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Updated: June 28, 2025
As the time went on the voices were none so loud, but still he could hear, and it was Ronny McKinnon that was speaking most, and the tale that came to McCook was this: "There would be folk at the South End," said Ronald, "bien folk of his own name some of them, and the harvest was very good for this year, and there would be a considerable of spirit and salt to be taken across quietly.
"Imphm," said I, for Margaret was looking down and smiling in a way that angered me a little "imphm," said I. "Did she say was he bringing his wife with him?" "Wife?" said Hugh with a start. Margaret was not smiling now, but I will say this; she was making a brave try at it. "Some lady in Jamaica," said I, "wi' bonny bright eyes, young McKinnon was thinking." At that Hugh left us, smiling.
"Ay, McKinnon, just wild Ronny, that she cast out wi' years ago when he was a decent farmer's son, close to her own place in the Glen yonder at the far end o' Lamlash, before he slipped away on the Seagull." "I am wishing, Dan," said I, "that ye kent less about the smugglers." "A man must be doing something, Hamish, to get any pith out o' life.
Ronny McKinnon had been aye about the cove, concealed in the daytime and busy in the night, for McGilp trusted him much, and McKelvie's skiff had made a run with only the innkeeper and swart Robin on board, except for a keg or two concealed beneath a sail and a tangled long line.
Sometimes yet I can see Helen's face clear-cut upraised against the sky, her curling black hair flying loose, and never, never will I forget her laughing the devilry and the joy of it. Angus McKinnon stretched himself on the shore at the Clates. "I am not liking this waiting," said he to Dan McBride; "McNeilage might have been standing closer in."
"It will be the Revenue cutter he is feared of, Angus," said his father. "The Revenue boat is lying off the White Rock in Lamlash," said Angus. "McNeilage will be getting old and sober." "Wait a wee, Angus wait a wee, my boy." It was another McKinnon, a friend of his own, that spoke. "Things are just right; the wee boats will be in 'e noo.
McKinnon was first in that long race and I next to him, for Dan would not let me out of his sight lest I should lag behind and get rough handling, although indeed, except the gaugers would yelp questions at me which I might not find easy to answer, there was little I had to fear, but it was always in Dan's mind that he had the charge of me.
McGilp and his Seagull were not so often at the cove these last years, and yet McKinnon had a crack with him in Tiree, where he was buying a horse or two. "Young Dan's deid," said McKinnon, "and Dol Beag will be hirpling aboot and eating his kail broth for many's the day."
And maybe in an evening there would be gathered at Dan's place all the old friends of his youth. You would be seeing Ronald McKinnon and Mirren, sitting in the circle round the fire, thrang at the knitting both man and wife kemping as they called it: that is, each would tie a knot in the worsted and make a race of it, who would be finished first.
That revel in the by-paths of the Poesque began with Dinky-Dunk's casual reference to the McKinnon ranch and Percy's inquiry as to why its earlier owner had given it up. So Dinky-Dunk recounted the story of Andrew Cochrane's death. And it was noticeable that poor old Olie betrayed visible signs of distress at this tale of a young ranchman being frozen to death alone in his shack in mid-winter.
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