“I will make that right. You must go on alone. Probably I shall join you in a few days, but that will depend on what instructions I get later. If you hear nothing from me you will understand that I am busy out of sight. My hands may be full—that is, if the surgeon leaves me with both of them. Good-bye, Callandar.”
He turned his horse and left him. The other opened his mouth to shout after him, ordering him to come back, but remembered that he had no authority to do so. Flemington was independent of him; he belonged to a different branch of the King’s service, and although he had fought at Culloden he was under different orders. He had merely accompanied his party, and Callandar knew very well that, though his junior in years, he was a much more important person than himself. The nature of Archie’s duties demanded that he should be given a free hand in his movements, and no doubt he knew what he was about. But had he been Callandar’s subordinate, and had there been a surgeon round the nearest corner, his arm might have dropped from his shoulder before the officer would have permitted him to fall out of the little troop. Callandar had never in all his service seen a man receive definite orders only to disobey them openly.
He watched him go, petrified. His brain was a good one, but it worked slowly, and Archie’s decision and departure had been as sudden as a thunderbolt. Also, there was contempt in his heart for his softness, and he was sorry.
Archie turned round and saw him still looking after him. He sent back a gibe to him.
“If you don’t go on I will report you for neglect of duty!” he shouted, laughing.
[CHAPTER XXI
HUNTLY HILL]
CALLANDAR rode up Huntly Hill. The rose-red of the blossoming briar that decks all Angus with its rubies glowed in the failing sunlight, and the scent of its leaf came in puffs from the wayside ditches; the blurred heads of the meadow-sweet were being turned into clouds of gold as the sun grew lower and the road climbed higher. In front the trees began to mantle Huntly Hill.
He had just begun the ascent at a foot’s pace when he heard the whirr of the beggar’s chariot-wheels behind him, then at his side, and he turned in his saddle and looked down on his pursuer’s bald crown. Wattie had cast off his bonnet, and the light breeze springing up lifted the fringe of his grizzled hair.
“Whaur awa’s Flemington?” he cried, as he came up.