CHAPTER XXI.

A HAWK SCREAMS IN THE EVENING

Those two days in the stockade were like a rift of sun in a stormy day,
and the next morn the clouds descended. The face of nature seemed to be
a mirror of our fortunes, for when I woke the freshness had gone out of
the air, and in the overcast sky there was a forewarning of storm. But
the little party in the camp remained cheerful enough. Donaldson and
Bertrand went off to their trapping; Elspeth was braiding her hair, the
handsomest nymph that ever trod these woodlands, and trying in vain to
discover from the discreet Ringan where he came from, and what was his
calling. The two Borderers knew well who he was; Grey, I think, had a
suspicion; but it never entered the girl's head that this debonair
gentleman bore the best known name in all the Americas. She fancied he
was some exiled Jacobite, and was ready to hear a pitiful romance. This
at another time she would have readily got; but Ringan for the nonce
was in a sober mood, and though he would talk of Breadalbane, was chary
of touching on more recent episodes. All she learned was that he was a
great traveller, and had tried most callings that merit a gentleman's
interest.

The day before, Shalah and I had explored the range to the south,
keeping on the west side where we thought the enemy were likely to
gather. This day we looked to the side facing the Tidewater, a
difficult job, for it was eaten into by the upper glens of many rivers.
The weather grew hot and oppressive, and over the lowlands of Virginia