Jackman murmured rather than spoke the words, for no human ear was there to hear. Nevertheless there were human ears and tongues also, not far distant, engaged in earnest debate. It was on one of the ledges of the Eagle Cliff that our hunter stood. At another part of the same cliff, close to the pass where Milly Moss met with her accident, Allan Gordon stood with nearly all his visitors and several of his retainers around him.
“Higher up the pass you’ll have a much better chance, Mr Barret. Is it not so, Ivor?”
The keeper, who, in kilt, hose, and bonnet, was as fine a specimen of a tall athletic Highlander as one could wish to see, replied that that was true.
“Nae doot,” he said, “I hev put Mr Jackman in the best place of all, for, whativer way the deer come, they’ll hev to pass close, either above or below him—an’ that’s maybe as weel for him wi’ his queer new-fashioned rifle; but at the heed o’ the pass is the next best place. The only thing is that ye’ll hev to tak’ sure aim, for there’s more room for them to stray, an’ ye may chance to git only a lang shot.”
“Well, then, it is not the place for me, for I am a poor shot,” said Barret; “besides, I have a fancy to stay here, where I am. You say it is a very good spot, Ivor, I understand?”
“Weel, it’s no’ that bad as a spote,” answered the keeper, with a grim smile, for he had not much opinion of Barret’s spirit as a sportsman; “but it’s ackward as the lawnd lies.”
“Never mind. I’ll stay here, and you know, laird, that I have some pleasant associations with it in connection with your niece.”
“That is more than Milly has,” returned the old gentleman, laughing. “However, have your way. Now, gentlemen, we must place ourselves quickly, for the beaters will soon be entering the wood. I will take you, Mr Mabberly, to a spot beyond the pass where you will be pretty sure of a shot. And MacRummle—where shall we place him?”
“He can do nothing wi’ the gun at a’, sir,” muttered the keeper, in a low voice, so that he might not be overheard. “I wad putt him doon at the white rock. He’ll git a lang shot at them there. Of course he’ll miss, but that’ll do weel enough for him—for he’s easy pleased; ony way, if he tak’s shootin’ as he tak’s fishin’, a mere sight o’ the deer, like the rise o’ a salmon, ’ll send him home happy.”
“Very well, Ivor, arrange as you think best. And how about Captain McPherson and McGregor?”