up again any more than the bit rider, that
was thrown over its head like an arrow out of a bow; but on helping him
to his feet, save and except the fright, two wide screeds across his
trowser-knees, and a scratch along the brig of his nose, nothing visible
was to be perceived. It was different, however, with the limping horse.
Misfortunate brute! one of its fore-legs had folded below it, and snapped
through at the fetlock joint. There was it lying with a sad sorrowful
look, as if it longed for death to come quick and end its miseries; the
blood, all the while, gush-gushing out at the gaping wound. To all it
was as plain as the A, B, C, that the bones would never knit; and that,
considering the case it was in, it would be an act of Christian charity
to put the beast out of pain. The maister gloomed, stroked his chin, and
looked down, knowing, weel-a-wat, that he had lost his bread-winner, then
gave his head a nod, nod--thrusting both his hands down to the bottom
lining of the pockets of his long square-tailed jockey coat. He was a
wauf, hallanshaker-looking chield, with an old broad-snouted japanned
beaver hat pulled over his brow--one that seemed by his phisog to hold
the good word of the world as nothing--and that had, in the course of
circumstances, been reduced to a kind of wild desperation, either by
chance-misfortunes, cares and trials, or, what is more likely, by his own
sinful, regardless way of life.

"It canna be helpit," he said, giving his head a bit shake; "it canna be
helpit, friends. Ay, Jess, ye were a gude ane in yere day, lass,--mony a
penny and pound have I made out of ye. Which o' ye can lend me a hand,
lads? Rin away for a gun some o' ye."

Here Thomas Clod interfered with a small bit of advice--a thing that
Thomas was good at, being a Cameronian elder, and accustomed to giving a
word. "Wad ye no think it better," said Thomas, "to stick her with a
long gully-knife, or a sharp shoemaker's parer? It wad be an easier way,
I'm thinking."

Dog on it! I could scarcely keep from shuddering when I heard them
speaking in this wild, heathenish, bloody sort of a manner.

'"Deed no," quo' Saunders Tram, at whose side I was standing, "far better
send away for the smith's forehammer, and hit her a smack or twa betwixt
the een; so ye wad settle her in half a second."

"No, no," cried Tammie Dobbie, lending in his word; "a better plan than
a' that, wad be to make a strong kinch of ropes, and hang her