CHAP, III.] SHOOTING A WITCH 29 
she was gone, he went to the very place which she had just left, 
and there lay down in ambush to await her return. “Deed 
did he, Sir; for auld Duncan was a mad-like deevil of a fellow, 
and was feared of nothing.” Long he waited, and many a pull 
he took at his bottle of smuggled whisky, in order to keep out 
the cold of a September night. At last, when the first grey of 
the morning began to appear, “‘ Duncan hears a sough, and a 
wild uncanny kind of skirl over his head, and he sees the witch 
hersel, just coming like a muckle bird right towards him,— 
deed, Sir, but he wished himsel at hame; and his finger was 
so stiff with cold and fear that he could na scarce pull the trigger. 
At last, and long, he did put out (Anglicé, shoot off) just as she 
was hovering over his head, and going to light down on the 
cairn.” Well, to cut the story short, the next morning Duncan 
was found lying on the cairn in a deep slumber, half sleep and 
half swoon, with his gun burst, his collar-bone nearly broken, 
and a fine large heron shot through and through lying beside him, 
which heron, as every one felt assured, was the caillach herself. 
‘¢ She has na done much harm since yon (concluded Donald) ; 
but her ghaist is still to the fore, and the loch side is no canny 
after the gloaming. But, Lord guide us, Sir, what’s that?” and 
a large long-legged hind rose from some hollow close to the 
loch, and having stood for a minute with her long ears standing 
erect, and her gaze turned intently on us, she trotted slowly off, 
soon disappearing amongst the broken ground. But where are 
the dogs all this time? There they are, both standing, and 
evidently at different packs of grouse. I killed three of these 
birds, taking a right and left shot at one dog’s point, and then 
going to the other. 
Off went Old Shot now, according to his usual habit, straight 
to a rushy pool. I had him from a friend in Ireland, and 
being used to snipe-shooting, he preferred it to everything else. 
The cunning old fellow chose not to hear my call, but made for 
his favourite spot. He immediately stood, and now for the first 
time seemed to think of his master, as he looked back over his 
shoulder at me, as much as to say, ‘Make haste down to me, 
here is some game.”? And sure enough up got a snipe, which 
I killed. The report of my gun putting up a pair of mallards, 
one of which I winged a long way off, “‘ Hie away, Shot,” and 
