The dogs saw him first. It would seem that they did not like him. Every hair on their necks bristled; they shrank close to Fiona, making little moaning noises in their throats, and flattening themselves as if they were trying to burrow into the ground. Their eyes were full of terror.
"Why, Artemis, Apollo, what's the matter?" said Fiona. Then she looked up and saw the shepherd. "Why, it's only the new shepherd and his collie. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"Collie!" said Apollo. "That thing's not a collie. Can't you see?"
"Shepherd!" echoed Artemis. "That thing's not a shepherd. Oh, can't you see?"
The shepherd came up to Fiona, and said that Miss Fiona was out early and was there anything he could be doing for her. He spoke in the soft correct English of the Gael.
"I came out to catch a woodcock to talk to it," said Fiona, "and we can't catch one."
It occurred to her, even as she spoke, that the statement sounded a little out of the ordinary. But the rough shepherd never let the least sign of this show on his face. He answered in the most matter-of-fact way, with the gentle courtesy of the west coast, that there would not be many woodcock in yet, and would he try to catch one for Miss Fiona?
"Oh, do you think you could?" said Fiona eagerly. "I should be so grateful."
Then the shepherd saw the trouble of the dogs. He said something to them in a language that was neither English nor Gaelic, and waved his own dog to go. The collie went straight off up the moor, and sat down on the top of the nearest rock ledge, an odd little blot of black on the brown and yellow moorland. Apollo and Artemis got up and shook themselves violently.
"It was the international password," said Apollo. "Goodness knows where he got it from. But we have to recognize it."