The Treasure of the Isle of Mist Part 9

"Generally," corrected Artemis, loyally. "Will you make them fall down dead?"

Fiona explained that she only wanted to catch one and talk to it.

"We never saw that done," said Apollo. "But we will find one, and then you can catch it."

"It's very early for woodc.o.c.k," said Artemis. "There won't be any in the heather on the second of October. But there may be an early pair in the ferns."

"The first ones always pitch in the ferns on Glenollisdal," said Apollo.

So to Glenollisdal they went, down the sh.o.r.e road and across the little bridge and then by the shepherd's track along the top of the black cliffs, over gra.s.s and stones all rough and white with the frost. The cold morning air was like new wine, and Fiona had to shade her eyes from the low sun. Then the track left the cliffs and began to climb up a sunless valley, across little burns beautiful with fading ferns, till between two great moorland crags it reached the pa.s.s, more a watercourse now than a track; and then came the cairn at the summit of the pa.s.s, with its glorious view of sea and mountain, and down at one's very feet the deep narrow valley that was Glenollisdal, seamed from crest to foot by its deep burn, which ran half its length through faded brown heather and then out to sea through a huge bed of dying bracken, the whole bathed in the bright morning sun.

"We always come here the first day," said Apollo. "Oh, we are going to have fun."

The three followed the track down to where it pa.s.sed the top of the fern bed. There was a good deal of gra.s.s there, dotted with sheep, and in one place, looking well out to sea, a curious little hard circle in the gra.s.s, where no sheep ever came.

"That is the fairy ring," said Artemis. "Where they dance, you know."

"They dance on All Hallows E'en," said Apollo. "But no one ever sees them."

"Because everyone's afraid to go and look," said Artemis.

"Please, may we start?" said Apollo.

"All you have to do is to wait till we point," said Artemis, "and then come to us."

And the two dogs dashed off into the great fern bed, crossing each other backwards and forwards like a pair of scissors as they quartered it.

They were not long about it. Apollo's gallop became a sort of run, a yard or two of stealthy crawl, and he stopped dead, tail stiff and throat distended, like a dog of marble, and looked round for Fiona.

Artemis was just crossing him; she whipped round in her stride as if shot and became a second marble image where she stood.

Fiona walked down to Apollo. But the ferns rustled a good deal as she made her way through, and as she reached the dog's side the c.o.c.k rose, five yards away, with a lazy careless flap as if it felt only the bother of being disturbed. For a moment she had a vivid impression of the white patches at the end of its fan of tail feathers, and then it gradually gathered speed and swept away over the side of the valley; for an instant it showed black as it crossed the sky line, and then it was gone.

Apollo turned to Fiona with unhappy eyes and licked her hand. But Artemis never moved a muscle.

"Come to me," she said in a low whisper.

Very quietly Fiona reached her side.

"The other bird is here," whispered Artemis, "just under my nose.

Stoop down."

Fiona bent down between the stalks of the bracken. The woodc.o.c.k was sitting with its back to her, a little brown bunch of feathers. Very gently she put her hand out, and even as she did so she became aware of a wise black eye looking at her, though the bird faced the other way. Her hand closed on the empty air, and the woodc.o.c.k, with a wonderful spring, was well on its way to seek its mate.

"I believe I could have put a foot on it," said Artemis regretfully.

"But of course we are not allowed to."

"I don't know how I came to be so foolish," said Fiona. "I ought to have spoken to it instead of trying to catch it. But I forgot."

"Better luck next time," said Apollo; "we must try again."

But though the dogs worked the whole of the ferns carefully, there was no other bird there.

They came back and lay down beside Fiona, tongues out and panting.

"It's no use trying the heather yet, I know," said Artemis. "Birds are never in it at this time of year."

"There are some more ferns two miles on," said Apollo doubtfully. "I saw a bird there once, three years ago."

"I wish I knew what to do," said Fiona.

"We can leave it for a day or two and come back," said Artemis. "Those two birds will be back again to look for each other."

"But they won't be so confiding again," added Apollo.

They were all so preoccupied that they never noticed the shepherd till he was quite close to them. He was striding down the track, a big, raw-boned man with red hair; a plaid was thrown loosely across his shoulder; at his heels followed a jet black collie.

The dogs saw him first. It would seem that they did not like him.

Every hair on their necks bristled; they shrank close to Fiona, making little moaning noises in their throats, and flattening themselves as if they were trying to burrow into the ground. Their eyes were full of terror.

"Why, Artemis, Apollo, what's the matter?" said Fiona. Then she looked up and saw the shepherd. "Why, it's only the new shepherd and his collie. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Collie!" said Apollo. "That thing's not a collie. Can't you see?"

"Shepherd!" echoed Artemis. "That thing's not a shepherd. Oh, can't you see?"

The shepherd came up to Fiona, and said that Miss Fiona was out early and was there anything he could be doing for her. He spoke in the soft correct English of the Gael.

"I came out to catch a woodc.o.c.k to talk to it," said Fiona, "and we can't catch one."

It occurred to her, even as she spoke, that the statement sounded a little out of the ordinary. But the rough shepherd never let the least sign of this show on his face. He answered in the most matter-of-fact way, with the gentle courtesy of the west coast, that there would not be many woodc.o.c.k in yet, and would he try to catch one for Miss Fiona?

"Oh, do you think you could?" said Fiona eagerly. "I should be so grateful."

Then the shepherd saw the trouble of the dogs. He said something to them in a language that was neither English nor Gaelic, and waved his own dog to go. The collie went straight off up the moor, and sat down on the top of the nearest rock ledge, an odd little blot of black on the brown and yellow moorland. Apollo and Artemis got up and shook themselves violently.

"It was the international pa.s.sword," said Apollo. "Goodness knows where he got it from. But we have to recognize it."

"I'm not happy," said Artemis. "I was well brought up. I never a.s.sociated with this sort of thing before."

Fiona, who knew that a new shepherd had been coming, could make nothing of their trouble, and did her best to smooth them down. The shepherd led the way up the hill, and on to a little rough plateau broken with rocks and bits of heather, lying under the main rise of the hill where it rounds away toward the Glenollisdal burn. "I am thinking that there should be a woodc.o.c.k about here," he said.

"This is one of the earliest places in all the heather," whispered Artemis to Fiona. "He must know this moor very well."

"It's too early yet, all the same, even for here," said Apollo.

It looked as if Apollo were right. For when at the shepherd's request Fiona threw the dogs off, they quartered the whole plateau and found nothing.

But the shepherd stuck to his guns.