The gillie put us across Loch Rannoch in the dusk of the next day,and gave us his opinion as to our best route.This was to get us up at once into the tops of the mountains:to go round by a circuit,turning the heads of Glen Lyon,Glen Lochay,and Glen Dochart,and come down upon the lowlands by Kippen and the upper waters of the Forth.Alan was little pleased with a route which led us through the country of his blood-foes,the Glenorchy Campbells.He objected that by turning to the east,we should come almost at once among the Athole Stewarts,a race of his own name and lineage,although following a different chief,and come besides by a far easier and swifter way to the place whither we were bound.But the gillie,who was indeed the chief man of Cluny's scouts,had good reasons to give him on all hands,naming the force of troops in every district,and alleging finally (as well as I could understand)that we should nowhere be so little troubled as in a country of the Campbells.
Alan gave way at last,but with only half a heart."It's one of the dowiest countries in Scotland,"said he."There's naething there that I ken,but heath,and crows,and Campbells.But I see that ye're a man of some penetration;and be it as ye please!"We set forth accordingly by this itinerary;and for the best part of three nights travelled on eerie mountains and among the well-heads of wild rivers;often buried in mist,almost continually blown and rained upon,and not once cheered by any glimpse of sunshine.By day,we lay and slept in the drenching heather;by night,incessantly clambered upon break-neck hills and among rude crags.We often wandered;we were often so involved in fog,that we must lie quiet till it lightened.Afire was never to be thought of.Our only food was drammach and a portion of cold meat that we had carried from the Cage;and as for drink,Heaven knows we had no want of water.
This was a dreadful time,rendered the more dreadful by the gloom of the weather and the country.I was never warm;my teeth chattered in my head;I was troubled with a very sore throat,such as I had on the isle;I had a painful stitch in my side,which never left me;and when I slept in my wet bed,with the rain beating above and the mud oozing below me,it was to live over again in fancy the worst part of my adventures --to see the tower of Shaws lit by lightning,Ransome carried below on the men's backs,Shuan dying on the round-house floor,or Colin Campbell grasping at the bosom of his coat.From such broken slumbers,I would be aroused in the gloaming,to sit up in the same puddle where I had slept,and sup cold drammach;the rain driving sharp in my face or running down my back in icy trickles;the mist enfolding us like as in a gloomy chamber --or,perhaps,if the wind blew,falling suddenly apart and showing us the gulf of some dark valley where the streams were crying aloud.
The sound of an infinite number of rivers came up from all round.
In this steady rain the springs of the mountain were broken up;every glen gushed water like a cistern;every stream was in high spate,and had filled and overflowed its channel.During our night tramps,it was solemn to hear the voice of them below in the valleys,now booming like thunder,now with an angry cry.Icould well understand the story of the Water Kelpie,that demon of the streams,who is fabled to keep wailing and roaring at the ford until the coming of the doomed traveller.Alan I saw believed it,or half believed it;and when the cry of the river rose more than usually sharp,I was little surprised (though,of course,I would still be shocked)to see him cross himself in the manner of the Catholics.
During all these horrid wanderings we had no familiarity,scarcely even that of speech.The truth is that I was sickening for my grave,which is my best excuse.But besides that I was of an unforgiving disposition from my birth,slow to take offence,slower to forget it,and now incensed both against my companion and myself.For the best part of two days he was unweariedly kind;silent,indeed,but always ready to help,and always hoping (as I could very well see)that my displeasure would blow by.
For the same length of time I stayed in myself,nursing my anger,roughly refusing his services,and passing him over with my eyes as if he had been a bush or a stone.
The second night,or rather the peep of the third day,found us upon a very open hill,so that we could not follow our usual plan and lie down immediately to eat and sleep.Before we had reached a place of shelter,the grey had come pretty clear,for though it still rained,the clouds ran higher;and Alan,looking in my face,showed some marks of concern.
"Ye had better let me take your pack,"said he,for perhaps the ninth time since we had parted from the scout beside Loch Rannoch.
"I do very well,I thank you,"said I,as cold as ice.
Alan flushed darkly."I'll not offer it again,"he said."I'm not a patient man,David.""I never said you were,"said I,which was exactly the rude,silly speech of a boy of ten.
Alan made no answer at the time,but his conduct answered for him.Henceforth,it is to be thought,he quite forgave himself for the affair at Cluny's;cocked his hat again,walked jauntily,whistled airs,and looked at me upon one side with a provoking smile.
The third night we were to pass through the western end of the country of Balquhidder.It came clear and cold,with a touch in the air like frost,and a northerly wind that blew the clouds away and made the stars bright.The streams were full,of course,and still made a great noise among the hills;but Iobserved that Alan thought no more upon the Kelpie,and was in high good spirits.As for me,the change of weather came too late;I had lain in the mire so long that (as the Bible has it)my very clothes "abhorred me."I was dead weary,deadly sick and full of pains and shiverings;the chill of the wind went through me,and the sound of it confused my ears.In this poor state Ihad to bear from my companion something in the nature of a persecution.He spoke a good deal,and never without a taunt.
