The boast of the incautious gauger was repeated far and wide, and a strong spirit of opposition was aroused. Many a wary practitioner began to devise cunning means of concealment, and to invent traps to catch their adversary and turn him into ridicule. Davie Forbes was not behindhand in making remote preparations for the ganger's certain visit to him. But it was then mid-winter, and if Bonar was the canny man that he was said to be, there would be little fear of any attempted search for Davie's implements and stores before spring had set in. So the Forbes family congratulated themselves upon the security of their airy nest, and would smile grimly when the name of Bonar was mentioned.
The gauger was, it is true, canny, but his youth made him perhaps a trifle too venturesome. He was not unused to climbing, and had scaled many a mountain more imposing than Ben Sguarrach; but it was not in winter; forgetfulness of that trifling circumstance led to his discomfiture. Ben Sguarrach was indeed no pleasant place in wintry weather. Its open spaces were swept by icy blasts; snow often drifted to unparalleled depths, and made the ascent dangerous to those who were not familiar with the mountain in its more peaceful aspects.
To Bonar's ardent mind the season of the year seemed likely to assist rather than hinder him. Days were short; nights were dark (if the moon should happen to be unpropitious), but they were long. No work was possible at such a time in a mountain distillery, and stores could not be shifted so readily as in summer time. So he determined to bide his opportunity and make a secret visit to Davie Forbes' dwelling, just to reconnoiter. He would thus be enabled to form his plan of campaign for a more bold attack.
Unfortunately, the gauger did not thoroughly know the people he had to deal with or he would have made allowance for their clannish devotion to each other's interests. Every one recognized him as a public enemy, and however politely he might be treated public sympathy was on the side of his opponents. He might flatter himself that he was keeping his intentions and movements absolutely secret, yet it was impossible not to take some one or other into his confidence; thus it came about that tidings of his intended visit flew to Davie at least a week before his attempt.
In consequence of this fact, all incriminating evidence was carefully concealed by the old man and his sons, and it would have taken a sharper man than Bonar—intelligent as he was—to discover any traces of illicit distilling in the neighborhood of their house. There was one suspicious feature only; a large eighteen-gallon barrel, full of something—whatever the liquid might be—was barely covered by peat-turfs heaped over it under the shelter of the end wall of the byre. But it had not been overlooked; arrangements had been made in its regard, should circumstances demand its more thorough concealment, otherwise it must not be disturbed. For—if the truth must be told—that particular cask contained the store of whiskey which Davie had been carefully preserving for his last act of hospitality; it was for the entertainment of those who would attend his funeral. Who, indeed, was able to provide refreshment for the crowd of mourners who would surely assemble on such an occasion, if not Davie, whose "whuskey" was renowned in the whole countryside?
Bonar had the good sense to keep from every one the actual date of his intended visit, lest tidings should reach the Forbes. He fixed upon a night when there would be an early rising moon to light him. On the morning of the day he made all his preparations very carefully. In view of an absence of some hours, he provided himself with a good packet of sandwiches and a flask of spirits. He then set out for Fouranbuie Inn, a dreary hostel about four miles distant from the foot of the mountain. There he made a substantial meal, and about four in the afternoon started on his quest. He had resolved to ride off from the inn on his bicycle, ostensibly toward a village farther on; then to dismount at the foot of Ben Sgurrach, and, hiding his machine in some bushes, to start the climb as dusk fell. Jock, as he had found out, was accustomed to approach from another direction when returning from work.
The January day was already closing when Bonar began the ascent. The climb was decidedly pleasant; the wintry air, the excitement coming from the spirit of adventure, the vigorous exercise—all tended to raise the young man's ardor, and he trod the upward path with the steady, swinging pace of a Highlander.
The moon had scarcely risen when clouds began to drift across the sky, and the wind became more boisterous. The darkness increased, and soon it became almost impossible to discern the path. Then cold, soft particles brushed his cheek, and he realized that snow was beginning to fall. In a snowstorm he had no better prospect of finding his way to his bicycle down below than up to Davie Forbes' house. So he kept mechanically groping his way upward, although the storm had commenced in earnest now.
There was less difficulty in progressing while the pretty well-defined pathway could be kept to; but the falling snow began to obliterate its traces. His entire surroundings soon became shut out from the man's vision. He moved on resolutely, although his face smarted and his eyes were blinded by the steadily descending snow, which surrounded him on all sides like a moving curtain of grayish white. He owned to himself that it was impossible to proceed, but what was he to do? To return was just as impossible!
Fortune at last favored him. Staggering through the wind and snow of the ever-increasing storm, he ran unexpectedly upon a lofty wall of rock looking to him like a high cliff. He had evidently lost the path, for here was an insurmountable obstacle. Clinging to the rough surface, he cautiously felt his way along the rock for some yards. He was still ascending, but the ground was rough and piled with small stones, which had crumbled off from the main wall and lay in heaps beneath it. He knew enough about Scottish mountains to expect to find an opening in the wall large enough to enable him to creep into some kind of shelter; he was not disappointed, for soon he came upon a crevice—not deep enough to be called a cave, but affording some temporary relief from the storm, which had by this time assumed a furious aspect.