“They’ll kill the little dog,” cried Max excitedly.
“What, Sneeshing? Not they. It’s only their fun. Look!”
For Sneeshing had shaken himself free of Dirk, over whose back he leaped, then dashed under Bruce, raced round the other two dogs for a few moments, and then darted off, dodging them in and out among the rocks, the others in full pursuit till they were all out of breath, when Sneeshing came close up to his master’s heels, Bruce trotted up and thrust his long nose into his hand, while Dirk went to the front, looked up inquiringly, and then, keeping a couple of yards in front, led the way toward a cluster of grey stone buildings hidden from the castle by a stumpy group of firs.
“He knows where we are going,” said Kenneth, laughing, and stopping as they reached the trees. “Hear that! Our chief singing bird.”
Max stared inquiringly at his guide, as a peculiar howl came from beyond the trees, which sounded as if some one in a doleful minor key was howling out words that might take form literally as follows:—
“Ach—na—shena—howna howna—wagh—hech—wagh!”
“Pretty, isn’t it?” said Kenneth, laughing. “Come away. The ponies are in here.”
He led the way into a comfortable stable, whereupon there was a rattling of headstalls, and three ugly big rough heads were turned to look at him, and three shaggy manes were shaken.
“Hallo, Whaup! Hallo, Seapie! Well, Walter!” cried Kenneth, going up and patting each pony in turn, the little animals responding by nuzzling up to him and rubbing their ears against his chest.
“Look here!” cried Kenneth. “This is Walter. You’ll ride him. Come and make friends.”