Sir Quixote of the Moors

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Buchan John. Sir Quixote of the Moors

PREFACE

CHAPTER I. ON THE HIGH MOORS

CHAPTER II. I FARE BADLY INDOORS

CHAPTER III. I FARE BADLY ABROAD

CHAPTER IV. OF MY COMING TO LINDEAN

CHAPTER V. I PLEDGE MY WORD

CHAPTER VI. IDLE DAYS

CHAPTER VII. A DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS

CHAPTER VIII. HOW I SET THE SIGNAL

CHAPTER IX. I COMMUNE WITH MYSELF

CHAPTER X. OF MY DEPARTURE

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Before me stretched a black heath, over which the mist blew in gusts, and through whose midst the road crept like an adder. Great storm-marked hills flanked me on either side, and since I set out I had seen their harsh outline against a thick sky, until I longed for flat ground to rest my sight upon. The way was damp, and the soft mountain gravel sank under my horse's feet; and ever and anon my legs were splashed by the water from some pool which the rain had left. Shrill mountain birds flew around, and sent their cries through the cold air. Sometimes the fog would lift for a moment from the face of the land and show me a hilltop or the leaden glimmer of a loch, but nothing more – no green field or homestead; only a barren and accursed desert.

Neither horse nor man was in any spirit. My back ached, and I shivered in my sodden garments, while my eyes were dim from gazing on flying clouds. The poor beast stumbled often, for he had traveled far on little fodder, and a hill-road was a new thing in his experience. Saladin I called him – for I had fancied that there was something Turkish about his black face, with the heavy turban-like band above his forehead – in my old fortunate days when I bought him. He was a fine horse of the Normandy breed, and had carried me on many a wild journey, though on none so forlorn as this.

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I had breakfasted at Kennedy's house of Dunpeel in the early morning, and since I had no provision of any sort with me, 'twas not long ere the biting of hunger began to set in. My race is a hardy stock, used to much hardships and rough fare, but in this inclement land my heart failed me wholly, and I grew sick and giddy, what with the famishing and the cold rain. For, though 'twas late August, the month of harvest and fruit-time in my own fair land, it seemed more like winter. The gusts of sharp wind came driving out of the mist and pierced me to the very marrow. So chill were they that my garments were of no avail to avert them; being, indeed, of the thinnest, and cut according to the fashion of fine cloth for summer wear at the shows and gallantries of the town. A pretty change, thought I, from the gardens of Versailles and the trim streets of Paris to this surly land; and sad it was to see my cloak, meant for no rougher breeze than the gentle south, tossed and scattered by a grim wind.

But enough of such dreams, and God knows no man had ever less cause for dreaming. Where was I to go, and what might my purpose be in this wilderness which men call the world? An empty belly and a wet skin do not tend to sedate thinking, so small wonder if I saw little ahead. I was making for the end of the earth, caring little in what direction, weary and sick of heart, with sharp anger at the past, and never a hope for the morrow.

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