Pay the Devil. Jack Higgins
Читать онлайн книгу.
It was a quiet night, the only sound a dog barking several fields away. Then the bank of cloud rolled away from the moon and the countryside was bathed in a hard, white light. The sky was incredibly beautiful, with stars strung away to the horizon where the hills lifted uneasily to meet them.
At that moment, he became aware of another sound, a hollow drumming that was somehow familiar. As he leaned out of the window, a rider, etched against the sky, appeared from the trees beyond the courtyard and galloped along the rim of the valley where the moors began.
As he watched, the rider reined in his mount sharply so that it reared up on its hind legs. For a brief moment, the horse and rider were like a statue, completely immobile. Clay stared up toward them and suddenly, for no reason he could analyse, knew he was being watched. As he drew back quickly, a gay mocking laugh drifted down toward him and the horse snorted and leapt forward, as if the spurs had been applied, and disappeared over the rim of the valley.
Clay dressed hurriedly, his brain clear and cool. There had been too many mysteries already at Claremont; this was one he intended to solve. He went downstairs silently, boots in one hand, and paused in the kitchen to put them on. A moment later, he was crossing the courtyard to the stables.
He opened the door, allowing the moonlight to stream inside, and as he moved toward the black mare through the darkness, she whinnied softly as if she had been expecting him. He found a saddle and bridle hanging by the stall. They were of English make and lighter than he was used to, but he quickly led the animal out of her stall and saddled her.
As he tightened the girth, there was the scrape of a shoe behind him and he turned quickly. Joshua was standing there, reproach large upon his face. ‘Damn your eyes for an old night-owl,’ Clay told him.
Joshua sighed. ‘What you do nights is your own affair, Colonel, but going by what’s happened already, you’d be doing me a favour if you took this.’ He held out a belt from which was suspended the Dragoon Colt in its black leather holster.
Clay took it from him and buckled it about his waist. ‘Anything for peace. I swear you’re more fussy than an old woman.’ He swung up into the saddle. ‘Now go back to bed – that’s an order.’ He clicked his tongue and the mare moved out of the stable door and across the courtyard before Joshua could reply.
When he reached the rim of the valley, he paused and looked about him. The dog still barked hollowly in the distance, the sound somehow bringing back to him so many hot summer nights in Georgia, when, as a boy, he was unable to sleep and had longed to do just this.
He urged the mare into a canter, and as they came out onto a stretch of springy turf, broke into a gallop. It was an exhilarating experience as he crouched low over her neck, the wind cold on his face. They must have covered a good mile when he started to rein in and halted beside a clump of trees.
He leaned down and gently rubbed the mare’s ears. ‘You beauty!’ he said softly. ‘You little beauty!’ And the mare tossed her head and rolled her eyes as if understanding what he said and liking it.
A horse whinnied from somewhere nearby, and as the mare replied, he hastily turned into the trees and dismounted. Several horsemen appeared over a small rise no more than twenty or thirty yards away. They paused and he heard one of them say quite clearly, ‘It was a horse, I tell you, and not far from here.’
Clay placed a hand over the mare’s muzzle and waited. One of the men laughed. ‘You’re jumpy tonight, Patrick, and that’s the truth of it. What’s there to be worrying about, with Burke and his men waiting at the north end of the estate for poachers who’ll never turn up?’
They moved forward and a string of pack animals followed them from behind the rise. Clay waited until they had disappeared over the skyline a quarter of a mile away before following them.
As he topped the rise, a strong wind started to blow in his face and he ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the salt and knowing that he must be very near to the sea. The string of horses had disappeared and he paused and examined the landscape.
The moor itself was clearly exposed in the bright moonlight, but a narrow valley cut through it, dark with shadow, and he realized that this was the route they had taken. He started to move forward again and reined in sharply as a stone rattled somewhere behind him. He turned in the saddle, but there was no one there.
He waited for a little while, but nothing moved and he shrugged and took the mare down the slope, her hoofbeats silent on the turf, and entered the valley.
A well-defined path lay clearly before him and he urged his mount into a canter, eyes probing the darkness ahead. Ten minutes later, the track started to drop steeply and he stopped. Somewhere below, the sea surged against rocks and he heard voices.
He took the mare straight up the sloping side of the little valley and emerged onto a flat spread of turf that ran gently down to the cliff edge a short distance away. He dismounted and walked forward cautiously.
The bay was crescent-shaped and beautiful in the moonlight. A schooner lay a hundred yards offshore, sails furled, the tracery of her rigging like black lace against the night. He flung himself down on his face and peered over the edge of the cliff. It dropped cleanly to the beach below, the valley path appearing to be the only route down.
The horses were standing at the water’s edge and several men were unloading a longboat with a skill which argued a long experience at the task. They appeared to be enjoying themselves, and there was some horseplay as two of them waded through the surf to the boat. A laugh drifted up, clear in the night air.
‘At least we now know where Cohan obtains his excellent brandy,’ Clay mused softly, and at that moment, the cliff edge started to crumble beneath his weight.
A shower of stones and earth rattled down the face of the cliff to the beach below and the men grouped round the boat turned in the same second and looked up toward him. A piercing whistle cut through the night, and as he scrambled to his feet and turned to run, someone fired a shot, the bullet droning into the night.
Obviously the operation was not being as carelessly conducted as he had imagined, for, as he swung a leg over the mare’s back, three horsemen appeared over the rim of the valley and galloped toward him.
He gave the mare her head and she responded well. As they reached the first swell of the moors, he leaned low over her neck, urging her on with coaxing words. He could hear the cries of his pursuers behind him, and the mare hardly faltered as she scrambled up and over the rise.
He was now passing over unfamiliar ground, and as the moors started to lift on either hand, he realized that he had entered a narrow valley. He glanced back over his shoulder. The first horseman was no more than fifty yards behind him and he urged the mare forward, allowing her to pick her own way over the boulder-strewn ground.
A moment later, he cursed and reined in sharply. He had reached a dead end, a blank wall of stone that lifted forty or fifty feet into the night, with a stunted thorn tree growing at the top if it. On either side, the valley slope was as steep as a house roof.
He was not afraid as he heard the first of his pursuers enter the valley, simply annoyed that violence should be forced upon him. He drew the Dragoon Colt, moonlight glinting on its brass frame, and waited as he had waited so many times in the past, with no fear in him now that the moment was at hand.
A gay mocking laugh that was somehow familiar floated down from the clifftop, and he turned in the saddle, arm extended to fire. The rider he had first seen from his bedroom window no more than an hour earlier, had appeared beside the thorn tree.
‘Let the mare try the slope if you want to save your skin, Colonel,’ a clear voice called. ‘She can do it, I promise you.’
Clay didn’t hesitate. His pursuers were almost upon him. He fired once into the air to hold them and urged the mare toward the steep side of the valley.
She responded magnificently. He leaned low over her neck, placing his weight forward. A few feet from the rim of the valley, she started to slip on the wet turf. He jumped from her back, grabbed the bridle in one hand and scrambled up,