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From what I have seen of it this is such a wild part of the coast that Chatfield and such a small gang as I am imagining, could easily come back here, keep themselves hidden and recover the chests without observation. So our plain duty is to now devise some plan for going to the Reaver's Glen and keeping a watch there until somebody comes. Eh?"
"Take care that he doesn't collar it yet," said Mrs. Greyle with a laugh as she went into her own room. "Chatfield is resourceful enough for anything. And take care of yourselves!" That was the second admonition to be careful, and Copplestone thought of both, as, an hour later, he, Gilling, Vickers and Spurge sped along the desolate, wind-swept moorland on their way to the Reaver's Glen.
And now you know all I can tell you, gentlemen, and as I understand there's some mystery about Chatfield and that he's disappeared, happen you'll know how to put two and two together. And if I'm of any use " "Spurge," said Gilling. "How far is it to this Reaver's Glen or, rather to that peel tower?" "Matter of eight or nine miles, guv'nor, over the moors," replied Spurge.
Well, now, at the land end of that cove there's a narrow valley that runs up to the moorland and the hills, full o' rocks and crags and precipices and such like something o' the same sort as Hobkin's Hole but a deal wilder, and that's known as the Reaver's Glen, because in other days the cattle-lifters used to bring their stolen goods, cattle and sheep, down there where they could pen 'em in, as it were.
And so, after reckoning things up, I made for a spot as Mr. Vickers there'll know by name of the Reaver's Glen." "Good place, too, for hiding," remarked Vickers with a nod. "Best place on this coast seashore and inland," said Spurge. "And as you two London gentlemen doesn't know it, I'll tell you about it.
Here I have lain since the Feast of the Virgin, and here I am like still to be, for I can move no limb, save only my hand; but grieve not, sweet lady, for Saint Catharine hath been our friend since in so short a time I had two such ventures as the Red Ferret and the intaking of the Reaver's fortalice.
"Here we are!" he whispered. "Tower Reaver's Glen sea in the distance. Lone spot, ain't it, gentlemen?" Copplestone and Gilling, who had never seen this part of the coast before, looked out on the scene with lively interest. It was certainly a prospect of romance and of wild, almost savage beauty on which they gazed.
The eighth morning from the day in which the Red Reaver's ship was relaunched from the Norman harbor, Wallace, now the representative of that once formidable pirate, bearing the white flag of good faith, entered between the castled shores of the Frith of Tay, and cast anchor under the towers of Dundee.
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