Read Online The Maggie by James Dillon White - Free Book Online Page A

they are not coming I’ll go and look for them myself.’ He turned towards the engineman, ‘But I insist that you come with me.’
    McGregor looked at the Skipper with surprise, then, catching his shrug, stepped off the boat and followed the determined Pusey down the road. When he came to the copse he looked back, but the Skipper, who was puffing slowly at his pipe, clearly did not know what to do next.
    Although he was hardly dressed for a country walk Pusey jumped without hesitation into the trees and began to plod slowly uphill. It was rough going, as he soon found, and the fact that McGregor, who was following some way behind, seemed to regard him with the tolerant amusement one affords to an eccentric or a lunatic only spurred on his determination. He stumbled in the bracken, caught his smart city trousers in the brambles, but still, angry and perspiring, managed to keep going.
    The hill they were climbing was rough moorland, dotted here and there with clumps of trees. As Pusey came from one of these copses on to the open heath he turned to wait for McGregor and to regain his breath. Below, like a band of gold, was the canal with the Maggie still moored by the bridge. He turned towards McGregor, who was still coming leisurely up the hill.
    â€˜Where can they be? They can’t have gone very far.’
    â€˜Would it no’ be better, Mr Pusey, to wait for them at the boat?’
    Pusey would dearly have liked to agree, but he could not risk being outsmarted again. He pointed to the woods ahead. ‘I’ll look over here. You take that side.’
    He waited until the engineman had climbed in the direction indicated, then he too climbed with weary knees against the slope. He stumbled tiredly through the woods and, finding no sign of the mate or the boy, paused where the trees were thinning on the other side. Resting with one hand against the rough bark of a pine tree he looked out over the sunlit moorland beyond, and then, suddenly, two figures moved into his vision. At first he assumed that they must be the crew of the Maggie . Then, as he saw them more distinctly, he realised that they must be connected with the estate.
    Although they were some way away he could see them clearly – an elderly, angry-looking man with a shotgun, and a smaller but equally fierce man with a stick. The laird and factor? The laird’s angry voice came down the hillside. ‘They’re here somewhere. They’ll not get away this time. Go and fetch the constable.’
    â€˜Aye, sir!’ The factor trudged sturdily down the hill.
    It occurred to Pusey immediately that however innocent he might be it would be impolitic to show himself to the laird at that moment, so he stood discreetly hidden in the darkness beneath the trees. He knew that he had no cause for fear, but he watched thankfully as the laird, with shotgun at the ready, prowled round the further clump of trees.
    Then, unexpectedly, he heard someone crashing through the undergrowth of the copse he was in. At first he thought it must be the factor. The laird had heard him too and was coming wrathfully down the hill. Pusey looked nervously as the drama moved unexpectedly in his direction. The footsteps had stopped, but then a voice, McGregor’s voice, called hoarsely, ‘Hamish! Hamish!’
    Hearing the unmistakable sound the laird came charging downhill. Outside the copse he halted, plainly undecided where to go, but he bellowed confidently, ‘I know you’re in there! Come out!’ McGregor did not obey. Nor did Pusey. He realised that once again he was a victim of a ridiculous mischance. But if he stayed quite still . . .
    The laird was coming towards Pusey when from the further copse uphill a figure came running quickly across the open gap. He was a seaman, obviously, despite the gun in his hand and the dead pheasant. The mate! Pusey watched with agonised apprehension, terrified that the mate would not reach the