Presently Sim turned to me. "Ye're unco ready with the stick," said he.
"Too ready, I'm afraid," said I. "I am afraid Mr. Faa (if that be his name) has got his gruel."
"Weel, I wouldnae wonder," replied Sim.
"And what is likely to happen?" I inquired.
"Aweel," said Sim, snuffing profoundly, "if I were to offer an opeenion, it would not be conscientious. For the plain fac' is, Mr. St. Ivy, that I div not ken. We have had crackit heids—and rowth of them—ere now; and we have had a broken leg or maybe twa; and the like of that we drover bodies make a kind of a practice like to keep among oursel's. But a corp we have none of us ever had to deal with, and I could set nae leemit to what Gillies micht consider proper in the affair. Forbye that, he would be in raither a hobble himsel', if he was to gang hame wantin' Faa. Folk are awf u' throng with their questions, and parteecularly when they're no wantit."
"That's a fac'," said Candlish.
I considered this prospect ruefully; and then, making the best of it, "Upon all which accounts," said I, "the best will be to get across the border and there separate. If you are troubled, you can very truly put the blame upon your late companion; and if I am pursued, I must just try to keep out of the way."
"Mr. St. Ivy," said Sim, with something resembling enthusiasm, "no a word mair! I have met in wi'mony kinds o' gentry ere now; I hae seen o' them that was the tae thing, and I hae seen o' them that was the tither; but the wale of a gentleman like you I have no sae very frequently seen the bate of."
Our night march was accordingly pursued with unremitting diligence. The stars paled, the east whitened, and we were still, both dogs and men, toiling after the wearied
