Some three weeks after Teresa’s loss Eli found his brother in the yard fitting a fork-head to a new haft. “Saw William John Prowse up to Church-town,” said he. “He told me to tell you that you must take the two horses over to once because he’s got to go away.”
Ortho frowned. Under his breath he consigned William John Prowse to eternal discomfort. Then his face cleared.
“I’ve been buying a horse or two for Pyramus,” he remarked casually. “He’ll be down along next week.”
Eli gave him a curious glance. Ortho looked up and their eyes met.
“What’s the matter?”
“It was you stole that hundred pounds from mother, I suppose.”
Ortho started and then stared. “Me! My Lord, what next! Me steal that . . . well, I be damned! Think I’d turn toby and rob my own family, do you? Pick my right pocket to fill my left? God’s wrath, you’re a sweet brother!”
“I do think so, anyhow,” said Eli doggedly.
“How? Why?”
“?’Cos King Herne can do his own buying and because on the night mother was robbed you were out.”
Ortho laughed again. “Smart as a gauger, aren’t you? Well, now I’ll tell you. William John let me have the horses on trust, and as for being out, I’m out most every night. I’d been to Churchtown. I’ve got a sweetheart there, if you must know. So now, young clever!”
Eli shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
“Don’t you believe me?” Ortho called.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“?’Cos ’tis well known William John Prowse wouldn’t trust his father with a turnip, and that Polly mare hadn’t brought you two miles from Gwithian. She’d come three times that distance and hard. She was as wet as an eel; I felt her.”
Ortho bit his lip. “So ho, steady!” he called softly. “Come round here a minute.”
He led the way round the corner of the barn and Eli followed. Ortho leaned against the wall, all smiles again.
“See here, old son,” said he in a whisper, “you’re right. I did it. But I did it for you, for your sake, mind that.”
“Me!”
Ortho nodded. “Surely. Look you, in less than two years Tregors and this here place fall to me, don’t they?”
“Yes,” said Eli.
Ortho tapped him on the chest. “Well, the minute I get possession I’m going to give you Tregors, lock, stock and barrel. That’s the way father meant it, I take it—only he didn’t have time to put it in writing. But now Tregors is in the bag, and how are we going to get it out if mother will play chuck-guinea like she does?”
“So that’s why you stole the money?”
“That’s why—and, harkee, don’t shout ‘stole’ so loud. It ain’t stealing to take your own, is it?” Ortho whistled. “My Lord, I sweated, Eli! I thought some one would have it before I did. The whole of Penzance knew she’d been about town all day with a bag of money, squaring her debts and lashing it about. To finish up she was in a room at the ‘Star’ with a dozen of bucks, all of ’em three sheets in the wind and roaring. I seen them through a chink in the shutters and I tell you I sweated blood. But she’s cunning. When she sat down she sat on the wallet and stopped there. It would have taken a block and tackle to pull her off. I went into the ‘Star’ passage all muffled up about the face like as if I had jaw-ache. The pot boy came along with a round of drinks for the crowd inside. ‘Here, drop those a minute and fetch me a dash of brandy for God Almighty’s sake,’ says I, mumbling and talking like an up-countryman. ‘I’m torn to pieces with this tooth. Here’s a silver shilling and you can keep the change if you’re quick. Oh, whew! Ouch!’
“I tossed him the shilling—the last I’d got—and he dropped the pots there and then and dived after the brandy. I gave the pots a good dusting with a powder Pyramus uses on rogue horses to keep ’em quiet while he’s selling ’em. Then the boy came back. I drank the brandy and went outside again and kept watch through the shutters. It worked pretty quick; what with the mixed drinks they’d had and the powder, the whole crew was stretched snoring in a quarter hour. But not she. She’s as strong as a yoke of bulls. She yawned a bit, but when the others went down she got up and went after her horse, taking the wallet along. I watched her mount from behind the rain barrel in the yard and a pretty job she made of it. The ostler had to heave her up, and the first time she went clean over, up one side and down t’other. Second time she saved herself by clawing the ostler’s hair and near clawed his scalp off; he screeched like a slit pig.
“I watched that ostler as well, watched in case he might chance his fingers in the wallet, but he didn’t. She was still half awake and would have brained him if he’d tried it on. A couple of men—stranded seamen, I think—came out of an alley by the Abbey and dogged her as far as Lariggan, closing up all the time, but when they saw me behind they gave over and hid in under the river bank. She kept awake through Newlyn, nodding double. I knew she couldn’t last much longer—the wonder was she had lasted so long. On top of Paul Hill I closed up as near as I dared and then went round her, across country as hard as I could flog, by Chyoone and Rosvale.
“A dirty ride, boy; black as pitch and crossed with banks and soft bottoms. Polly fell down and threw me over her head twice . . . thought my neck was broke. We came out on the road again at Trevelloe. I tied Polly to a tree and walked back to meet ’em. They came along at a walk, the old horse bringing his cargo home like he’s done scores of times.
“I called his name softly and stepped out of the bushes. He stopped, quiet as a lamb. Mother never moved; she was dead gone, but glued to the saddle. She’s a wonder. I got the wallet open, put my hand in and had just grabbed hold of a bag when Prince whinnied; he’d winded his mate, Polly, down the road. You know how it is when a horse whinnies; he shakes all through. Hey, but it gave me a start! It was a still night and the old brute sounded like a squad of trumpets shouting ‘Ha!’ like they do in the Bible. ‘Ha, ha, ha, he, he, he!’
“I jumped back my own length and mother lolled over towards me and said soft-like, ‘Pass the can around.’?”
“That’s part of a song she sings,” said Eli, “a drinking song.”
Ortho nodded. “I know, but it made me jump when she said it; she said it so soft-like. I thought the horse had shaken her awake, and I ran for dear life. Before I’d gone fifty yards I knew I was running for nothing, but I couldn’t go back. It was the first time I’d sto . . . I’d done anything like that and I was scared of Prince whinnying again. I ran down the road with the old horse coming along clop-clop behind me, jumped on Polly and galloped home without looking back. I wasn’t long in before her as it was.” He drew a deep breath. “But I kept the bag and I’ve got it buried where she won’t find it.” He smiled at his own cleverness.
“What are you going to do with the money?” Eli asked.
“Buy horses cheap and sell ’em dear. I learnt a trick or two when I was away with Pyramus and I’m going to use ’em. There’s nothing like it. I’ve seen him buy a nag for a pound and sell it for ten next week. I’m going to make Pyramus take my horses along with his. They’ll be bought as his, so that people won’t wonder where I got the money, and they’ll go up-country and be sold with his—see? I’ve got it all thought out.”
“But will Pyramus do it?”
Ortho clicked his even white teeth. “Aye, I reckon he will . . . if he wants to winter here again. How many two-pound horses can I buy for a hundred pounds?”
“Fifty.”
“And fifty sold at ten pounds each, how much is that?”
“Five hundred pounds.”
“How long will it take me to pay off the mortgage at that rate?”
“Two years . . . at that rate. But there’s the interest too, and . . .”
Ortho smote him on the back. “Oh, cheerily, old long-face, all’s well! The rent’ll pay the interest, as thou thyself sayest, and I’ll fetch in the money somehow. We’ll harvest a mighty crop next season and the horses’ll pay bags full. In two years’ time I’ll put my boot under that fat cheese-weevil Carveth and you shall ride into Tregors like a king. If only I could have got hold of that second hundred! You don’t know where mother hides her money, do you?”
“No.”
“No more do I . . . but I will. I’ll sit over her like a puss at a mouse hole. I’ll have some more of it yet.”
“Leave it alone,” said Eli; “she’s sure to find out and then there’ll be the devil to pay. Besides, whatever you say about it being our money it don’t seem right. Leave it be.”
Ortho threw an arm about his neck and laughed at him.
Pyramus Herne arrived on New Year’s Eve and was not best pleased when Ortho announced his project. He had no wish to be bothered with extra horses that brought no direct profit to himself, but he speedily recognized that he had a new host to deal with, that young Penhale had cut his wisdom teeth and that if he wanted the run of the Upper Keigwin Valley he’d have to pay for it. So he smiled his flashing smile and consented, on the understanding that he accepted no responsibility for any mishap and that Ortho found his own custom. The boy agreed to this and set about buying.
He picked up a horse here and there, but mainly he bought broken-down pack mules from the mines round St. Just. He bought wisely. His purchases were a ragged lot, yet never so ragged but that they could be patched up. When not out looking for mules he spent practically all his time in the gypsy camp, firing, blistering, trimming misshapen hoofs, shotting roarers, filing and bishoping teeth. The farm hardly saw him; Eli and Bohenna put the seed in.
Pyramus left with February, driving the biggest herd he had ever taken north. This, of course, included Ortho’s lot, but the boy had not got fifty beasts for his hundred pounds—he had got thirty-three only—but he was still certain of making his four hundred per cent, he told Eli; mules were in demand, being hardy, long-lived and frugal, and his string were in fine fettle. With a few finishing touches, their blemishes stained out, a touch of the clippers here and there, a pinch of ginger to give them life, some grooming and a sleek over with an............