If they bring the gold you shall pursue your road
at your pleasure even with a piece for yourself, for we are nothing if
not generous! If they do not bring it, why, then, of course--!"
Ian had long been bedfellow of wild adventure. He thought that he knew
the mood in which it was best met. The mood represented the grist of
much subtle effort, comparing, adjustment, and readjustment. He
cultivated it now. The banditti admired courage, coolness, and good
humor. They had provision of food and wine, the sun still shone warm.
The robber hold was set amid dark, gipsy beauty.
The sun went down, the moon came up. Ian, lying upon shaggy skins,
knew well that to-morrow night--the night after at most--he might not
see the sun descend, the moon arise. What then?
Alexander Jardine, sailing from Scotland, came to Lisbon a month after
Ian Rullock. He knew the name of the ship that had carried the
fugitive, and fortune had it that she was yet in this port, waiting
for her return lading. He found the captain, learned that Ian had
transhipped north to Vigo. He followed. At Vigo he picked up a further
trace and began again to follow. He followed across Spain on the long
road to France. He had money, horses, servants when he needed them,
skill in travel, a tireless, great frame, a consuming purpose. He made
mistakes in roads and rectified them; followed false clues, then
turned squarely from them and obtained another leading.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269