‘I begin to think it’s no a very thankful job.’
‘And do you often amuse yourself with nosing it in this way over these vile moors, through which I am so heartily tired of trudging?’
‘Whenever the laird, sir, goes out after the muir-hens, I go with him to smell them out.’
‘Weel man, convince me of the bare fact—smell out another covey, and then I’ll no gainsay your gift.’
Eachainn, shrugging up his shoulders, scratching his head, and affecting to make some difficulty, said the wind had gone down, and that the scent was dull. The sly rascal, however, having an exceedingly acute ear, continued walking over bog and heather with long strides, until at length, at a considerable distance, and a little to one side of the track, he thought he heard the ‘ca-ca’ of a bird. He then turned to his companion and said, ‘If I’ll be smelling out a prasgan for ye, sir, will ye let me have a shoot at them?’
‘Give you a shot! weel but that passes a’. I dinna ken what you might make with a claymore, as ye ca’ a braidsword; but a gun is another sort of thing altogether. What! Donald, could you hit a peat stack, man?’
‘My name’s Eachainn, sir; and as to shooting a peatstack, I don’t know, but if ye like I’ll try.’
‘Weel, Donald or Eachainn, or whatever your name is, I don’t care if I indulge you, so there’s the gun; but mind, when you aim, you turn the barrel away, and the stock to yourself. Now you may bleeze awa’ at anything but me and the pony.’ The guide, having by this time a shrewd guess where the birds were to be found, went on several paces cautiously, and pretending to scent something. At length he made a stand, cocking one leg, while he beckoned to the stranger, who was some little distance in the rear, to dismount and come up.
The latter accordingly did so, and there were the birds sure enough. The stranger, whose less practised eye and ear were not aware of the trick, now not doubting the truth of the Highlander’s gift, uttered his admiration in whispers, ‘Weel, but yon’s quite extraordinar’; all real birds too, and no glamour; I doot it’s nae canny.’
The Gael, not being such a desperate pot-hunter as his comrade, gave a ‘Hurrah!’ which raised the birds at once, then taking a good aim, brought down two, and wounded one or two more, which flew, quaking, away.