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Updated: June 9, 2025
He handed a flask of whisky to Haig, who took it, smiling, and thrust it into a pocket of his coat. "Sure cure for everything, eh, Pete?" But he reached down, and clasped Pete's hand. "You will be cold, maybe," said the Indian simply. "All right, men!" said Haig. "You'll take good care of Craven, of course. And you'll use your best judgment about everything, Farrish.
If Winsome were in a mood for talk she did not read much, but listened instead to the brisk chatter of the maids. Sometimes the ploughmen, Jock Forrest and Ebie Farrish, came to "ca' the crack," and it was Winsome's delight on these occasions to listen to the flashing claymore of Meg Kissock's rustic wit.
"About 3 o'clock I went below to take forty winks. I had been in my berth only a few minutes when the steward told me the captain wanted me on the bridge. "'Do you see that, Farrish? he asked, pointing at the land. An outburst of smoke seemed to be sweeping down upon us. It made me think of the Roddam's experience.
All were looking towards him, except Ebie Farrish, the new ploughman, who was wondering what Jess Kissock would do if he put his arm around her waist. "What said ye?" Jock asked from his perch on the top of the peat- stack. "Hae ye fetched in the peats an' the water, as I bade ye?" asked Meg, with great asperity in her voice.
He did not know that he was quoting the earliest English classic. He had never heard of Chaucer. "What wad Jess say?" continued Jock Forrest, sleepily. "Ask her," said Ebie sharply. "At any rate, I'm no gaun to be disturbit in my nicht's rest wi' the like o' you, Ebie Farrish! Ye'll eyther come hame in time o' nicht, or ye'll sleep elsewhere up at the Crae, gin ye like."
Then, of a sudden, with the unexpectedness and unreason of a dog's wolf-howl at the rising moon, there rose from the gloom of the corral a shrill, wild neigh that shattered the peaceful silence of the night. Haig left the fence, and walked swiftly to the barn. "Farrish!" he said shortly. "We'll break Sunnysides to-morrow. Tell Pete and Curly not to ride away in the morning. The cattle can wait."
Bill was mounted on the wisest horse in the stables, with a lariat ready against the event of Sunnysides trying the fence again. Then Haig directed Farrish, Curly, and Pete to rope and saddle the outlaw, saving himself for the supreme struggle.
But to their astonishment there was none of the difficulties in the preliminaries that they encountered on the previous occasion; only two or three vicious movements, no more. "Foxy, ain't you?" said Farrish to the outlaw, when the saddle was on. "Savin' yourself, are you, you yellow devil?" The horse was led as before into the larger corral.
It sounded mysterious and unknown, the cry of a lost soul. Ebie Farrish wondered where he would go to when he died. He thought this over for a little, and then he concluded that it were better not to dwell on this subject. But the crying on the lonely hills awed him. It was only a Jack snipe from whose belated nest an owl had stolen two eggs. But it was Ebie Farrish's good angel.
But though half-blinded, dizzy, and aching in all his body, Haig hung on, and dug the spurs ceaselessly into the horse's flanks. "God! He's got him!" cried Farrish. "Your game's up!" yelled Curly tauntingly, dancing with joy in his corner of the corral. But the game was not up. Curly's words were barely out of his mouth when something went wrong with Haig.
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