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- Джон Джон Бакен
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- Стр. 16/83
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He
swung
his
heels
up
on
the
seat
,
and
burrowed
a
frowsy
head
into
the
cushions
.
"
And
that
's
a
'
I
get
,
"
he
moaned
.
"
A
heid
better
than
hell
fire
,
and
twae
een
lookin
'
different
ways
for
the
Sabbath
.
"
"
What
did
it
?
"
I
asked
.
"
A
drink
they
ca
'
brandy
.
Bein
'
a
teetotaller
I
keepit
off
the
whisky
,
but
I
was
nip-nippin
'
a
'
day
at
this
brandy
,
and
I
doubt
I
'll
no
be
weel
for
a
fortnicht
.
"
His
voice
died
away
into
a
splutter
,
and
sleep
once
more
laid
its
heavy
hand
on
him
.
My
plan
had
been
to
get
out
at
some
station
down
the
line
,
but
the
train
suddenly
gave
me
a
better
chance
,
for
it
came
to
a
standstill
at
the
end
of
a
culvert
which
spanned
a
brawling
porter-coloured
river
.
I
looked
out
and
saw
that
every
carriage
window
was
closed
and
no
human
figure
appeared
in
the
landscape
.
So
I
opened
the
door
,
and
dropped
quickly
into
the
tangle
of
hazels
which
edged
the
line
.
It
would
have
been
all
right
but
for
that
infernal
dog
.
Under
the
impression
that
I
was
decamping
with
its
master
's
belongings
,
it
started
to
bark
,
and
all
but
got
me
by
the
trousers
.
This
woke
up
the
herd
,
who
stood
bawling
at
the
carriage
door
in
the
belief
that
I
had
committed
suicide
.
I
crawled
through
the
thicket
,
reached
the
edge
of
the
stream
,
and
in
cover
of
the
bushes
put
a
hundred
yards
or
so
behind
me
.
Then
from
my
shelter
I
peered
back
,
and
saw
the
guard
and
several
passengers
gathered
round
the
open
carriage
door
and
staring
in
my
direction
.
I
could
not
have
made
a
more
public
departure
if
I
had
left
with
a
bugler
and
a
brass
band
.
Happily
the
drunken
herd
provided
a
diversion
.
He
and
his
dog
,
which
was
attached
by
a
rope
to
his
waist
,
suddenly
cascaded
out
of
the
carriage
,
landed
on
their
heads
on
the
track
,
and
rolled
some
way
down
the
bank
towards
the
water
.
In
the
rescue
which
followed
the
dog
bit
somebody
,
for
I
could
hear
the
sound
of
hard
swearing
.
Presently
they
had
forgotten
me
,
and
when
after
a
quarter
of
a
mile
's
crawl
I
ventured
to
look
back
,
the
train
had
started
again
and
was
vanishing
in
the
cutting
.
I
was
in
a
wide
semicircle
of
moorland
,
with
the
brown
river
as
radius
,
and
the
high
hills
forming
the
northern
circumference
.
There
was
not
a
sign
or
sound
of
a
human
being
,
only
the
plashing
water
and
the
interminable
crying
of
curlews
.
Yet
,
oddly
enough
,
for
the
first
time
I
felt
the
terror
of
the
hunted
on
me
.
It
was
not
the
police
that
I
thought
of
,
but
the
other
folk
,
who
knew
that
I
knew
Scudder
's
secret
and
dared
not
let
me
live
.
I
was
certain
that
they
would
pursue
me
with
a
keenness
and
vigilance
unknown
to
the
British
law
,
and
that
once
their
grip
closed
on
me
I
should
find
no
mercy
.
I
looked
back
,
but
there
was
nothing
in
the
landscape
.
The
sun
glinted
on
the
metals
of
the
line
and
the
wet
stones
in
the
stream
,
and
you
could
not
have
found
a
more
peaceful
sight
in
the
world
.
Nevertheless
I
started
to
run
.
