‘Na, thank ye. I’m best whaur I am,’ said the man.
The smile now extended to the minister and his companion, and, at sight of this, the merchant burst into fresh wrath.
‘Am I to be kept a’ the night in this place?’ he cried. ‘I warrant ye, I’ll have the lot o’ ye sorted for this when I get to Aberdeen!’
‘If you like to ride one of the leaders into Blackport, you can,’ suggested Gilbert, with a sting in his voice; ‘the guard is going with the mails on the other.’
‘Aye, ye’d best do that. Ye’d look bonnie riding into the town wi’ yon thing on your head,’ said the minister, who had a short temper.
The window went up.
The united efforts of Speid and his four companions succeeded in getting the coach to one side of the way, and three of the horses were tied up, its shelter between them and the weather; the Glasgow merchant remained inside while they moved it. The rain was abating and there were a few clear patches in the sky, as, with the mail-bags slung round him, the guard mounted the fourth horse and prepared to ride forward.
‘If you can find a boy called Stirk at the inn,’ said Gilbert, ‘tell him to wait for me in Blackport till morning.’ And he put some money in the man’s hand.
The guard touched his cap and disappeared.
It was a long night to Speid. The three passengers built themselves a shelter with luggage and rolled themselves in what wraps and rugs they had; not one of them had any desire to share the inside of the coach with its occupant. The ground was too damp to allow a fire to burn and what wood lay at the roadside was dripping. In a few hours the guard returned with such tools as he could collect; the road improved further on, he said, and the remaining six miles of the stage could be done at a walk after the sun rose. He had seen nothing of Jimmy Stirk. He and the coachman joined the party in the shelter.