WEATHER AGAIN UNPROPITIOUS. 139 



but we are ower far awa' to rin intill them at ony gait ; 

 but your honour gangs wi' lang strides doun the brae, and 

 ye may mak a push for it when they are ower the hill ; but 

 ye maun gang your best." 



" They are going slowly, Peter, and I do not altogether 

 despair ; it is a long run, but we have no other chance at 

 any rate. The worst of it is, that this long heather, which 

 appears so even, is full of large grey stones, that lie hid in 

 it on purpose to break honest hillmen's legs, and yours are 

 all arred with the fire-flaught, you know, Peter. But we 

 will not heed a sprained ankle or broken leg or two in such 

 a cause, though the chance be a wild one." 



Tortoise now began to measure with his eye the long 

 distance to the pass, which seemed to be about a mile and 

 a-half, and then to consider how long the deer would pro- 

 bably be in crossing, after they had sunk down the hill out 

 of sight of the stalkers ; it would be a race against time, 

 and his calculation was an unfavourable one. 



In the midst of this anxiety they had not observed that 

 the weather was again brewing up in the south ; and the 

 rain began to fall thick and heavy: they now judged that 

 the deer had not been disturbed by any traveller, but were 

 slowly shifting their ground to get under the hill to the 

 leeward, for they did not look back to the point from which 

 they came, or show any jealousy; neither were they in any 

 hurry, but walked slowly, stopping occasionally to feed. 

 During this tedious time the rain fell heavily, and came 

 trickling through the bonnets of the recumbents. Could 

 they have been posted in concealment one short half-mile 

 nearer, all this they would have borne patiently, as they 

 had borne it many a time and oft. But now that the 

 chance was almost nothing, cold, rheumatism, and all the 

 ills that flesh is heir to, appeared in sad and hideous array 

 before Tortoise's imagination; and, as the cast was now 

 nearly ended, the base thought of going homeward, without 

 waiting for the chance, came across his mind. 



Hear it not, O noble shade of stout Glengarry ; you who 

 would lie abroad in cavern or in moss for nights together, 

 the grey stone or the drifted snow your pillow ; you who 

 would swim through lakes and flooded rivers, alike heedless 



