eyes two brilliants against jet. That bark had been no deer. Dogs bark.
“Hello,” I called feebly. “I was just out for…”
Robert fiddled with the huge animal’s neck. Nervously I backed away a pace. Robert stepped aside, a whole dark space between him and the giant hound. He raised an arm and pointed at me. His kilt flapped once in the night breeze.
“Run! Run!” the little insect screamed inside the cottage.
Frightened, I backed off. Run? Somebody was warning me—me—to run. Christ. From what? From…
The giant figure held its biblical pose in my torchlight.
“Kill,” Robert said. He turned and walked away. I turned and ran like hell.
« ^ »
—— 18 ——
For a second or two I thought the damned animal wasn’t coming after me. I fled across the slope I’d climbed, my torchlight flickering ahead on shining angles of granite projecting from the heather. Maybe I even imagined I was going at a speed Ranter couldn’t match.
Then I heard it, breathing like a train. It slobbered as it ran, a flopping sound as its feet landed. It didn’t dash like a greyhound or scamper like a beagle. It simply loped. In that first terror-stricken moment when I’d seen it start, its apparently casual movement said it all. What’s the hurry? its graceful mass announced as it hunched up to start the pursuit. It’s not a race—it’s a hunt. Sooner or later, it seemed to say, the quarry’ll tire, weaken, flake out, and then… I was moaning as I ran. If I’d had breath enough I’d have whimpered, prayed, screamed, anything.
Ahead a roaring sound. I’d say I headed for it except that that expression makes my progress sound like a ramble. Reality was different. I was scrambling, stumbling, gasping across the stony hillside slope, trying to hold my torch out ahead for sight, anything to keep ahead of that dreadful slapping which proved the bloody monster was gaining. I knew I had to keep grip on that torch at all cost.
It could have only been a minute when a roar opened the ground ahead, and I tumbled over an edge. I fell maybe ten feet, more, found myself in swirling water and floundered forward, anything to keep going.
A waterfall. Some sort of gully, with a narrow freshet of water. I’d kept hold of my torch. I splashed across, climbed a tall projecting slabbed rock dividing the swirling course. Maybe I could get to the top, sit there and somehow stop it climbing up after me. A stone, a cobble. I realized I’d got my new untried bolus still in my hands, stuffed it in my jacket pocket and hauled a cobble up out of the onrush.
A flop, flop, behind. Here it came. With a slither Ranter appeared at the margin I’d fallen over and without a pause came bounding on. I saw him hit the water with a ploosh, force his way up to the base of my rock, and try to leap up. I flung my cobble and hit the bugger. He leapt to one side, and halted. I squatted up on my pinnacle, sick from breathlessness and fright.
He looked at me, transfixed in my beam. Ranter’s appearance arrested me. He honestly appeared noble. The strain of chasing hardly showed. He’d cornered me. His teeth would be along in a minute to perform massacre. It was all so serene, this hunting business.
So that’s what a hunter-killer looks like, I thought dementedly. His stance was one of attention, of cool certainty. His tongue lolled. His flanks shone. What I hated most was that he was thinking. I honestly mean it. The murderous beast was actually cerebrating, its great head swinging as it took in the geography of the gully and the pouring beck, calmly working out how to catch and kill the shivering bloke perched ludicrously up there.
Directly upwards from the water my angular granite projected, its faces a mixture of smooth and rough, but on the whole vertical, thank God. The side I’d climbed up had barely a fingerhold. I’d done well to haul myself up. I prayed fervent gratitude that I had hands and Ranter hadn’t any means of clutching.
Its head swung, marcasite eyes glittering. I whimpered. It took no notice and benignly continued inspecting my slab. Don’t worry, its urbane manner informed me; this is only a job. I’ll get you in a minute. Above all, be patient. I moaned. The bloody beast was a real pro.
We were maybe thirty feet apart. The animal—it wasn’t good old Ranter any longer; executioners don’t have names—backed, tried to get space for a run, changed its mind.
My torchlight couldn’t be helping it. I kept the beam trained on its face. Not much of a dazzle, but what else could I do? I found a single loose stone flake, chucked it. The murderer leaned its head an inch and the stone flew by, clattered down the rock wall. It didn’t even blink. For a daft second I thought of persuasion. I said, “Ranter. Good dog.”
It gave me a glance of withering scorn. In fact so compelling was its thorough examination of the stream’s narrow gully that I did it too. We were a weird partnership, quarry and hunter.
Downstream no hope that I could see, the spate frothing on a mincing-machine of large stones. The gully’s sides slanted outwards from the granite bed. My beam flicked, returned to the dog, flicked away for a quick glance, back. I didn’t want the beast doing anything sly while I was being conned into studying the terrain.
The monster moved, one of those sudden tensions, as if about to leap sideways. I yelped in fright. It stayed, splayfooted. I followed its gaze, used my torch to see what it had worked out. The sides of my slab were ripped vertically by ancient geologic forces.
A man could just about climb up there, but no dog. So? I shone back at Ranter. And it was smiling, its stare fixed above me.
Above? I shone upwards and nearly peed myself in terror. There was an overhang.
Barely seven yards above my head the gully’s side leaned in to form a shelf. Ranter could get me. I’d had it. Any creature on earth could get up there, look down on me.
Then leap and… and… I whimpered.
The hound gave one last calculating stare, gauged the distance from the ledge to me, then splashed off downstream, bounding from rock to rock with that casual lethal grace. A mad hope swept into me—suddenly Shona had missed him and whistled one of those dog whistles to call him off.
But no. The overhang was from the side opposite. No way to cross upstream, so it was doing the sensible
