Great Britain -- History -- 18th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English; West Riding of Yorkshire (England) -- Fiction
They awoke at seven o’clock, and he passed to the opening. As it had
happened, seven o’clock was not a minute too early for them to have
awakened. A fresh morning breeze stirred, and the ridge they had passed
showed through a sunny haze, shot with gold and grey and tender purple.
Down the hillside moved slowly a party of redcoats, and, their heads
visible from time to time and again hidden in the heather, four dogs
tugged at their leashes.
“Why don’t the fools loose ’em?” Monjoy muttered grimly. “Ay, they’re
town-bred.--Come, Cis, we’ll not stay for breakfast.”
He patted his pockets as if to make sure of something, and then looked
to the priming of a pair of pistols that Cicely did not know he
carried.
CHAPTER XVI.
COVER.
“Cis,” he said, anxiously, his hand at the screen of heather that closed
the mouth of their retreat, “you’ve got to get over Soyland alone, and
unseen. I’m going to show you a crack that will take you nearly to the
top. Except at the very top, there are stones enough and heather enough
to cover you, but you may have to creep. You’ll have to watch both
behind and ahead, for you mustn’t be seen and you mustn’t walk into the
arms of a sentry. They’re a good quarter of a mile apart--they can’t
cover a hundred miles of country--you can get through easily. I’m going
south a little way: listen where you’re to wait for me. You’ll cross
Soyland, sighting by a large cairn you’ll see on Brotherton Head. Under
it, among the heather, there’s an old square stone shaft and some
birches. I’ll be there in an hour. I’ll take Jimmy with me.--Now repeat
that after me.”
He could scarce hear her faint reply, and he shook her gently.
“Come now; I know you can be a brave and clever girl. I’ll tell you
again....”
She repeated the instructions after him, and then he said, “Quick, a
kiss ... now out you go!” He helped her through the opening and saw her
immediately and swiftly take the shelter of a large boulder.
“Yes, that’s the way,” he said approvingly; “yonder’s the foot of the
nick. Go quickly up it--take the risk--and then forward. Now....”
He dropped on his knees, marked the position of the bloodhounds across
the valley, noted their pace, and was off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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