CHAPTER V.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
Running as one runs whose life is at stake, Donalblane looked hither and thither for some break in the cliffs that would give him a chance to climb out of his fell pursuers' reach. At last, with a thrill of joy, his eye perceived one, and, summoning all his energies for a supreme effort, he darted thither.
The ravening swine were gaining upon him at a rate which meant his soon being overtaken, and if he should stumble his fate was certain.
"THE RAVENING SWINE WERE GAINING UPON HIM."
But the sure-footed faculty of the Highlander stood him in good stead. He neither slipped nor tripped, and kept steadily on, until well-nigh spent he won his race for life by so scanty a margin that the baffled boar drove hard against the friendly rock up which his intended victim had sprung to safety.
It was little more than a ledge which afforded Donalblane such timely sanctuary, and it did not lead far; but, about twenty feet from the ground, he found a sort of niche wherein he could dispose his exhausted body with some degree of comfort.
"Eh, man, but I'm well-nigh dead!" he panted, as he stretched out on the moss-covered rock. "Anither ten yards and he'd have had his tusks into me. Ah, weel, he'll no' get anither chance, though I stay here a' nicht!"