268 WILD SPORTS OF THE HIGHLANDS. [CHAP, xxxiv. 



name of barn, where, rolled in my plaid, and burrowed in the 

 straw, I slept free from the ten thousand nightly visitants called 

 fleas, which would have eaten me up in Willie Young's house, 

 where, on a former occasion, I had discovered that they rivalled 

 the celebrated plague of Egypt in number and power of torment- 

 ing. My two attendants, Donald and Malcolm, slept somewhere 

 near me, as I heard them talking till a very late hour, probably 

 consulting about their plans of attack for the next day. 



Before the sun was above the heathery brae which was to the 

 east of us, I looked out and saw the opposite mountain tops 

 already lighted up, and illuminated in the most beautiful and 

 fanciful manner the glare catching the projecting peaks and 

 angles, and throwing the other parts of the rocks and heights into 

 the deepest shade. Donald was sitting on a stone, rubbing his 

 eyes and his gunlocks alternately with his ancient " pocket nap- 

 kin," as he called it. Malcolm and the shepherd were leaning 

 against the corner of the house chattering Gaelic, while the rather 

 pretty wife of the latter, bare-headed and bare-legged, was com- 

 ing over from the cow-byre with a tin pail of fresh and frothing 

 milk. " I hope your honour slept weel ; I '11 be taking your 

 breakfast ben the house directly," said pretty Mrs. Young. The 

 two hounds were yawning and stretching themselves in front of 

 the door, and received me with a joyful though rough welcome, 

 Bran putting his front paws on my shoulders, and Oscar almost 

 knocking me down by running and rubbing against my legs. The 

 shepherd's two colley-dogs were standing down at the burn side 

 with their tails between their legs, barking and howling at their 

 unusual four-legged visitors, who occasionally looked, first at the 

 colleys and then at me, as much as to say, " Shall we punish their 

 impertinence, or not?" One word of encouragement would 

 have sent the two hounds full chace after the yelping curs. 



Breakfast done, we started to look for the stag. The shepherd 

 went with us, anxious to see the sport, and we were glad of his 

 assistance in finding the deer, as he was so well acquainted with 

 the animal's haunts. On our way he told us that he had no 

 doubt we should at once find him, but that the dogs would have 

 hard work to kill him, as he was an old cunning fellow, and was 

 supposed to be the same stag who had killed the greyhound of 

 Ilory beg, the fox-hunter, last year, in a corrie at some distance 



