‘Come on, Beth. We shall have to run.’ Nab smiled down at her where she sat on the ground. Her long hair was tangled and streaked with soot from the smuts that floated everywhere and there were smudges of black on her nose and her cheeks and forehead. Her arms and legs were red and blistered from the sun and her face was flushed with the heat. She still wore her black Wellington boots but she had torn her jeans off above the knee. He thought back to the first time he had seen her, looking crisp and clean and fresh in the red gingham dress she had worn that wonderful spring afternoon down by the stream so many seasons ago. He stooped down, put both his arms around her and gently lifted her to her feet.
‘We’ll soon be safe in the mountains,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.’
She clung on to him as if trying to draw some of his energy and strength to her own worn-out body. Then suddenly she straightened up and looking deep into his dark eyes she said, laughing, ‘Come on then, slowcoach,’ and began to trot away over the fields.
All that day they ran at a steady loping pace over the flat burnt out meadows and all that day the yelps and barks and shouts behind them grew louder and clearer. By late afternoon they had reached the foothills of the mountains. As they climbed the gradually sloping fields they noticed that the grass became greener and soon they left the charred and blackened landscape of the lowlands behind them. Mercifully also the air became cooler and a little breeze began to blow against them, lifting their hair from their faces and blowing through Brock’s and Perryfoot’s fur. The fragrance of the long summer grass and the coolness of the breeze went to their heads like wine and their spirits lifted as they ran through little green valleys and up alongside gaily tinkling streams. After the desolation they had been through everywhere seemed so fresh and the greenness all around seemed to envelop them with its lush protection so that they felt safe and comforted. The sound of the pack was muffled by the trees and when they stopped to listen it seemed as if the barking was receding into the distance so they went more slowly, often stopping to drink from one of the cool clear streams or to nibble at something tasty. It was late summer now and some of the early autumn toadstools were beginning to appear in the dark and shady places.
It was just before dawn when they emerged from the trees and valleys of the foothills into the beginning of the mountains. Before them stretched a vast sea of purple heather interspersed with clumps of cotton grass waving their white heads gently in the breeze. It wasvery hard travelling over the heather and at first they kept to the little narrow sheep tracks, but Nab was afraid that if they strayed too far from the Roosdyche they would never find it again so they had to strike up and leave the paths.
They had not travelled far when suddenly they heard the sounds of the pack again, only this time it seemed as if it was just behind them. It had emerged from the trees and, now that there was nothing to smother the noise, the closeness of their pursuers was revealed to the animals with a shock of horror. They could not see them but the frantic baying was so near that it could only be a matter of minutes before they were spotted.
Desperately they ran over the heather urging their tired worn-out bodies to go faster until the breath rasped in their throats and their legs went numb with pain. Then suddenly Beth’s knees buckled under her and she fell face down on to a large clump of heather. For a second or two, with her eyes closed, she luxuriated in the wonderful feeling of lying there and giving in to the demands of her body but then she dragged herself back to reality as she felt herself being shaken and heard Nab’s frantic voice calling to her. She looked at him and his face seemed far away. She forced herself to speak.
‘I can’t go any further. Leave me here. You go on. I’ll be all right.’ Then she closed her eyes again and a haze of swirling blackness engulfed her.
‘Beth, Beth,’ shouted Nab but it was no use; her eyelids did not even flicker. He looked at the others; they were all stretched out panting on the heather, their bodies heaving with the effort of drawing breath. It was useless to think about going on but where could they hide? Suddenly Warrigal swooped down and landed beside him.
‘Where’ve you been? I didn’t even know you’d gone,’ said Nab.
‘I’ve been scouting around the hillside. There’s an Urkku dwelling nearby; just a little way down the hill and across. We shall have to take a chance that they are of the Eldron and will help us; I saw smoke coming out of a chimney so it is definitely occupied.’
‘We’ve got no choice, have we? We either stay here and get torn apart by the dogs for certain or else we take the risk of being handed over to them. I can carry Beth but I can’t carry these clothes as well. Brock’ll have to take them in his mouth.’
They cut off across the side of the hill with the sound of the dogs growing louder all the time. Then just below them they saw the dwelling. It was a croft. The walls were of rough white stone and they supported a roof of turf out of which grew a green haze of moss. There was a hole for a window and a hole for a door and out of the little chimney came the sweet smell of burning peat. The long low dwelling seemed to have grown out of the earth and this impression was confirmed by the heaps of peat squares piled up against the two end walls and the fact that the building itself was in a little hollow. There was a stone wall around it enclosing a garden and at the back the animals could see a small vegetable patch while at the front were a few pink and white flowers. The ground immediately outside the wall was dotted with troughs and squares from which the peat had been cut and a few sheep grazed around the outside of these while others lay inside hoping for some shade from the sun. Two white goats munched away vigorously just outside a little gate in the stone wall through which the garden was entered. There was something about the croft, and the scene below them, that was so peaceful that for a second they forgot their danger; it seemed impossible that anything bad could happen there. The place filled them with a feeling of trust and calm so that they felt no fear or doubt as they made their way down the slope. The latch on the gate made a loud click as Nab lifted it and the goats looked up and bleated, staring at them curiously for a second or two before resuming their grazing. Brock and Perryfoot walked quietly across the little garden and sat down against the wall of the croft to wait and see what happened while Warrigal flew up and perched on the roof. Still carrying Beth, Nab slowly walked up to the front door. As he got nearer he heard low voices and the clink and clatter of cups and plates. Finally he reached the door, which was open, and stood wondering what to do next. Gently he laid Beth down on the ground. What was the human word for greeting which she had taught him? Then he remembered.
‘Hello,’ he said quietly, but the sounds and voices in the kitchen carried on unchanged. They haven’t heard me, he thought, and repeated it again more loudly. This time the sounds stopped and the voices took on a different tone.
‘See who that is, Jim. I can’t think who it might be. It’s very early. Look! It’s only half past seven.’
Nab heard the sound of a chair being scraped back across the floor and then the pad of footsteps came towards the door. It was so dark inside that he could see nothing until suddenly a man stood in front of him. He was old and his hair was white and sparse but out of his wrinkled brown face shone two blue eyes that danced with light. He wore a collarless shirt with a blue pin-stripe waistcoat and on his legs a pair of baggy blue serge trousers tied around the waist by a piece of string. He stood with one hand on the door and in the other he held an old briar pipe.
