CHAPTER XXVI THE MUCKLE HART 



lighted close to me. I contrived to get his head between me 

 and the sky as he was strutting and croaking on a hillock 

 close at hand; and aiming at where his body ought to be, I 

 fired my rifle. On going up to the place, I found I had not 

 only killed him, but also his mate, whom I had not seen. It 

 was a commencement of good luck. Sittingdown, I speedily 

 skinned my birds, and took them down to the burn to wash 

 them before cooking. In crossing a sandy spot beside the 

 burn, I came upon — could I believe myeyes? — "theTrack!" 

 Like Robinson Crusoe in the same circumstances, I started 

 back; but was speedily at work taking my information. 

 There were prints enough to show the hart had crossed at 

 a walk leisurely. It must have been lately, for it was since 

 the burn had returned to itsnatural size.afterthe last night's 

 flood. But nothing could be done till morning, so I set about 

 mycooking; and having after some time succeeded inlight- 

 ing a fire, while my grouse were slowly broiling, I pulled a 

 quantity of heather, which I spread in a corner a little pro- 

 tected by an overhanging rock: I spread my plaid upon it, 

 andoverthe plaid built another layer of heather. My supper 

 ended, which was not epicurean, I crawled into my nest 

 under my plaid, and was soon sound asleep. I cannot say 

 that myslumbers wereunbroken. I dreamtof the great stao- 

 thundering up the hills with preternatural speed, and of 

 noises like cannon (which I have since learnt to attribute 

 to their true cause — the splitting of fragments of rock 

 under a sudden change from wet to sharp frost), and above 

 all, the constant recurrence of visions of weary struggles 

 through fields of snow and ice kept me restless; and at 

 length awoke me to the consciousness of a brilliant sky- 

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