"Get up, sir, and come on."
"Na. She will gang away and be a redcoat. Naebody cares for Scoody the noo."
"Don"t be a red-headed donkey. Get up, and come and show us which way Max Blande went."
Scoodrach shook his head.
"Look here, if you don"t get up, I"ll call father, and he"ll come and lay into you with the dog-whip."
"He wadna daur," cried the lad, leaping up and glaring at the speaker.
"Yes, he would, and so would I, if I had one here."
"Gin ye daur lay a finger on her, she"ll hae your bluid!" cried Scoodrach.
"There!" cried Kenneth, pressing his pony"s sides, and reaching over to catch tightly hold of the lad"s collar. "I daur lay a whole hand on you, Scoody. Noo, lat"s see gin ye daur turn on your Chief."
"Ye know I wadna hurt a hair o" your heid," muttered the lad.
"Then come on, like a good fellow, Scoody, and help to find him."
"D"ye want to find the laddie wha"s gaun to rob ye o" ta auld plaace?"
"Yes. Come on, Scood. We mustn"t quarrel, and you won"t be such a brute as to refuse to help me because I"m going to be poor."
"Puir or rich!" cried the lad, with the tears of excitement in his eyes, "gin ye want her to, she"ll dee for ye, Maister Ken."
"That"s old Scoody once again," cried Kenneth, drumming his pony"s flanks; and as the little animal whisked round, Scoodrach caught hold of its long tail, gave the hairs a twist round his hand, and away they went after the others, to whom they soon caught up.
Then followed a long and wearisome search, Scoodrach pointing out the way Max had taken, when, as there was no path or even sheep-track, they divided, and went on mile after mile, only to give up at dark and return tired and faint, and with Scoodrach hanging his head as he felt how he had been the cause of all the trouble; and, seizing the first opportunity, he slipped off with the ponies, to bed them down for the night.
"We must be up at daybreak and begin again, Ken," said The Mackhai sadly. "That boy must be found. Can you form any idea which way he would take?"
"No, father. I"ve been trying to think, but we seem to have tried everywhere, and I don"t believe he could have gone very far."
"He had a long start."
"You don"t think he has come to any harm--slipped over the crags anywhere, or gone into--"
Kenneth stopped and shuddered.
"One of the boggy patches, Ken? Oh no, my boy. He has been out so much with you and Scoodrach, that he ought to be able to take care of himself by now."
"Yes, father--ought to," said Kenneth meaningly; and then, in an outburst of pa.s.sion, as he stood with clenched fists, "I"ll give Scoody such a thrashing as he never had in his life! I"ll half kill him."
"Hush! That will do," said The Mackhai sadly. "The boy acted according to his lights. He was, in his half-savage way, fighting for the honour of our old house."
"Yes, father, but--"
"Hush, my boy! Our days are numbered at Dunroe: let us leave here with as pleasant memories as we can, and with the love and respect of those who have looked to us for bread."
"Oh, father!" cried Kenneth; and there was a great sob in his throat, and his face was contracted though his eyes were dry.
The Mackhai grasped his son"s hand.
"Be a man, Ken," he said quietly. "You ought to have commenced life well, but now you will have to go forth into the world and fight your way. You must make friends, not enemies."
"It would not make Scood an enemy, father, and a good whacking would do him good."
"No, no, Ken. Now get some food, and go and lie down for a few hours to have some rest. We can do nothing till daylight."
"Very well, father. And--and I will try not to mind leaving the old place, and to be a man."
"G.o.d bless you, my boy!" cried The Mackhai, laying his hands upon his son"s shoulders and gazing into his eyes. "Come, Ken, trouble has its good sides after all; it has taught me something more about the nature of my son. Now, go and get some rest; I shall not be happy till I have taken that boy again by the hand."
"Why, father!" cried Kenneth excitedly. "Oh, what an old donkey I am!"
Before The Mackhai could speak, he had rushed out of the room and across the hall, to return at the end of a few minutes in company with Dirk, who was barking, and as excited as his master.
"Why, Ken!" cried The Mackhai.
"It"s all right, father. Dirk will find him. Tavvy is waiting. Don"t you come. We"ll have poor old Maxy back before long."
"I shall come with you," said The Mackhai, rising, and taking a flask and plaid from where they lay. "What are you going to do first?"
"I"ll soon show you," cried Ken excitedly. "Here, Dirk, old boy, put on your best nose to-night, and let"s show the Londoner what a Highland dog can do."
Dirk barked loudly, and followed his master as he rushed out of the room and up-stairs to Max"s chamber, where Kenneth dragged some of the clothes which his visitor had worn last down upon the carpet.
"Now, Dirk! seek, laddie, seek!"
The dog dashed at the clothes, snuffed at them, tossed them over, snuffed at them again, and then uttered a sharp, whining bark.
"Come along," cried Kenneth, and he ran down to the hall, where his father was ready, and then out into the dark courtyard, at whose entrance Tavish was waiting, armed with a tall staff.
"I ken ye"re richt, maister," he said. "We"ll lay ta collie on chust where the laddie saw ta young chentleman last."
Very little was said as they trudged on, Kenneth holding Dirk by one of his ears, till they reached the foot of the slope, pointed out by Scoodrach as the road taken by Max.
Here the dog was loosed, and he looked up in his master"s face, barking loudly, as if asking for instructions, and not yet comprehending what was meant.
"Seek, laddie, seek! Max, Max! Seek, seek!"
Dirk uttered a low yelping whine, and began to quarter the ground, whimpering and growing more and more excited as he increased the distance between him and those who followed by sound, for the dog was soon invisible in the darkness.
For quite a quarter of an hour the hunt was kept on, each minute damping the hopes of the party more and more, till The Mackhai said sadly,--
"It"s of no use, my boy. You"re asking too much of the dog."