Chapter 43

RAIN--MIST--THE JAWS.

To this day we argue in the glen about the sound mistaken by many
of us for the firing of the Spittal cannon, some calling it
thunder and others the tearing of trees in the torrent. I think it
must have been the roll of stones into the Quharity from Silver
Hill, of which a corner has been missing since that day. Silver
Hill is all stones, as if creation had been riddled there, and in
the sun the mica on them shines like many pools of water.

At the roar, as they thought, of the cannon, the farmers looked up
from their struggle with the flood to say, "That's Rintoul
married," as clocks pause simultaneously to strike the hour. Then
every one in the glen save Gavin and myself was done with Rintoul.
Before the hills had answered the noise, Gavin was on his way to
the Spittal. The dog must have been ten minutes in overtaking him,
yet he maintained afterward that it was with him from the start.
From this we see that the shock he had got carried him some
distance before he knew that he had left the school-house. It also
gave him a new strength, that happily lasted longer than his daze
of mind.

Gavin moved northward quicker than I came south, climbing over or
wading through his obstacles, while I went round mine. After a
time, too, the dog proved useful, for on discovering that it was
going homeward it took the lead, and several times drew him to the
right road to the Spittal by refusing to accompany him on the
wrong road. Yet in two hours he had walked perhaps nine miles
without being four miles nearer the Spittal. In that flood the
glen milestones were three miles apart.

For some time he had been following the dog doubtfully, for it
seemed to be going too near the river. When they struck a cart-
track, however, he concluded rightly that they were nearing a
bridge. His faith in his guide was again tested before they had
been many minutes on this sloppy road. The dog stopped, whined,
looked irresolute, and then ran to the right, disappearing into
the mist in an instant. He shouted to it to come back, and was
surprised to hear a whistle in reply. This was sufficient to make
him dash after the dog, and in less than a minute he stopped
abruptly by the side of a shepherd.

"Have you brocht it?" the man cried almost into Gavin's ear; yet
the roar of the water was so tremendous that the words came
faintly, as if from a distance. "Wae is me; is it only you, Mr.
Dishart?"

"Is it only you!" No one in the glen would have addressed a
minister thus except in a matter of life of death, and Gavin knew
it.

"He'll be ower late," the shepherd exclaimed, rubbing his hands
together in distress.