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Updated: May 22, 2025
Rounded hills, stained a deep blue, cut against the light, and a trail of gauzy vapor hung about a distant hollow. Since there was no mist on the moors, he knew it was the smoke of Hawick mills. As he went down, stone dykes began to straggle up the hill. The fields they enclosed were rushy and dotted with whinns, but they got smoother and presently he came to stubble and belts of plowing.
Again one of his pistols flashed its crimson streak across the blackness and a man began scrambling and thrashing and screaming down there in the whinns. For a little while Miss Erith crouched beside McKay in silence. Then he felt her light touch on his arm: "I've been thinking.", "Aye. So have I." "Is there a chance to drop into the lake?" He had not thought so.
Sheer cliffs, with the bonny green grass atop all furrowed by the wind and the yellow-flowered broom and the shimmering whinns blowing. "Why, it's Scotland," he said aloud, "it's Glenark Cliffs and the Head of Strathlone my people's fine place in the Old World where we took root and O my God! Yankee that I am, it looks like home!"
"I imagine it's connected with somebody else's grouse or partridges, but that's not my business. You'll be a shilling or two richer if you show me the way." "Then the sooner I'm finished here, the sooner we'll be off, though I doot we hae fleyt the paltrig. Bide ye by the whinns, and when ye see me at the dyke come forrad with the net. If I lift my airm, ye'll stop."
"I'm very tired Kay!" "You below there!" shouted McKay. "Are there constables among you?" "Aye, sir!" came the loud response amid the roar of running engines. "Then there'll be whiskey and blankets, I'm thinkin'!" cried McKay. "Aye, blankets for the dead if there be any!" "Kick 'em into the whinns and bring what ye bring for the living!" said McKay in a loud, joyous voice.
Again the brown grouse whirred from the whinns; again the subtle fragrance of the moor sweetened her throat with its clean aroma; again the haunting complaint of the lapwings came across acres of bog and furze; and, high in the afternoon sky, an invisible curlew sadly and monotonously repeated its name through the vast blue vault of space.
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