Samuel nodded and continued sipping his hot tea. When he had finished, he went outside to check on Jess. She was standing happily next to the old donkey and it appeared she had already been given some breakfast as she was munching on a pile of wild grasses and oats. Samuel peered up the hill as he stroked her smooth neck, listening to her crunch and bite her meal. He could see the specks of animals all over the hillside and wondered how Simpson could possibly deal with so many animals by himself.
There was no sign of the old man, but Samuel decided to go check up on him before he continued on his way to Gilgarry. He started up the rocky incline and was quickly panting and short of breath. The air here was thin and certainly did not encourage such exertion. His legs soon burned with each step he took.
Several curious goats began trotting alongside him, bleating and examining him with their black-slitted, yellow eyes, wondering who he was and what treats he had to feed them. Samuel regarded their nimble steps with envy and continued clambering up the ever-growing hill as they followed after him.
He soon found Simpson with smoke curling out of the short pipe between his teeth, sitting high on a boulder, watching all that was laid out below. ‘Good morning, Samuel,’ the old man called out.
‘Morning,’ Samuel called in reply, scaling the boulder. ‘How’s your leg today, Simpson?’ he asked. There was a stick lying beside the old farmer, which he had no doubt used to help him up the hill.
Simpson inhaled and then blew out thin smoke that immediately raced away with a gust of the wind. ‘It’s not so good,’ he replied. ‘I managed to get up here, but there’s not much else I can do but sit on my bones and look around. I managed some of the milking this morning, but it was quite a job.’
Samuel sat down beside the man while he thought about what to do. He dare not risk any spell, for he had seen how superstitious these country folk could be. He had not had much opportunity to practise his healing spells either, so he was not even entirely sure that he could help at all. They sat like that on the rock for a while until the old man spoke up.
‘Can I ask you for a little assistance?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ Samuel replied. ‘What do you need?’
‘I don’t think I can stand up,’ Simpson stated plainly.
Samuel leapt up and helped the old man climb to his feet.
‘It’s a sorry state,’ Simpson said, shaking his head. ‘Perhaps you can help me back down to the house so that I may I talk with Mrs Down.’
The old man took up his walking stick and slowly, arm in arm, they made their way back down the hill. It took much longer than going up, as they had to choose the path of least gradient, winding back and forth, rather than charging straight down. Simpson and Samuel both were panting when they arrived back at the little flat spot where the house was built.
‘I have an idea,’ Samuel stated, as they rested a moment outside.
‘Aye? What’s that?’ the man said with interest.
‘My business is not really so urgent in Gilgarry. If you like, perhaps I can stay here a few days while you find your legs again. In return, you can provide me with a bed and Mrs Down’s good cooking. I’ve been travelling a long time already and a few days’ rest will do me wonders.’
‘I can’t ask you to do that, lad,’ the old man responded. ‘You have your own business to attend to. We can get by here-we always do.’
‘It’s no trouble at all,’ Samuel stated. ‘You’ll really be doing
‘I tell you what, lad. It’s obvious that you’re just making excuses now, but if you really want to stay, I really need the help. We have no children of our own to help and the moment I hurt my leg, I was just horrified at the thought of how I would begin to manage the farm. It seems like you came at just the right time, if you’re willing to stay. If you change your mind though, you can be off any time you choose.’
‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Samuel said with content.
They went inside and Samuel had to repeat the argument all over again with Mrs Down and she was almost crying by the end of it, taken by Samuel’s generosity. She gave them both some more to eat, then Samuel and old Simpson stepped back outside to continue the day’s work. Together they slowly made their way up to Simpson’s rock, where the old farmer carefully sat himself down.
‘What do we do first?’ Samuel asked.
‘I’d start by taking off that cloak. There’s no need to go making it any harder for yerself. A light shirt’ll do. As for work, the goats’ll come when I call ’em, but you need to keep an eye out for the odd mongrel and throw some stones at them if they come scrounging around.’
‘Do you have problems with predators?’
‘You mean dogs? Aye. There’s a pack around that I often have to chase off. Once they taste blood, it’s harder to stop ’em, so I have to be quick. We haven’t seen wolves or such for a few years in these parts. I think the sheep in the lowlands are easier to catch and a tad juicier than my bony old goats.’
Samuel sat quietly for a few minutes as Simpson smoked his pipe. The silence soon became uncomfortable. ‘What can I do, then?’ Samuel finally asked.
‘See those sheep climbing up from the valley?’ Simpson said as he pointed and Samuel saw some tiny, fleecy dots further down the hillside. ‘They’re Ned Palmers’ and they like to come up here and eat what little grass I have, so you can start by herding them back down again. I try, but it does me no good. Stubborn as an old woman, they are.’
Samuel stood up and took a deep breath to ready himself. He kept his cloak on for, despite the old man’s words, the air was thin and bitter. Simpson was no doubt used to the highland weather, wearing only his thin, lace-up shirt and well-stained trousers and boots.
Samuel began clambering down the grassy slope and was already sweating, despite the chill wind, when he neared the sheep. Climbing down the hill seemed even harder than going up, if at all possible.
The sheep were munching the short, sparsely-patched grass, oblivious to him. Their black heads and long, white wool looked a strange combination. Samuel raised his arms and tried shooing them away, but they utterly ignored him, chewing the grass as if he did not exist. It was not until he tried actually pushing one that it suddenly reacted and bolted away along the hill. The others waddled after it, finishing further away and even higher up the hill, where they looked down upon him and bleated quizzically.
Samuel looked up to the old farmer, still sitting on his high rock. Even from here, he was sure he could detect an amused smile on the man’s lips.
Samuel adjusted his cloak and circled above the sheep, now once again oblivious to him with heads down to the grass. He waved his arms furiously and yelled out ‘
He realised he was getting nowhere when, finally, he had to stop because his legs were burning and his lungs were heaving desperately for air. He could continue no further and cursed the sheep again as he bent over with his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. The sheep bleated as it trotted over to its companions and rejoined them at their munching.
Samuel collapsed atop the grass and tried to think of an intelligent alternative. Any spell he could think of would only panic them further and who knows where they would run-certainly not in any direction he wanted. He contemplated lifting them all up and floating them down into the valley, but that would probably scare them to death and he could only manage one such heavy animal at a time. Finally, he climbed back up to Simpson to gain advice.
‘Won’t do chasing them,’ the old man stated simply, ‘unless there’s a few of you,’ he added with a shrug. ‘They’re dumb animals, but they know how to be stubborn, sure enough. Gotta let them know who’s in charge.’
‘How do I do that?’ Samuel panted.
‘Don’t know. Never done it,’ Simpson explained with a grin, blowing smoke through his lips. ‘The other farmers have a dog or two to help them round up their stock, but I’ve never been fond of dogs. Besides, we couldn’t afford to keep one-they eat too much.’
‘You could let it eat those sheep and solve two problems at once.’
