Snorting, a-haunch above a breakneck hill,

The horse stopped short—then Jamie was aware

Of lonesome flatlands fading skyward there

Beneath him, and, zigzag on either hand,

A purple haze denoted how the Grand

Forked wide ‘twixt sunset and the polar star.

A-tiptoe in the stirrups, gazing far,

He saw no Hugh nor any moving thing,

Save for a welter of cawing crows, a-wing

About some banquet in the further hush.