We chappit at the door and they took us in. The herd was a dacent man, yin Simon Trumbull, and I had seen him aften at kirk and market. So he bade us welcome, and telled us to get our claes dried, for we wadna gang anither step that nicht. Syne his wife made us tea, and it helpit us michtily, for we had drank a’ our whisky lang syne. They had a great fire roarin’ up the lum, and I was sweired, I can tell ye, to gang oot o’ the warm place again into the ill wather.
But I must needs be aff if I was to be hame that nicht, and keep my wife from gaun oot o’ her mind. So I gets up and buttons to my coat.
“Losh, man,” says the herd, “ye’re never thinkin’ o’ leavin’. It’ll be the awfu’est nicht that ever man heard tell o’. I’ve herdit thae hills this mony ’ear, and I never saw sic tokens o’ death i’ the air. I’ve my sheep fauldit lang syne, and my hoose weel stockit, or I wadna bide here wi’ an easy hert.”
“A’ the mair need that I should gang,” says I, “me that has naething dune. Ye ken fine my wife. She wad die wi’ fricht, if I didna come hame.”
Simon went to the door and opened it. It blew back on the wa’, and a solid mass o’ snaw fell on the floor. “See that,” he says. “If ye dinna believe me, believe your ain een. Ye need never think o’ seein’ Callowa the nicht.”
“See it or no,” said I, “I’ll hae to try’t. Ye’d better bide, doctor; there’s nae cause for you to come wi’ me.”
“I’ll gang wi’ you,” he said. “I brocht ye intil this, and I’ll see ye oot o’t.” And I never liked the man sae weel as at the word.
When the twae o’ us walkit frae that hoose it was like walkin’ intil a drift o’ snaw. The air was sae thick that we couldna richt see the separate flakes. It was just a great solid mass sinkin’ ever doun, and as heavy as a thousand ton o’ leid. The breath went frae me at the verra outset. Something clappit on my chest, and I had nocht to dae but warstle on wi’ nae mair fushion than a kittlin’. I had a grip o’ the doctor’s hand, and muckle we needit it, for we wad sune hae been separate and never mair heard o’. My dowg Voltaire, whae was gien for ordinar’ to rinnin’ wide and playin’ himsel’, kept close rubbin’ against my heels. We were miles frae hame, and unless the thing cleared there was sma’ chance o’ us winnin’ there. Yae guid thing, there was little wind, but just a saft, even fa’; so it wasna so bad as though it had been a fierce driftin’. I had a general kind o’ glimmer o’ the road, though I had never been in thae hills afore. If we held doun by the Lanely Bield Burn we wad come to the tap o’ the Stark Water, whilk cam into Gled no a mile abune Callowa. So on we warstled, prayin’ and greetin’ like bairns, wi’ scarce a thocht o’ what we were daein’.
“Whaur are we?” says the doctor in a wee, and his voice sounded as though he had a naipkin roond his mouth.
“I think we should be somewhere near the Stark heid,” said I. “We’re gaun doun, and there’s nae burn hereaways but it.”
“But I aye thocht the Stark Glen was a’ sklidders at the heid,” said he; “and this is as saft a slope as a hoose riggin’.”
“I canna help that,” says I. “It maun e’en be it, or we’ve clean missed the airt.”
So on we gaed again, and the snaw aye got deeper. It wasna awfu’ saft, so we didna sink far as we walkit, but it was terrible wearin’. I sune was sae tired that I could scarce drag mysel’; forbye being frichtit oot o’ my senses. But the doctor was still stoot and hopefu’, and I just followed him.
Suddenly, ere ever we kenned, the slope ceased, and we were walkin’ on flat grund. I could scarce believe my een, but there it was at my feet, as laigh as a kitchen floor. But the queer thing was that while a’ around was deep snaw, this place was a’ but bare, and here and there rigs o’ green land stuck oot.
“What in the warld’s this?” says I, as I steppit oot boldly, and I turned to my companion. When I saw him I was fair astonished. For his face was white as the snaw, and he was tremblin’ to his fingers.
“Ye’re no feared, are ye?” I asked. “D’ye no ken guid land when ye see’t?”
His teeth were chattering in his heid. “You hae na sense to be feared. The Almichty help us, but I believe we’re daein’ what nae man ever did afore.”
I never saw sae queer a place. The great wecht o’ snaw was still fa’in’ on us, but it seemed to disappear when it cam to the grund. And our
