“Matter!” replied the man; “a matter o’ murder, gif I’m no far mistane.”
“Mercy on me! Who has been murdered?” cried Mr. Russel.
“I didna say that ony body was murdered,” answered the man; “but, an ye persevere on your road through the pass, I’m thinkin’ that somebody will be murdered.”
“What makes you fancy so?” asked Mr. Russel.
“Were ye no to hae been at my hoose last night?” demanded the Dalwhinnie landlord.
“I did so intend,” said Mr. Russel; “but the road turned out to be so much heavier than I had anticipated, that all I could do was to reach Dalnacaerdoch, and that at a late hour.”
“It was the yespecial providence o’ Heevin that you didna get forrit,” said the landlord, throwing up his eyes as if in thanksgiving, “for, if you had, you would have been assuredly a cauld corp at this precious moment.”
“A corpse!” exclaimed Mr. Russel, “what has put that into your head?”
“Troth, as sure as ye are noo sittin’ on your horse,” replied the landlord, “ye wad hae been murdered, though you had had mair lives nor a cat.”
“Explain yourself, I entreat you!” said Mr. Russel.