His companion made a small, semi-contemptuous sound.
‘That michtna be sae easy,’ he replied. ‘Whiles there may be a naig I dinna ken i’ the toun—what are ye wantin’ wi’ sic a lot, sir?’
His tone implied more of the practical than the inquisitive, but the lawyer cut him short.
‘That’s my affair,’ he replied. ‘My order is plain enough, surely. I want every horse that is for hire in the town secured and brought here—every horse, mind you. And by eight o’clock to-night they must be out of Blackport—here, that is.’
The trace which Granny was hooking slipped through her fingers, and she stood, open-mouthed, while the footsteps of the speakers died away. It did not take her a moment to draw the right inference; if the lawyer had mentioned Fordyce’s name she might not have understood so easily what was going forward; but he had spoken as though the order had emanated from himself, and Granny, on the other side of the wall, had a burning lamp of wrath in her soul which illuminated his deed.
It was almost half-past five, and, in less than three hours, Gilbert would arrive at Blackport to find that there was no available means of getting further. She knew him well enough to be sure he would start on foot, if need be, so soon as he should learn from Jimmy of what was to happen on the morrow; but, meanwhile, here was Rob Roy, at the end of the reins she held, and what belonged to the Stirk family belonged also to the Laird of Whanland so long as she had breath to say so. She got into her place and drove carefully out of the narrow gate into the street. It was scarcely time for the light to fail, but the sky was dark with rain-cloud and the weather rolling in from a wild sea that was booming up the coast. She cared for none of these things; inland, eight miles off, lay Blackport, and, in less than an hour, she would be there with a horse.
Where the side-street met the High Street, an archway joined the inn buildings to the opposite houses, and, under it, she observed Barclay taking shelter from the sudden squall of rain which had come up in the last few minutes. Beneath its further end, across the way, stood two loafers, one of whom she recognised as a cadger whose cart was now unharnessed in the yard. Though his days in the trade had begun long after her own had ended she knew something about him; principally, that rumour connected him with a Blackport poaching gang which had been active in the preceding year. He looked at her as she approached and sent an obscene word to meet her, but she neither heard nor heeded, for her attention was set on the lawyer whom she was about to pass.
‘Where are you bound for?’ called Barclay.
Her eyes flamed.
‘Ah! ye deevil!’ she cried, ‘a’ heard ye! Look! Here’s a horse that’ll be in Blackport the nicht!’