CHAPTER XXII THE FINDHORN 



Off I tramped through the sodden ground. I managed 

 the first burn pretty well. But the next one was wider, and, 

 if possible, more rapid. 1 had no stick to sound its depth, 

 but saw that it was too strong to venture into; so I turned 

 up its course, hoping it would get narrower and shallower 

 higher up. Its banks were steep and rocky, and covered in 

 some parts with hazel and birch. On a withered branch of 

 one of the latter was a large buzzard, sitting mournfully in 

 the rain, and uttering its shrill, wild cry, a kind of note be- 

 tween a whistle and a scream. The bird sat so tamely, that 

 in a pet I determined to try if I could not stop his ominous- 

 sounding voice with a rifle-ball. But, after taking a most 

 deliberate aim at him, the copper cap snapped. I tried an- 

 other with equally bad success. So I had to continue my 

 way, leaving the bird where he was. I could find no place 

 in the burn that was fordable for some distance; and I said 

 to myself, "If I had but a stick to sound the water with!" 

 The next moment almost I saw one about six feet in length 

 standing upright in the ground. I could scarcely believe my 

 eyes. The stick must have been left by mere chance by 

 some shepherd. 1 1 came most opportunely for me, however. 

 The first place I tried in the water with it (a spot where I 

 thought I could wade), it went in to the depth of at least 

 five feet. This would never do; so on I went up the hill, 

 splashing through the wet bog and heather. At last I came 

 to a place in the burn, where, by leaping from one stone to 

 the other, at no small risk to myself, I managed to get a- 

 cross. My poor hound had to swim, and was very nearly 

 carried off by the stream. Instead of turning down again 

 towards the river, I still kept the high ground, remember- 

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