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Updated: May 2, 2025
"What a muddle you've made of yourself, to be sure!" exclaimed Junkie. "Let me scrape you." But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-foot wall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with a profound sigh.
MacRummle had reached the centre of it when the black bull, standing beside the wall at its most distant corner, seemed to feel resentment at this trespass on its domain. It suddenly bellowed in that low thunderous tone which is so awfully suggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short.
Strange to say, we had almost forgotten that! and also geologise; but our concern at present is with fishers, or, rather, with that fishing enthusiast, MacRummle. The sunshine of his face was second only to that of Nature. His visage beamed with satisfaction; his eyes gleamed with hope, as he sat down on the bank near to his first pool, and began to select flies.
"You'll be sure to get `that salmon' next time you try, after all this rain, MacRummle," said Mabberly. "At least, I hope you will before we leave." "Ay, and you must have another try with the repeater on the Eagle Cliff, Mac. It would never do to leave a lone widdy, as Quin calls it, after murdering the husband."
About midday, like Barret, he prepared to comfort himself with lunch, and, unlike our unfortunate hero, he enjoyed it in comfort, sitting on a green patch or terrace, high up near the summit of the cliffs, and a full mile distant from the spot where the peculiar meeting took place. Like a giant refreshed MacRummle rose from lunch, a good deal more like Bacchus, and much less like Nimrod.
Quick though he was, Junkie outran him; but the unfortunate MacRummle was unintentionally quicker than either, for they found him stranded when they got there. Running into the water, they seized him by the hair and the collar of his coat, and dragged him into the shallow part easily enough, but they had not strength to haul him ashore.
Suddenly the top of the rod described a wild figure in the air and disappeared. At the same moment a heavy plunge was heard. "Hech! he's tum'led in the pool," gasped Donald. They rushed to the overhanging edge of the cliff and looked down. Sure enough MacRummle was in the water.
"Because of amiability pure and simple. You know I don't care a rush for fishing, but, to my surprise, this morning MacRummle expressed a wish to try my repeating rifle at the rabbits, and offered to let me try his rod, and I might almost add his river. Wasn't it generous of him?
One of the scattered deer, which had gone higher up the mountain, passed him by the upper track. MacRummle was gazing at the lower track just then! Having given the allotted time to it, he turned languidly and beheld the hind, trotting rather slowly, for it was somewhat winded. The sight sent sportsman-fire through the old gentleman's entire frame.
"We call it Mac's pool," continued the laird, driving on, "because it is a favourite pool of an old school companion of mine, named MacRummle, who is staying with us just now. He tumbles into it about once a week." "Is that considered a necessary part of the process of fishing?" asked Barret. "No, it may rather be regarded as an eccentric addition peculiar to MacRummle.
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