

Meanwhile, the bull, having made up its mind, came charging down the field with its eyes flashing and its tail on high.

MacRummle looked back. He saw that the case was hopeless. He was already exhausted and gasping. A young man could scarcely have reached the wall in time. Suddenly he came to a ditch, one of those narrow open drains with which inhabitants of wet countries are familiar. The sight of it shot a blaze of hope through his despair! He stopped at once, dropped his rod, and, putting up his umbrella, laid it on the ground. It was a large cotton one of the Gamp description. Under the shelter of it he stepped quietly into the ditch, which was not much more than knee-deep, with very little water in it.

Placing the umbrella in such a position that it came between himself and the bull, he laid himself flat down in the drain. The opening was far too narrow to admit his broad shoulders, except when turned sidewise. The same treatment was not applicable to other parts of his person, but, by dint of squeezing and collapsing, he got down, nestled under the bank, and lay still.

On came the bull till it reached the basket, which, with a deft toss, it hurled into the air and sent the silvery treasure flying. A moment more and it went head foremost into the umbrella. Whether it was surprised at finding its enemy so light and unsubstantial, or at the slipping of one of its feet into the drain, we cannot tell, but the result was that it came down and turned a complete somersault over the drain, carrying the umbrella along with it in its mad career!

When the bull scrambled to its feet again, and looked round in some surprise, it found that one of its legs and both its horns were through and entangled with the wrecked article.

It was a fine sight to witness the furious battle that immediately ensued between the black bull and that cotton umbrella! Rage at the man was evidently transmuted into horror at the article. The bull pranced and shook its head and pawed about in vain efforts to get rid of its tormenter. Shreds of the wreck flapped wildly in its eyes. Spider-like ribs clung to its massive limbs and poked its reeking sides, while the swaying handle kept tapping its cheeks and ears and nose, as if taunting the creature with being held and badgered by a thing so flimsy and insignificant!

Happily this stirring incident was not altogether unwitnessed. Far up the valley it was observed by four living creatures, three of whom immediately came tearing down the road at racing speed. Gradually their different powers separated them from each other. Archie came first, Eddie next, and Junkie brought up the rear. On nearing the field the first wrenched a stake out of a fence; the second caught up a rake, that had been left by the haymakers; and the last, unscrewing the butt of his rod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They all three leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageously down on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of the sort.

Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once. Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together they were more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in and brought the stake down on his skull. When he turned on his assailant, Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe he was caught by the tail by Junkie, who applied the butt of his rod vigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At last the bull was cowed--if we may venture to say so--and driven ignominiously into a corner of the field, where he vented his rage on the remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field of battle.

"But what's come of MacRummle?" said the panting Junkie as they gathered up the fish and replaced them in the basket. "I never saw him get over the wall. Did you?"

"No," replied Archie, looking round in surprise.

"I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin' the bull," suggested Eddie.

"I'm here, boys! I'm here, Junkie," cried a strange sepulchral voice, as if from the bowels of the earth.

"Where?" asked the boys gazing down at their feet with expressions of awe.

"He's i' the drain!" cried Junkie with an expanding mouth.

"Ay--that's it! I'm in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardly move."

They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of all three to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found