t up the Hill Difficulty. The morning's walk had been bad, but
the afternoon's was worse, for I was in a fever to get back, and,
having had enough of the hills, chose the longer route I had followed
the previous day. I was mortally afraid of being seen, for I cut a
queer figure, so I avoided every stretch of road where I had not a
clear view ahead. Many weary detours I made among moss-hags and screes
and the stony channels of burns. But I got there at last, and it was
almost with a sense of comfort that I flung my pack down beside the
stream where I had passed the night.

I ate a good meal, lit my pipe, and fell into the equable mood which
follows upon fatigue ended and hunger satisfied. The sun was westering,
and its light fell upon the rock-wall above the place where I had
abandoned my search for the spoor.

As I gazed at it idly I saw a curious thing.

It seemed to be split in two and a shaft of sunlight came through
between. There could be no doubt about it. I saw the end of the shaft
on the moor beneath, while all the rest lay in shadow. I rubbed my
eyes, and got out my glasses. Then I guessed the explanation. There was
a rock tower close against the face of the main precipice and
indistinguishable from it to anyone looking direct at the face. Only
when the sun fell on it obliquely could it be discovered. And between
the tower and the cliff there must be a substantial hollow.

The discovery brought me to my feet, and set me running towards the end
of the shaft of sunlight. I left the heather, scrambled up some yards
of screes, and had a difficult time on some very smooth slabs, where
only the friction of tweed and rough rock gave me a hold. Slowly I
worked my way towards the speck of sunlight, till I found a handhold,
and swung myself into the crack. On one side was the main wall of the
hill, on the other a tower some ninety feet high, and between them a
long crevice varying in width from three to six feet. Beyond it there
showed a small bright patch of sea.

There was more, for at the point where I entered it there was an
overhang which made a fine cavern, low at the entrance but a dozen feet
high inside, and as dry as tinder. Here, thought I, is the perfect
hiding-place. Before going farther I resolved to return for food. It
was not very easy descending, and I slipped the last twenty feet,
landing on my head in a soft patch of screes. At the burnside I filled
my flask from the whisky bottle, and put half a l