kling merrily, and all out of key with a poor wretch
in draggled tartans, fleeing he knew not whither, but going about in
shortened circles like a hedgehog in the sea.

The mist made no sign of lifting all this time, but shrouded the country
as if it were come to stay for ever, and I was doomed to remain till the
end, guessing my way to death in a silver-grey reek. I strained my ears,
and far off to the right I heard the sound of cattle bellowing, the
snorting low of a stirk upon the hillside when he wonders at the lost
pastures of his calfhood in the merry summer before. So out I set in
that direction, and more bellowing arose, and by-and-by, out of the mist
but still far off, came a long low wail that baffled me. It was like
no sound nature ever conferred on the Highlands, to my mind, unless
the rare call of the Benderloch wolf in rigorous weather. I stopped and
listened, with my inner head cracking to the strain, and as I was thus
standing in wonder, a great form leaped out at me from the mist, and
almost ran over me ere it lessened to the semblance of a man, and I had
John M'Iver of Barbreck, a heated and hurried gentleman of arms, in my
presence.

He drew up with a shock, put his hand to his vest, and I could see him
cross himself under the jacket.

"Not a bit of it," I cried; "no wraith nor warlock this time, friend,
but flesh and blood. Yet I'm bound to say I have never been nearer
ghostdom than now; a day of this moor would mean death to me."

He shook me hurriedly and warmly by the hand, and stared in my face, and
stammered, and put an arm about my waist as if I were a girl, and turned
me about and led me to a little tree that lifted its barren branches
above the moor. He was in such a confusion and hurry that I knew
something troubled him, so I left him to choose his own time for
explanation. When we got to the tree, he showed me his black knife--a
very long and deadly weapon--laid along his wrist, and "Out dirk," said
he; "there's a dog or two of Italy on my track here." His mind, by the
stress of his words, was like a hurricane.

Now I knew something of the Black Dogs of Italy, as they were called,
the abominable hounds that were kept by the Camerons and others mainly
for the hunting down of the Gregarich.

"Were they close on you?" I asked, as we prepared to meet them.

"Do you not hear them bay?" said he. "There were three on my track: I
struck one through the throat with my knife and ran, for two I