The Underworld Part 18

That had happened a year ago, and though Robert sought to learn when she was in the village, and often watched her from a safe place where he was not seen, delighting his eyes with the sight of her figure, and feeling again the same hot shame come over him, as he had known that day on the moor, yet he had never met her near enough to speak to her, but had wors.h.i.+ped her at a distance and grown to love and desire her more and more with every day that pa.s.sed.

He dreamed dreams around her, but was afraid to encounter her again.

This strange mad love burned in his blood, until at times he was almost sick with desire and love. Every moor-bird called her name; every flower held the shyness of her face; the clouds of peaceful sunsets showed the glory of her hair, and the quiet, steadfast stars possessed the wonder of her eyes. The madness of the pa.s.sionate moment of possession on the moor was at once his most treasured memory and his intensest shame.

As for Mysie, since she had not heard any more from Robert nor even seen him for almost a year, she felt quite flattered by the attentions of Peter Rundell. It was not that she was in love with either of the young men. Her nature was of the kind that is in love with love itself, and was not perhaps capable of a great love, such as had frightened her, when Robert, taken off his guard, had let her glimpse a strong, overmastering pa.s.sion and a soul capable of great things. Already she dreamed of a grand house of which she would be mistress as Peter's wife, as she stood in the silence of her own room, pirouetting and smirking, and drawing pictures of herself in fine garments and stately carriage, playing the Lady Bountiful of the district.

CHAPTER XIII

THE RED HOSE RACE

"All compet.i.tors for the Red Hose, get ready!" called the bell-man, who announced the events at the sports, and immediately all was stir and bustle and excitement.

"Wha's gaun to win the day, Andrew?" enquired Matthew Maitland, as they stood waiting for the runners to emerge from the dressing tent.

"I dinna ken," answered Andrew Marshall. "That's a d.a.m.n'd unfair handicap anyway. My neighbor is no' meant to lift it seemingly. Look at the start they've gi'en him, an' young Rundell starts at the limit."

"Ay!" said Matthew. "It's no' fair. It's some o' Black Jock's doings.

He's meanin' young Rundell to wun it."

"Ay, it looks like it; but it's fas.h.i.+ous kennin' what may happen. Rab's a braw runner," and Andrew spoke as one who knew, for he was the only person who had seen Robert train.

"Weel, it's harder for him to be a rinner than for young Rundell, a man wha never wrocht a day's work in a' his life, while Rab's had to slave hard and sair a' his days.... Though Rundell can rin too," he added, with ungrudged admiration.

"Ay, he ran weel last year, but they tell me he'd like to get the Red Hose to his credit, though for my pairt they'd been far better to ha'e presented it to him, than to gi'e him it that way. Man, he's a dirty brute o' a man, Black Jock!" and there was disgust in his voice. "Jist look at Mag Robertson there, flittering aboot quite shameless, and gecking and smirking at him, an' naebody daur say a word to her. She's a fair scunner!"

"If she belonged to me, I'd let her ken a different way o't."

"Ay, Andra," was the reply. "But ye maun mind that Mag mak's mair money than Sanny does. Jist look at her, the glaikit tinkler that she is.

Black Jock's no' ill to please when that pleases him."

Mag Robertson, the subject of their talk, was quite oblivious, apparently, of the many remarks that were being pa.s.sed about her, and she continued to follow Walker, who as a committee member, was busily arranging matters for the race.

"She's gie weel smeekit, Andra!" observed Matthew in a whisper, as Mag pa.s.sed close by. "Did ye fin the smell o" her breath?"

"Ay!" replied Andrew. "She can haud a guid lot before ye see it on her.

She's--" but a shout from the crowd cut his further revelations short.

"Here they come!" cried Matthew excitedly, as the tent opened, and young Rundell came out with confident bearing, leading the other half-dozen athletes to the starting place. "Let's gae roon' to the wunnin' post so as to see the feenish."

The compet.i.tors lined up, each on his separate mark, ready for the signal to start. Rundell, in a bright-colored costume of fine texture, showed well beside the other racer who started along with him at forty yards. Peter was slimly built, but there were energy and activity in his every movement; his legs especially, being finely developed, showed no superfluous flesh; his chest alone indicated any weakness, but withal he looked a likely winner.

Robert, on the other hand, while not carrying a great amount of flesh, was well built. The chest was broad and deep, the shoulders square and the head held well up, his nose being finely adapted for good respiration. The legs, by reason of heavy work in early life, were a little bent at the brawn, but were as hard as nails; they showed wonderfully developed muscles, and gave the impression of strength rather than speed.

They presented a fine picture of eager, determined young manhood, clean and healthy, and full of life and mettle. Each face betrayed how the mind was concentrated on, the work ahead, every thought directed with great intensity towards the goal, as they bent their bodies in preparation for the start.

The pistol cracked and rang out upon the midday air with startling suddenness, and immediately they were off on a fine start to the accompaniment of the cheering of the crowd which lined the whole track in a great circle. The first round ended with the runners much as they had started, the interval between each being fairly equally maintained.

Semple, however, dropped out, not caring to overstrain himself as he had some heavy racing next day at another gathering, where a much higher money prize was the allurement.

Round the others went, the excitement growing among the crowd, who kept shouting encouraging remarks to the racers as they pa.s.sed.

"Keep it up, Robin!" cried Andrew Marshall. "Keep it up, my lad. Ye're daein' fine."

"Come away, Rundell, the race is yer ain," shouted an enthusiastic supporter of Peter.

"Nae wonner!" answered Matthew Maitland, heatedly. "They've gi'en him the race in a present. Look at the handikep!"

"An' what aboot it?" enquired the other, not knowing what to answer.

"Plenty aboot it," replied Matthew. "If it hadna' been he was Peter Rundell, he wadna' ha'e gotten sic a start. Black Jock means him to get the race, an' it's no' fair. I wadna' ha'e the d.a.m.n'd thing in that way, an' if he does win it he'll hae nae honor in it."

"But Rab's runnin' weel," Matthew continued, as he followed the runners with eager eyes, and stuck the head of his pipe in his mouth in his excitement, burning his lips in the process. "Dammit, I've burned my mooth," he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, spluttering, spitting and wiping his mouth. "But the laddie can rin. He's a fair dandie o' a rinner."

"He couldna' rin to catch the cauld," broke in Rundell's admirer, glad to get in a word. "Look at him. Dammit, ye could wheel a barrow oot through his legs. He jist rummles alang like a chained tame earthquake."

"What's that?" asked Matthew, somewhat nettled at this manner of describing Robert's slightly bent legs. "He canna rin, ye say! Weel, if he couldna' rin better than Peter Rundell, he should never try it. Look at Rundell!" he went on scathingly, "doubled up like a fancy canary, and a hump on his back like a greyhound licking a pot. Rinnin'! He's mair like an exhibition o' a rin-a-way toy rainbow. He's aboot as souple as a stookie Christ on a Christmas tree!" And Matthew glared at the other, as if he would devour him at a gulp.

"Look at him noo," he cried, as Robert began to overtake the young miner who had started equal with Rundell. "He's pa.s.sed young Paterson noo, an'

ye'll soon see him get on level terms wi' Rundell. Go on, Rob!" he yelled in delight, as Robert shot past. "Go on, my lad, you're daein'

fine!"

Excitement was rousing the crowd to a great pitch, and yells and shouts of encouragement went up, and cheers rang out as the favored one went past the various groups of supporters.

All during the race as the compet.i.tors circled the course, excitement grew, until the last round was reached, when every one seemed to go mad.

Only three remained to compete now for the prize, the others having given up.

But the shouts and cheers of the crowd seemed strangely far away to the racers, as each rounded the last corner for the final stretch of about one hundred yards. They were both spent, but will power kept them at it.

They were not breathing, they were tearing their lungs out in great gulping efforts, and their hearts as well. Tense, determined, inevitability seemed to rest upon them.

Louder roared the crowd, hoa.r.s.er and deeper the cheers, closer and closer the mult.i.tude surged to the winning post, yelling, shouting, crying and gesticulating incoherently as the two men sprinted along with great leaping strides, panting and almost breaking down under the terrible strain of the mile race.

Nearer and nearer they came, still running level, with hardly an inch to tell the difference; but in a pace like this Robert's greater strength and hard training were bound to tell. Fifty yards to go, and they came on like streaks of color, fleeting images of some fevered brain, and one girl's smile each knew was waiting there at the far end.

The prize for which both were now striving was that for which men at all times strive, which keeps the world young and sends the zest of creation wandering through the blood--a pair of dancing eyes, lit by the happy smile of love; for Mysie Maitland had smiled to them, each claiming the smile for himself, just before the race started.

And now the last ounce of energy was called up, but the mine-owner's son failed to respond. Dazed and stupid, his mind in a mad whirl, his legs almost doubling under him, he found his powers weaken and his strength desert him, and he staggered just as Robert was about to shoot past him; but in staggering he planted his spiked shoe right upon Robert's foot, and both men went down completely exhausted, Rundell unable to rise for want of strength and Sinclair powerless because of his lacerated foot.

"Guid G.o.d! He's spiked him!" roared Andrew in a terrible rage. "The dirty lump that he is--spiked him just when he was gaun to win, too!"

A howl of execration went up from Sinclair's supporters as he lay and writhed in agony, while Rundell lay still except for the heaving of his chest. For one tense moment they lay and the crowd was silent, whilst each man's heart was almost thumping itself out of place in his body, stretched upon the rough cinder track.

Then a low murmur broke from the crowd as they saw young Paterson coming round the track, almost staggering under the strain, but keenly intent on finis.h.i.+ng now that his two formidable opponents were lying helpless.

He had kept running during the last round merely to take the third prize. Now here was his chance of the coveted Red Hose, and he sprinted and tore along as fast as he was able, calling up every particle of effort he could muster, and intent on getting past before the two men could gather strength to rise.

"Come on, Rob!" roared Andrew Marshall, "get up an' feenish, my wee c.o.c.k! Paterson's comin' along, an' he'll win. Get up an' try an' feenish it!"