a house, for no one could tell
what might be close to the house; and he was sure that Mr. Ogilvie had
not forgotten the use of a gun since he went away from the hills to live
in England."

"But look here, Macleod," Mr. Ogilvie said; "why did not you fire
yourself?"--he was very properly surprised; for the most generous and
self-denying of men are apt to claim their rights when a grouse gets up
to their side.

"Oh," said Macleod simply, "I wanted you to have a shot."

And indeed all through the day he was obviously far more concerned about
Ogilvie's shooting than his own. He took all the hardest work on
himself--taking the outside beat, for example, if there was a bit of
unpromising ground to be got over. When one or other of the dogs
suddenly showed by its uplifted fore-paw, its rigid tail, and its slow,
cautious, timid look round for help and encouragement, that there was
something ahead of more importance than a lark, Macleod would run all
the risks of waiting to give Ogilvie time to come up. If a hare ran
across with any chance of coming within shot of Ogilvie, Macleod let her
go by unscathed. And the young gentleman from the South knew enough
about shooting to understand how he was being favored both by his host
and--what was a more unlikely thing--by Hamish.

He was shooting very well, too; and his spirits rose and rose until the
lowering day was forgotten altogether.

"We are in for a soaker this time!" he cried, quite cheerfully, looking
around at one moment.

All this lonely world of olive greens and browns had grown strangely
dark. Even the hum of flies--the only sound audible in these high
solitudes away from the sea--seemed stilled; and a cold wind began to
blow over from Ben-an-Sloich. The plain of the valley in front of them
began to fade from view; then they found themselves enveloped in a
clammy fog, that settled on their clothes and hung about their eyelids
and beard, while water began to run down the barrels of their guns. The
wind blew harder and harder: presently they seemed to spring out of the
darkness; and, turning, they found that the cloud had swept onward
toward the sea, leaving the rocks on the nearest hillside all glittering
wet in the brief burst of sunlight. It was but a glimmer. Heavier clouds
came sweeping over; downright rain began to pour. But Ogilvie kept
manfully to his work. He climbed over the stone walls, gripping on with
his wet hands. He splashed through the boggy land, pa