he auld wives."
We were half-way up before Dan spoke.

"I never kilt a man before," says he in a low whisper.

"Ye did weel for a beginner," says that wild young sea-hawk. "Nobody
will be blaming ye for botching the work." And as we struggled up he
hissed a fierce sea oath at me, when my clumsier boot dislodged an
icicle that tinkled like breaking glass in the yard below us.

"On, man, on," he whispered. "Ye'll need a' your start, for the gang
will hunt ye doon like a mad dog."

"Fareweel, Hamish," says Dan, and put his hand to mine on the cliff
head. "I'll harrow my ain ploughing."

"Go on, man, go on," I cried; "they're coming," for lights were
flashing on the road, and loud voices raised. We had gained a bare
half-mile on the cliff face, for the road up was "round about," and
Ronny was impatient.

"Och, will ye wait for the hangman's rope?" in a fierce whisper below
his breath. "There's a hidie-hole I ken, but little good it'll dae ye
when the hitch is on your thrapple." And we started the long race to
the hills, picking out the patches behind the dykes where the ground
was bare.

[1] Lag 'a bheithe=the hollow of the birch.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BLAZING WHINS.

McKinnon was first in that long race and I next to him, for Dan would
not let me out of his sight lest I should lag behind and get rough
handling, although indeed, except the gaugers would yelp questions at
me which I might not find easy to answer, there was little I had to
fear, but it was always in Dan's mind that he had the charge of me.
The land was cultivated on a stey[1] face of maybe a half-mile before
the hill common started, and over the common (where in the summer the
cattle and hens were taken) the heather was patchy with bog hay, and
short crisp turf in places. It was this wrought land I feared most,
for the snow was not swept in wreaths, leaving darker patches, but lay
like a white napkin over the land, and a black object could be seen
from a great distance. But there was a belting of beech-trees and
Scots firs marching two farms; and coorieing in sheuchs, where the ice
crinkled in metallic splinters under our feet, we crawled to the
belting, and were able to stand upright again, at which I breathed a
sigh of relief, for my back had a pain like a band of hot iron with the
long bending. We scrambled among the trees, and lay a moment, for
there was a roughness of bushes and briars, and the snow had been blown
off the bran