"If a man runnin' like that Gilchrist can blurt oot the news and keep runnin', it's maistly truth, but if he stops and begins to walk, and twist his mouth before he speaks, he's makin' lies," said McKinnon, and turned himself in the water.
The searchers were beginning to tire of beating.
"Roast the devil oot." "Ay, gie McBride a taste o' the fire."
"I'm thanking God for a fool," said Dan, "if the whins will just burn, but whins are dour revengefu' bushes."
"Burn," says Ronny—"burn; they'll hiv a bleeze ye'll see for twenty miles—we're bate, Dan."
"Na, na," says Dan. "Wait you, yonder's a twinkle, anither. Man, they'll mak' a bonny lowe, and waste a heap of good keep."
Men were rushing hither and thither with flaming branches, and already, when the breeze freshened, you could hear the roar and crackle. The great lilac flames leapt ten feet in the air, and the night rained stars. The sparks fell above us like fire-flakes, and some came down and sizzled out in our pool.
When the flames were roaring like a hurricane, Dan spoke softly—
"We'll go now."
"Are ye daft?" said Ronny.