We flung across the stream, carrying down an avalanche of loose earth and stones after us, and breenged into the maze of prickly bushes, winding through those that the snow had been blown off. But mostly the bushes were dry and bare of snow, and this indeed proved our safety. We were nearly through the clumps when the horsemen on our right crossed the burn with a great floundering and splashing, and those on our left came galloping over the peat-track, and the first horseman galloped past us, so close that I heard the squeak of the saddle leather. We were crouched in a wee burn winding among the bushes; for they grew strongly on either side, and left a little tunnel which one could creep through without much hindrance, and as the riders drove their unwilling beasts among the whins we crawled upwards like cats. While the men on foot beat for us, and the horsemen kept wary eyes for a movement to betray us, we crept from the whins and crawled like adders belly flat up the little stream, over which dry bracken still hung and straggling whin bushes, like soldiers marching away from the main body. We had crawled maybe fifty yards, when McKinnon turned his face to me, and the blood was drying on his cheeks and brow where the whins had marked him.
"Stop," his lips only moved; and I stopped and turned to Dan, for he still had the rear-guard.
The burn had worn out a round hole under our bank, and we crawled in and lay there, and never, never will I forget the cold of that pool and the streak of light above us, for we lay in a brook that a sheep could walk over, and indeed its very narrowness was our safety, for it surely had been watched else. And while we lay in the frozen cold of the pool, the water tinkled and gurgled and laughed, and went plout-plout at my knees, as though it was a hot summer day and we were stooping to drink.
"We must just lie here like rats," whispered the smuggler, and I held my chin to stop the chattering of my teeth, "for this burn gets narrower than a sheep drain. We must just steep in the water and think of the whisky."
We could hear the swishing among the whins, and the shouts of the rabble behind us, and the clatter of horses' hoofs on the shingle of the burn, and the splashing.
"They're in there like rabbits in a patch of corn in the harvest," cried one man.
"By God, if I could only get that Ronny McKinnon under my bonny blue hanger," said Gilchrist, the ganger that had the soft side for Mirren Stuart.
"One good prog wid pay for this night's daftness," growled his leader, and again came Gilchrist's voice—
"Was I tae ken McKinnon was ootside Finlay Stuart's and a dozen o' ye in the kitchen."
"Umph," sniffed Ronny, "it's the great company that gathers at Finlays," and indeed Mirren Stuart saved many's the house at that time, for the gangers and excisemen went after her sisters, while old Finlay smiled grimly, and Mirren got hold of the secrets.