“The canny, God-fearing Scotchmen shoot us for shooting hares?” he asked.
“Well, it’s a possibility. However, I don’t think you’ll have much of a hare-drive in any case.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t get a single native beater, and you won’t get a keeper to come either. You’ll have to go with Buxton and your man.”
“Then I’ll discharge Sandie,” snapped Jim.
“That would be a pity: he knows his work.”
Jim got up.
“Well, his work to-morrow will be to drive hares for you and me,” said Jim. “Or do you funk?”
“I funk,” I replied.
The scene next morning was extremely short. Jim and I went out before breakfast, and found Sandie at the back door, silent and respectful. In the yard were a dozen young Highlanders, who had beaten for us the day before.