Second Sight (24 page)
Authors: Neil M. Gunn
Should he tell him? He tried to steady the glass, but his hands were trembling. There was no need to tell him. No need. He did not deserve it. God damn him, he did not deserve it. A deep potent instinct moved in Angus, darkened by something of fear and myth, of a justice, a rightness, beyond the standards of the world. For this was the spirit of his forest, its incarnation, its reality, its legend, its living truth. For this manâthis manâto shoot.
He shut the glass and slid towards Geoffrey, who had turned over on his left side and closed his eyes. But the mouth was deliberately shut and breath came through the nostrils. Their way back was below them. They would simply get up and go, and this man would never know.
Angus sat upright, looked at the grey face, the intolerance of the drawn lips, the material force of the rounded head, the fleshy dominance, and looked away from it across that northern world of moor and hill. The sun was warm and cast shadows. Far as the eye could travel there were mountain ridges, in dark browns, in misty blues, and in the hollows of ultimate ridges stood back the shadowy cones of ultimate peaks. Nothing moved over these vast solitudes, nothing stirred out of that warm timeless sleep.
“Well?”
Angus half-turned but did not look at him. “He's there,” he said on a quiet undertone.
Geoffrey's body swung slowly upward until he was supporting it with his palms.
“Who?” His whisper was harsh.
“King Brude,” said Angus.
For several seconds there was complete immobility, utter silence. Then Geoffrey scrambled into forceful life and demanded of Angus what he thought he was trying to do.
“I was merely thinking”, lied Angus calmly, “of the best way of getting at him.”
Geoffrey regarded him with the mistrust naturally born out of lack of understanding. Angus fixed the telescope and handed it to Geoffrey. “Come here.”
It took Geoffrey a long time to pick up the antlers, but at last he did. And then he, too, grew quiet. For in his excitement, he could not speak. He plucked a blade of hill grass, gnawed at it, spat it out, and asked, “What do you suggest?”
“It's difficult,” said Angus. “We cannot get near enough from this side. And we can't come in from anywhere beyond, because of the wind. The only approach would be across wind from directly behind and above him. And we can't do that because right round that off side is a face of rock. If we went beyond the rock, farther round, then the wind might carry our scent over the shoulder and down into the corrie.”
Geoffrey nodded, his brows knitted. “You think we should wait here till he gets up?”
“There doesn't seem to be much else. When he gets up he'll begin feeding. If he comes this way, we're in a perfect place, and the chances are he will, because it is now the afternoon and he will tend to feed down to the lower ground.” He spoke evenly. “But he might go on up the corrie, across the ridge, and down into the main glen beyond, or perhaps out over the march, for Glenan lies in that directionâthough there's no signs on him yet, for the high-hill stag is always a bit later. If he goes that way, we're in the wrong place. I doubt if we could come round on him in time. Though we might.”
Geoffrey was thoughtful, the domineering quality in him quite gone. “Are you sure there's no way up behind?”
“Up the rock? I have never done it.”
“Has anyone?”
“Alick has done it.”
Geoffrey looked at him, but Angus did not meet the look.
“Shouldn't we at least see if we can do it?”
“Whatever you say,” said Angus.
Geoffrey's look grew sharper. “Angus! What do you mean exactly?”
“It's whatever you say,” replied Angus without stress. “He may get up at any time to feed.”
“You think we should stay here?” Geoffrey was watching him.
“Yes.”
Geoffrey had seen a dour mood at work in Angus before, generally after there had been some too direct expression of opinion on his own part. He could be touchy, but usually got over it before very long, and in the heat of the actual hunt itself there had always been a natural unanimity between them, for he recognised in Angus a hunter as keen as himself. He could never wish for a better stalker, would never want a better, and any temporary differences were to Geoffrey afterwards, when he had won through, a matter for humorous reflection. That a stalker should be independent and express himself in full at moments of stress was “in character”, was in the forest tradition. But now there was a mysterious something extra in Angus's mood that Geoffrey could not fathom and that, by force of his own nature, he must mistrust.
“I should like to see this place that Alick can climb and you and I can't.”
“Very good, sir.” Angus put the telescope in its leather case and slung it round his back. Without looking at Geoffrey, he picked up the rifle and started off.
He went carefully, giving Geoffrey plenty of time. His manner was quiet and efficient. He had every consideration for his gentleman. He brought him across rough ground below the corrie and then on to smooth ground that sloped so steeply that they had to grip the hillside with a hand. Geoffrey found this side-walking very tiring to his knee. The general body weakness he put down to lack of food. When at last Angus brought him under the long curving terrace of rock, all his muscles were tremulous and his brow cold.
He saw that the place to which Angus pointed was the only way up. It seemed to Geoffrey simple enough and he said so. Couldn't be more than fifteen feet high, wasn't perpendicular, and had obvious projections and fissures for hands and feet.
Angus nodded. “Very good, sir,” he said. “Would you like a couple of minutes' rest first? I could try it.”
He spoke so simply, in undertones, that Geoffrey experienced a slight pang of remorse, and he glanced at Angus with that perceptible goggle of the eyes that implied a chuckle was not far away, if need be. But Angus was apparently still a little on his high horse. So “You sit down for a minute, too. You need it,” he said, with consideration.
Angus shook his head and went up the few yards to the foot of the climb and began examining it. As Geoffrey joined him, he asked who should go first.
“You go,” murmured Geoffrey. “Then I could catch you if you fall.”
Angus's vague smile may have been an acknowledgement of the joke. “It's much steeper than it looks,” was all he said. He began to climb.
Geoffrey saw the feet feeling for holds, the fingers gripping. A little to the right. A step or two up. A little to the left. Was it higher than he had thought? More difficult? He got a crick in his neck and swayed as he lowered his headâand looked below him. The ground sloped very steeply indeed. If Angus dislodged a lump of rock, it would not simply roll down; it would leap and bound and bury itself far below. If his body fell from the rock face, it would get a flying start!
And Angus was having a slight difficulty quite near the top. The rifle, slung to his back, was tending to get in his way. But there he wasâupâand over. Good!
Angus faced down. “Don't try it!” he said, in low earnest tones.
Geoffrey was apparently amused. He caught his staff by its bone ferrule and threw it wildly over Angus's head, half losing his balance as he did so and grabbing at the earth. The idea that he could not do what Alick had done! That he would have to admit defeat before Angus! He kept himself amused and tackled the rock.
For there was no need to get excited about a thing like this, and certainly absurd to let fear touch the flesh.
Quite absurd. But it was annoying not to be able always to get a proper grip with the hands. It was impossible to look down and study the next hold for the feet. The sheer pressure on the fingers was at times very great. And that damned knee of hisâhe hardly dared risk giving it the body's full weight in a straining upward step. Thank God, here at last was a reasonable ledge. When he got both feet lodged on it and one hand with a secure grip, he lay against the rock. But instead of gaining relief, he had the flushing sensation within him of an insidious sickness. He could feel his flesh going weak, dissolving. And in the core of that weakness, panic stirred.
His teeth gritted, he whipped up his will, he looked up, saw that there was barely his own height yet to accomplish, but saw also that the rock appeared to bulge outward. He whipped up his anger to whip his will. His will might last for a couple of minutes.
He heard Angus's voice, low and intense, stinging him on. Here was the bulge of rock. He could not do it. His left foot scraped against the rock, scrambled wildly for a hold. He was going! God Almighty, he was done! The rushing impact of the spaces below began to assail his senses.â¦
His foot was gripped.
“Go on, damn it, go on!”
His foot was being heaved upward. His right hand gripped round a small boss of rock. His belly was on the verge. His feet kicked free. Digging his fingers in, he drew himself over the ledge, lay on his face, and let the breath sob in his throat.
From the ledge to which he had climbed down, Angus looked up at the vacant rock, then let his forehead fall against the cold surface. He was feeling a trifle sick himself and very weak. A late night and too much drink didn't help a temperate fellow! He swore softly to himself. The danger he stood in was a gentle solace. There was no need to hurry.
Geoffrey's voice wakened him. He looked up and saw the face and knew, deep in his bowels, that he hated it. His body felt light as he heaved upward. Geoffrey stretched out a hand.
“It's all right,” said Angus, surmounting the verge in his own fashion without help.
“It's steeper than I thought,” said Geoffrey.
“It's a bit steep,” said Angus.
Geoffrey was constrained in his mind and sick in his body. His eyes were intolerant. He had conquered the rock. He kept his chin up, his mouth shut. He was going to conquer King Brude. He held himself together, his breath noisy in his nostrils. For a stalker to help his gentleman over difficulties was part of his job. That's what he was paid for. The gentleman took it for granted. The stalker had the reward of duty well done. And perhaps the real gentleman did not altogether forget it when it came to giving a tip.
Angus sat waiting for Geoffrey. And after a minute or two, Geoffrey turned for the crest.
It was an easy climb, a walk in fact, until the crest was at hand. Then Angus, selecting his spot, crawled up to it, Geoffrey at his heels and the rifle ready. Angus motioned Geoffrey up beside him.
King Brude had got up and was eating towards the boulders on the other side which they had so recently left.
The distance was still no more than about a hundred and fifty yards, but the shot was difficult because the stag was facing directly away from them.
Angus began to whisper: “Get ready. I'll draw the attention of the toady, if I can. King Brude will then swing round and look this way. Don't waste time. The only chance before he gets out of range.”
Geoffrey had no sooner got the rifle trained on King Brude, than that guardian of the great, the toady, whose body was three-quarters on, raised his head and looked directly at him. King Brude paid no attention. The toady made a warning movement. King Brude lifted his head over his shoulder; turned slightly to get a better look.
“Now!” breathed Angus.
Geoffrey fired. There was the splash of the bullet in a pool of shallow water beyond. It had gone just over the shoulder.
“Missed!” said Angus.
King Brude took a prancing stride or two. He was still uncertain, and paused an instant, the great head questing them. The rifle cracked.
Then King Brude leapt into action, and went flashing up the corrie after the bounding toady.
“Quick!” cried Angus. “Quick! For God's sake, fire!”
Geoffrey, on his feet, fired twice, but the shots were wild.
“Give me that!” Angus snatched the rifle from his hands. “Your second got him in the guts.” And, turning from Geoffrey, he began running after the deer.
Geoffrey shouted at him, followed for a few lumbering steps, maddened, then sat down, his teeth showing as the lips drew back.
But he was exhausted. And, anyway, it was the stalker's duty to follow up and secure a wounded beast. Whatever happened he, Geoffrey, had shot King Brude! The stag would die. Death might be delayed, but death was certain. The bullet, a little too far back, had merely missed an immediately vital part. Geoffrey experienced a slow-spreading satisfaction, for until Angus had spoken he thought he had missed altogether. He watched his stalker until he had disappeared, then lay back for a little rest.
As it happened, Geoffrey's instinct to trust Angus now was not misplaced. For Angus would follow King Brude, day and night, until one or other of them gave in. And the mood defeated tiredness in his body.
It was a long hunt, for more than once the watchful young stag defeated Angus. King Brude was sick and wanted no more than a quiet place in which to rest.
They crossed the march into Glenan Forest as the late afternoon light threw long shadows. Angus watched them through his glass. If they kept going straight ahead across the moorland, darkness would defeat him that night. But King Brude's growing sickness was clearly too much for the long expanse and he turned towards broken rising ground on the right that lay north-east of the upper reaches of the Corr. Angus deflected his course to come up wind against this territory of which he knew little beyond its general lie or formation. He had no thought of trespass, for the tradition between neighbouring forests permitted the following of a badly wounded deer across a march.
But again, after a careful stalk, the young stag, moving about restlessly, saw him, for he trotted about with consternation, and Angus, acting on instinct (King Brude was invisible), made a movement with arm and head that in an instant turned consternation into panic. Wheeling on his hind legs, he bolted away at full gallop.
He shut the glass and slid towards Geoffrey, who had turned over on his left side and closed his eyes. But the mouth was deliberately shut and breath came through the nostrils. Their way back was below them. They would simply get up and go, and this man would never know.
Angus sat upright, looked at the grey face, the intolerance of the drawn lips, the material force of the rounded head, the fleshy dominance, and looked away from it across that northern world of moor and hill. The sun was warm and cast shadows. Far as the eye could travel there were mountain ridges, in dark browns, in misty blues, and in the hollows of ultimate ridges stood back the shadowy cones of ultimate peaks. Nothing moved over these vast solitudes, nothing stirred out of that warm timeless sleep.
“Well?”
Angus half-turned but did not look at him. “He's there,” he said on a quiet undertone.
Geoffrey's body swung slowly upward until he was supporting it with his palms.
“Who?” His whisper was harsh.
“King Brude,” said Angus.
For several seconds there was complete immobility, utter silence. Then Geoffrey scrambled into forceful life and demanded of Angus what he thought he was trying to do.
“I was merely thinking”, lied Angus calmly, “of the best way of getting at him.”
Geoffrey regarded him with the mistrust naturally born out of lack of understanding. Angus fixed the telescope and handed it to Geoffrey. “Come here.”
It took Geoffrey a long time to pick up the antlers, but at last he did. And then he, too, grew quiet. For in his excitement, he could not speak. He plucked a blade of hill grass, gnawed at it, spat it out, and asked, “What do you suggest?”
“It's difficult,” said Angus. “We cannot get near enough from this side. And we can't come in from anywhere beyond, because of the wind. The only approach would be across wind from directly behind and above him. And we can't do that because right round that off side is a face of rock. If we went beyond the rock, farther round, then the wind might carry our scent over the shoulder and down into the corrie.”
Geoffrey nodded, his brows knitted. “You think we should wait here till he gets up?”
“There doesn't seem to be much else. When he gets up he'll begin feeding. If he comes this way, we're in a perfect place, and the chances are he will, because it is now the afternoon and he will tend to feed down to the lower ground.” He spoke evenly. “But he might go on up the corrie, across the ridge, and down into the main glen beyond, or perhaps out over the march, for Glenan lies in that directionâthough there's no signs on him yet, for the high-hill stag is always a bit later. If he goes that way, we're in the wrong place. I doubt if we could come round on him in time. Though we might.”
Geoffrey was thoughtful, the domineering quality in him quite gone. “Are you sure there's no way up behind?”
“Up the rock? I have never done it.”
“Has anyone?”
“Alick has done it.”
Geoffrey looked at him, but Angus did not meet the look.
“Shouldn't we at least see if we can do it?”
“Whatever you say,” said Angus.
Geoffrey's look grew sharper. “Angus! What do you mean exactly?”
“It's whatever you say,” replied Angus without stress. “He may get up at any time to feed.”
“You think we should stay here?” Geoffrey was watching him.
“Yes.”
Geoffrey had seen a dour mood at work in Angus before, generally after there had been some too direct expression of opinion on his own part. He could be touchy, but usually got over it before very long, and in the heat of the actual hunt itself there had always been a natural unanimity between them, for he recognised in Angus a hunter as keen as himself. He could never wish for a better stalker, would never want a better, and any temporary differences were to Geoffrey afterwards, when he had won through, a matter for humorous reflection. That a stalker should be independent and express himself in full at moments of stress was “in character”, was in the forest tradition. But now there was a mysterious something extra in Angus's mood that Geoffrey could not fathom and that, by force of his own nature, he must mistrust.
“I should like to see this place that Alick can climb and you and I can't.”
“Very good, sir.” Angus put the telescope in its leather case and slung it round his back. Without looking at Geoffrey, he picked up the rifle and started off.
He went carefully, giving Geoffrey plenty of time. His manner was quiet and efficient. He had every consideration for his gentleman. He brought him across rough ground below the corrie and then on to smooth ground that sloped so steeply that they had to grip the hillside with a hand. Geoffrey found this side-walking very tiring to his knee. The general body weakness he put down to lack of food. When at last Angus brought him under the long curving terrace of rock, all his muscles were tremulous and his brow cold.
He saw that the place to which Angus pointed was the only way up. It seemed to Geoffrey simple enough and he said so. Couldn't be more than fifteen feet high, wasn't perpendicular, and had obvious projections and fissures for hands and feet.
Angus nodded. “Very good, sir,” he said. “Would you like a couple of minutes' rest first? I could try it.”
He spoke so simply, in undertones, that Geoffrey experienced a slight pang of remorse, and he glanced at Angus with that perceptible goggle of the eyes that implied a chuckle was not far away, if need be. But Angus was apparently still a little on his high horse. So “You sit down for a minute, too. You need it,” he said, with consideration.
Angus shook his head and went up the few yards to the foot of the climb and began examining it. As Geoffrey joined him, he asked who should go first.
“You go,” murmured Geoffrey. “Then I could catch you if you fall.”
Angus's vague smile may have been an acknowledgement of the joke. “It's much steeper than it looks,” was all he said. He began to climb.
Geoffrey saw the feet feeling for holds, the fingers gripping. A little to the right. A step or two up. A little to the left. Was it higher than he had thought? More difficult? He got a crick in his neck and swayed as he lowered his headâand looked below him. The ground sloped very steeply indeed. If Angus dislodged a lump of rock, it would not simply roll down; it would leap and bound and bury itself far below. If his body fell from the rock face, it would get a flying start!
And Angus was having a slight difficulty quite near the top. The rifle, slung to his back, was tending to get in his way. But there he wasâupâand over. Good!
Angus faced down. “Don't try it!” he said, in low earnest tones.
Geoffrey was apparently amused. He caught his staff by its bone ferrule and threw it wildly over Angus's head, half losing his balance as he did so and grabbing at the earth. The idea that he could not do what Alick had done! That he would have to admit defeat before Angus! He kept himself amused and tackled the rock.
For there was no need to get excited about a thing like this, and certainly absurd to let fear touch the flesh.
Quite absurd. But it was annoying not to be able always to get a proper grip with the hands. It was impossible to look down and study the next hold for the feet. The sheer pressure on the fingers was at times very great. And that damned knee of hisâhe hardly dared risk giving it the body's full weight in a straining upward step. Thank God, here at last was a reasonable ledge. When he got both feet lodged on it and one hand with a secure grip, he lay against the rock. But instead of gaining relief, he had the flushing sensation within him of an insidious sickness. He could feel his flesh going weak, dissolving. And in the core of that weakness, panic stirred.
His teeth gritted, he whipped up his will, he looked up, saw that there was barely his own height yet to accomplish, but saw also that the rock appeared to bulge outward. He whipped up his anger to whip his will. His will might last for a couple of minutes.
He heard Angus's voice, low and intense, stinging him on. Here was the bulge of rock. He could not do it. His left foot scraped against the rock, scrambled wildly for a hold. He was going! God Almighty, he was done! The rushing impact of the spaces below began to assail his senses.â¦
His foot was gripped.
“Go on, damn it, go on!”
His foot was being heaved upward. His right hand gripped round a small boss of rock. His belly was on the verge. His feet kicked free. Digging his fingers in, he drew himself over the ledge, lay on his face, and let the breath sob in his throat.
From the ledge to which he had climbed down, Angus looked up at the vacant rock, then let his forehead fall against the cold surface. He was feeling a trifle sick himself and very weak. A late night and too much drink didn't help a temperate fellow! He swore softly to himself. The danger he stood in was a gentle solace. There was no need to hurry.
Geoffrey's voice wakened him. He looked up and saw the face and knew, deep in his bowels, that he hated it. His body felt light as he heaved upward. Geoffrey stretched out a hand.
“It's all right,” said Angus, surmounting the verge in his own fashion without help.
“It's steeper than I thought,” said Geoffrey.
“It's a bit steep,” said Angus.
Geoffrey was constrained in his mind and sick in his body. His eyes were intolerant. He had conquered the rock. He kept his chin up, his mouth shut. He was going to conquer King Brude. He held himself together, his breath noisy in his nostrils. For a stalker to help his gentleman over difficulties was part of his job. That's what he was paid for. The gentleman took it for granted. The stalker had the reward of duty well done. And perhaps the real gentleman did not altogether forget it when it came to giving a tip.
Angus sat waiting for Geoffrey. And after a minute or two, Geoffrey turned for the crest.
It was an easy climb, a walk in fact, until the crest was at hand. Then Angus, selecting his spot, crawled up to it, Geoffrey at his heels and the rifle ready. Angus motioned Geoffrey up beside him.
King Brude had got up and was eating towards the boulders on the other side which they had so recently left.
The distance was still no more than about a hundred and fifty yards, but the shot was difficult because the stag was facing directly away from them.
Angus began to whisper: “Get ready. I'll draw the attention of the toady, if I can. King Brude will then swing round and look this way. Don't waste time. The only chance before he gets out of range.”
Geoffrey had no sooner got the rifle trained on King Brude, than that guardian of the great, the toady, whose body was three-quarters on, raised his head and looked directly at him. King Brude paid no attention. The toady made a warning movement. King Brude lifted his head over his shoulder; turned slightly to get a better look.
“Now!” breathed Angus.
Geoffrey fired. There was the splash of the bullet in a pool of shallow water beyond. It had gone just over the shoulder.
“Missed!” said Angus.
King Brude took a prancing stride or two. He was still uncertain, and paused an instant, the great head questing them. The rifle cracked.
Then King Brude leapt into action, and went flashing up the corrie after the bounding toady.
“Quick!” cried Angus. “Quick! For God's sake, fire!”
Geoffrey, on his feet, fired twice, but the shots were wild.
“Give me that!” Angus snatched the rifle from his hands. “Your second got him in the guts.” And, turning from Geoffrey, he began running after the deer.
Geoffrey shouted at him, followed for a few lumbering steps, maddened, then sat down, his teeth showing as the lips drew back.
But he was exhausted. And, anyway, it was the stalker's duty to follow up and secure a wounded beast. Whatever happened he, Geoffrey, had shot King Brude! The stag would die. Death might be delayed, but death was certain. The bullet, a little too far back, had merely missed an immediately vital part. Geoffrey experienced a slow-spreading satisfaction, for until Angus had spoken he thought he had missed altogether. He watched his stalker until he had disappeared, then lay back for a little rest.
As it happened, Geoffrey's instinct to trust Angus now was not misplaced. For Angus would follow King Brude, day and night, until one or other of them gave in. And the mood defeated tiredness in his body.
It was a long hunt, for more than once the watchful young stag defeated Angus. King Brude was sick and wanted no more than a quiet place in which to rest.
They crossed the march into Glenan Forest as the late afternoon light threw long shadows. Angus watched them through his glass. If they kept going straight ahead across the moorland, darkness would defeat him that night. But King Brude's growing sickness was clearly too much for the long expanse and he turned towards broken rising ground on the right that lay north-east of the upper reaches of the Corr. Angus deflected his course to come up wind against this territory of which he knew little beyond its general lie or formation. He had no thought of trespass, for the tradition between neighbouring forests permitted the following of a badly wounded deer across a march.
But again, after a careful stalk, the young stag, moving about restlessly, saw him, for he trotted about with consternation, and Angus, acting on instinct (King Brude was invisible), made a movement with arm and head that in an instant turned consternation into panic. Wheeling on his hind legs, he bolted away at full gallop.
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