The goodman was well pleased with his catch, and Stephen licked his
lips over the look of the larder. And the next day the lad let Stephen
go alone to the hill, and he himself took a horse and went up the
water a ten miles toward the mountain, and there he slew a hart of ten
tines with one arrow, and brought the quarry home across the horse, to
the joy of all the household, and the goodman was not rueing his
bargain with Stephen the Eater. So it went on that every two or three
days Osberne fared afield after catch, and but seldom came home
empty-handed, and the other days he did as he would and went where he
listed. And now he began to follow the rede of Steelhead, and went
oftenest by the side of the Sundering Flood, but as yet he had gone up
the water and not down.
Chapter IX. The Bight of the Cloven Knoll
And now it was mid-April, and the goodman dight him to ride to a mote
of the neighbours at a stead hight Bullmeads, where the Dalesmen were
wont to gather in the spring, that they might ride thence all together
to the town of Eastcheaping and sell the autumn clip of wool and do
other chaffer. So the carle goes his ways alone, and will be one night
at Bullmeads and two at Eastcheaping, and then another at Bullmeads,
and be back on the fifth day. And when he was gone comes Stephen to
Osberne, and says: "Young master, I am going presently to the hill
with the sheep, and thou needest neither to go with me nor fare
a-hunting today, since the house is full of meat; so thou art free,
and were I in thy shoes I would go straight from this door down to the
water-side, and see if thou mayst not happen on something fair or
seldom seen. But hearken to my rede, if thou comest on aught such,
thou hast no need to tell of it to any one, not even to me. [And it
were not amiss to do on they coat of scarlet.]"
Osberne thanks him, and takes his bow of arrows and goes his way and
comes to the riverside and turns his face south, and goes slowly along
the very edge of the water; and the water itself drew his eyes down to
gaze on the dark green deeps and fierce downlong swirl of the stream,
with its sharp clean lines as if they were carven in steel, and the
curling and upheaval and sudden changing of the talking eddies: so
that he scarce might see the familiar greensward of the further shore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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