"Hurrah! there she tips!"
Bang! and a white hare that had essayed crossing from one broom-bush to another, was tumbled; then off darted Viking and brought her in.
"Capital shot!" said Duncan. "Now we'll spread, and it will be every one for himself, and Viking and Dash for us all."
They lay out in skirmishing order, and marched on and up.
But soon they had to force their way through heather that came up even to the laird's and the tall keeper's waists, and all but buried little Frank.
He held his gun aloft, however, and struggled bravely on.
In about a quarter of an hour they had emerged, and the boys were shaking the snow from their kilts.
On and up. Why, it was always on and up.
They marched all that forenoon, sometimes around rocky spurs and paps of the mountains, sometimes along bare and barren glens, sometimes along the edges of fearful precipices, where a single slip or false step would have meant a terrible accident.
By the time they had reached the cliffy shelter of a very high hill, they had bagged eight white hares in all.