And sure enough, by the time Taffy gained the cliff by the old light-house, the sky had darkened, and a stiff breeze from the north-west, crossing the tide, was beginning to work up a nasty sea around the rock and lop it from time to time over the masonry and the platforms where half an hour before his men had been standing.  The two vessels had disappeared in the weather; and as Taffy stared in their direction a spit of rain—­the first—­took him viciously in the face.

He turned his back to it and hurried homeward.  As he passed the light-house door old Pezzack called out to him: 

“Hi! wait a bit!  Would ‘ee mind seein’ Joey home?  I dunno what his mother sent him over here for, not I. He’ll get hisself leakin’.”

Joey came hobbling out, and put his right hand in Taffy’s with the fist doubled.

“What’s that in your hand?”

Joey looked up shyly.  “You won’t tell?”

“Not if it’s a secret.”

The child opened his palm and disclosed a bright half-crown piece.

“Where on earth did you get that?”

“The soldier gave it to me.”

“The soldier? nonsense!  What tale are you making up?”

“Well, he had a red coat, so he must be a soldier.  He gave it to me, and told me to be a good boy and run off and play.”

Taffy came to a halt.  “Is he here—­up at the cottages?”

“How funnily you say that!  No, he’s just rode away.  I watched him from the light-house windows.  He can’t be gone far yet.”

“Look here, Joey—­can you run?”

“Yes, if you hold my hand; only you mustn’t go too fast.  Oh, you’re hurting!”

Taffy took the child in his arms, and with the wind at his back went up the hill with long stride.  “There he is!” cried Joey as they gained the ridge; and he pointed; and Taffy, looking along the ridge, saw a speck of scarlet moving against the lead-coloured moors—­half a mile away perhaps, or a little more.  He sat the child down, for the cottages were close by.  “Run home, sonny.  I’m going to have a look at the soldier, too.”

The first bad squall broke on the headland just as Taffy started to run.  It was as if a bag of water had burst right overhead, and within a quarter of a minute he was drenched to the skin.  So fiercely it went howling inland along the ridge that he half expected to see the horse urged into a gallop before it.  But the rider, now standing high for a moment against the sky-line, went plodding on.  For a while horse and man disappeared over the rise; but Taffy guessed that on hitting the cross-path beyond it they would strike away to the left and descend toward Langona Creek; and he began to slant his course to the left in anticipation.  The tide, he knew, would be running in strong; and with this wind behind it he hoped—­and caught himself praying—­that it would be high enough to cover the wooden foot-bridge and make the ford impassable; and if so, the horseman would be delayed and forced to head back and fetch a circuit farther up the valley.