Weel, about this story, it was yince in a Februar’ mony year syne that it a’ happened, when I was younger and lichter on my feet and mair gleg i’ the seein’.
Ye mind Doctor Crichton—he’s deid thae ten ’ear, but he was a braw doctor in his time. He could cure when anither was helpless, and the man didna leeve whae wad ride further on less errand.
Now the doctor was terrible keen on fishin’ and shootin’ and a’ manner o’ sport. I’ve heard him say that there were three things he likit weel abune ithers. Yin was the back o’ a guid horse, anither a guid water and a clear wast wind, and the third a snawy day and a shot at the white hares. He had been crakin’ on me for mony a day to gang wi’ him, but I was thrang that ’ear wi’ cairtin’ up hay for the sheep frae lower doon the glens and couldna dae’t. But this day I had trystit to gang wi’ him, for there had been a hard frost a’ the week, and the hares on the hills wad be in graund fettle. Ye ken the way o’ the thing. Yae man keeps yae side o’ the hill and the ither the ither, and the beasts gang atween them, back and forrit. Whiles ye’ll see them pop round the back o’ a dyke and aff again afore ye can get a shot. It’s no easy wark, for the skins o’ the craturs are ill to tell frae the snawy grund, and a man taks to hae a gleg ee afore he can pick them oot, and a quick hand ere he can shoot. But the doctor was rale skilfu’ at it and verra proud, so we set aff brisk-like wi’ our guns.
It was snawin’ lichtly when we startit, and ere we had gone far it begood to snaw mair. And the air was terrible keen, and cut like a scythe-blade. We were weel wrappit up and walkit a’ our pith, but our fingers were soon like to come off, and it was nane sae easy to handle the gun. We tried the Wildshaw Hichts first, and got nane there, though we beat up and doon, and were near smoored wi’ snaw i’ the gullies. I didna half like the look o’ things, for it wasna canny that there should be nae hares, and, forbye, the air was gettin’ like a rusty saw to the face. But the doctor wad hear naething o’ turnin’ back, for he had plenty o’ speerit, had the man, and said if we didna get hares on yae hill we wad get them on the ither.
At that time ye’ll mind that I had twae dowgs, baith guid but verra contrar’ in natur’. There was yin ca’ed Tweed, a fine, canty sort o’ beast, very freendly to the bairns, and gien to followin’ me to kirk and things o’ that sort. But he was nae guid for the shootin’, for he was mortal feared at the sound o’ a gun, and wad rin hame as he were shot. The ither I ca’ed Voltaire, because he was terrible against releegion. On Sabbath day about kirk-time he gaed aff to the hills, and never lookit near the hoose till I cam back. But he was a guid sheep dowg and, forbye, he was broken till the gun, and verra near as guid’s a retriever. He wadna miss a day’s shootin’ for the warld, and mony a day he’s gane wi’oot his meat ower the heid o’t. Weel, on this day he had startit wi’ us and said nae words about it; but noo he began to fa’ ahint, and I saw fine he didna like the business. I kenned the dowg never did onything wi’oot a guid reason, and that he was no easy to fricht, so I began to feel uneasy. I stopped for a meenute to try him, and pretended I was gaun to turn hame. He cam rinnin’ up and barkit about my legs as pleased as ye like, and when I turned again he looked awfu’ dowie.
I pointed this oot to the doctor, but he paid nae attention. “Tut, tut,” says he, “if ye’re gaun to heed a dowg’s havers, we micht gie a’thing up at yince.”
“It’s nae havers,” I said, hot-like, for I didna like to hear my dowg misca’ed. “There’s mair sense in that beast than what’s in a heap o’ men’s heids.”
“Weel, weel,” he says, “sae let it be. But I’m gaun on, and ye can come or no, just as ye like.”
“Doctor,” says I again, “ye dinna ken the risk ye’re rinnin’. I’m a better juidge o’ the wather than you, and I tell ye that I’m feared at this day. Ye see that the air is as cauld’s steel, and yet there’s mist a’ in front o’ ye and ahint. Ye ken the auld owercome, ‘Rouk is snaw’s wraith,’ and if we dinna see a fearsome snaw afore this day’s dune, I’ll own my time’s been wastit.”
But naething wad move him, and I had to follow him for fair shame. Sune after, too, we startit some hares, and though we didna get ony, it set the excitement o’ the sport on us. I sune got as keen as himsel’, and sae we trampit on, gettin’ farther intil the hills wi’ every step, and thinkin’ naething about the snaw.
We tried the Gledscleuch and got naething, and syne we gaed on to the Allercleuch, and no anither beast did we see. Then we struck straucht for the Cauldhope Loch, which lies weel hoddit in hills miles frae ony man. But there we cam nae better speed, for a’ we saw was the frozen loch and the dowie threshes and snaw, snaw everywhere, lyin’ and fa’in’. The
