Humour answered veiled humour. “To be sure we can’t—save for killing vermin. That’s allowed by law.”
A great burden had slipped from the Master’s shoulders. He was free somehow, to carry a careless heart and fight Logie to the last edge of what might come.
“To-morrow, after we’ve got the pedlar safe up-moor?”
“The sooner the better. Who told you they were coming against Logie to-night?”
“Long Murgatroyd.”
“He’d be a liar if he stood on the brink o’ Kingdom Come.”
“That’s where he did stand—dangled, I should say—when I found him.”
“Oh, aye?” asked Brant, with slow curiosity.
“There are things men don’t think of twice, if they can help it. Come indoors, and tell Rebecca that winds are dry and thirsty on the heights.”
“They are,” said the shepherd, with conviction, “and from this to Hawes Water there’s no ale as ripe as Logie’s.”