CHAPTER XXVI THE MUCKLE HART 



in the corner, I had disturbed visions of strange orgies in 

 the bothy,and of mysober Donald exhibitingcurious antics 

 on the top of a tub. These might have been the productions 

 of a disturbed brain; but there is no doubt that when day- 

 light awoke me, the smugglers and Donald were all quiet 

 and asleep, far past my efforts to rouse them, with the ex- 

 ception of one who was still able to tend the fire under the 

 large black pot. 



Friday. — From the state in which my trusty companion 

 was, with his head in a heap of ashes, I saw it would serve 

 no purpose to awake him, even if I were able to do so. It 

 was quite clear that he could be good for nothing all day. I 

 therefore secured some breakfast and provisions for the day 

 (part of them oatcake, which I baked for myself), tied up 

 Bran to wait Donald's restoration, and departed with my 

 rifle alone. The morning was bright and beautiful, the 

 mountain-streams overflowing with last night's rain. I was 

 now thrown on my own resources, and my own knowledge 

 of the countrj', which, to say the truth, was far from minute 

 or e.xact. Beinn-na-sgitheach was my object to-day,and the 

 corries which lay beyond it, where at this season the laro-e 

 harts were said to resort. My way at first wasdreary enough, 

 over a long slope of boggy ground, enlivened, however, by 

 a few traces of deer having crossed, though none of my 

 "chase." I at length passed the slope, and soon topped the 

 ridge, and was repaid for my labour by a view so beautiful, 

 that I satdown to gaze at it, thoughanxious to get forward. 

 Looking down into the valley before me, the foreo-round 

 was a confusion of rocks of most fantastic shape, shelvino- 

 rapidly to the edge of a small blue lake, the opposite shore 

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