“She thocht Dirk would ha’ takken it up,” said Tavish slowly. “She’s na the dog she thocht.”
“Don’t give up yet, father. I feel sure.”
“Hey, she’s cot it!” cried Tavish wildly, as a loud baying bark came from Dirk.
“Yes, come on! He has got it now,” cried Kenneth, and he dashed on at a sharp trot right into the darkness.
“Keep up with him, Tavish,” cried The Mackhai. “Steady, Ken, steady.”
“All right, father,” came from far ahead.
“Oh ay, sir, she’ll be close aifter the young Chief. Hark! d’ye hear? Dirk’s got the scent, and she’ll rin him doon.”
Right away in the darkness the low barking of the dog could be heard, for Dirk had indeed got on the scent, and, with the wondrous faculty of his kind, he was trotting steadily on over the grass and heather, nose down, tail high, and not for a moment halting in his quest.
Hour after hour the hunt went on, no little exertion being needed to keep within hearing of the dog, who followed Max’s trail right on and on—a devious, wandering trail, right along to the narrow gully where the dark loch lay. After coming to a halt several times, where Max had waded into patches of bog, and also where he had stepped over the precipitous place and fallen a few feet, to slide and scramble down some distance farther, Dirk picked up the trail again, and trotted on.
These halts gave those who followed time to catch up, and there were so many faults along the edge of the dark, narrow loch, that Kenneth and Tavish were together and pretty close behind.