set, indeed, was he that, before the faces
of the men, he blurted out on one occasion the statement that in his
opinion these continued losses were due chiefly to carelessness or
ignorance of their work, if not to something even worse, on the part of
the shepherds. Now, to throw doubt on their knowledge or skill was bad
enough, but any insinuation as to their honesty was like rubbing salt on
open wounds. It touched them on the raw, even though no direct
accusation had been made, for a finer, more capable, careful, and honest
class of men than the Border shepherd has never existed anywhere. Deep,
therefore, was their anger, wrathful the mutterings that accompanied
them in their long tramps over the windy hills; it would have gone ill
with any one detected in possession of so much as a lamb's tail to which
he might fail to establish his legal right.

Eyes sharpened by resentment were continually on the watch, yet the
losses continued, now less, now more, but always a steady percentage,
and it seemed beyond mortal power to guess how and when these losses
occurred. But at last it chanced one day that Gibson, for some purpose,
had mustered his ewes and lambs, and as the men went about their work,
one of the older shepherds, Hyslop by name, halted abruptly as a lamb
ran up to a certain ewe, and suckled.

"Dod!" cried Hyslop, "thon's auld Maggie an' her lamb!"

Now "Maggie" was a black-faced ewe, so peculiarly speckled about the
face that no one, least of all a Border shepherd, could possibly make
any mistake as to her identity. She had been missing for some days, and
was given up as lost for good and all. Yet here she was suckling her
lamb as if she had never been away.

Something prompted Hyslop to catch the ewe. Then he whistled long and
low, and swore beneath his breath.

"Hey!" he cried to Gibson. "What d'ye think o' that?"

"God! It canna be," muttered Gibson.

And:

"Aye! _That's_ gey queer like!" chorused the other shepherds.

What had caught the quick eye of old Hyslop was a fresh brand, or
"buist," on the ewe's nose; the letter "O" was newly burned there,
nearly obliterating an old letter "T." The latter was Mr. Gibson's
fire-brand; "O" that of his not distant neighbour, Murdison, tenant in
Ormiston. Gibson and Murdison were on friendly terms, and both were
highly respectable and respected farmers. Necessarily, this discovery
anent the brands was most disturbing, and could not fail to be difficult
of satis