"I say, Max!" said Kenneth one day, as they sat at either end of a boat,
whipping away at the surface of the rippling water of one of the inland
lochs, up to which the said boat had been dragged years before, upon
rough runners like a sleigh, partly by the ponies, partly by hand
labour. Scoodrach was seated amidships, rowing slowly, and every now
and then tucking his oar under his leg, to give his nose a rub, and
grumble something about "ta flee."
This was on the occasion when the fly Max was throwing came dangerously
near hooking into the gristle of the young gillie's most prominent
feature.
Kenneth did not finish his sentence, for just then he hooked a trout
which gave him a fair amount of play before it was brought alongside,
where Scoodrach, who had ceased rowing, was ready with the landing-net.
"Let me land it," cried Max; and, taking the net, he held it as he had
seen Scoodrach perform the same operation a score of times.
"All right!" cried Kenneth. "He's a beauty; pound and a half, I know.
Now then--right under."
Kenneth's elastic rod was bent nearly double, as Max leaned forward,
and, instead of lowering the net well into the water so that the fish
might glide into it, he made an excited poke, and struck the fish with
the ring; there was a faint whish as the rod suddenly straightened; a
splash as the trout flapped the water with its tail and went off free,
and Max and Kenneth stared at each other.
"She couldna hae done tat," muttered Scoodrach.
"Yes, you could, stupid!" said Kenneth, glad of some one upon whom he
could vent his spleen. "You've knocked ever so many fish off that way."
"I'm very, very sorry," said Max humbly.
"That won't bring back the trout," grumbled Kenneth. "Never mind, old
chap, I'll soon have another. Why don't you go on throwing?"
"Because I am stupid over it. I shall never throw a fly properly."
"Not if you give up without trying hard. Go on and have another good
turn. Whip away. It'll come easier soon."
Max went on whipping away, but his success was very small, for he grew
more and more nervous as he saw that Scoodrach flinched every time he
made a cast, as if the hook had come dangerously near his eyes.
Once or twice there really had been reason for this, but, seeing how
nervous it made Max, Scoodrach kept it up, taking a malicious delight in
ducking his head, rubbing his nose, and fidgeting the tyro, who would
gladly have laid down his rod but for the encouraging remarks made by
Kenneth.
All at once the latter turned his head, from where he stood in the bows
of the boat, and began watching Max, smiling grimly as he saw how clumsy
a cast was made, and the smile grew broader as he noticed Scoodrach's
exaggerated mock gesticulations of dread.
Then there was another cast, and Scood ducked his head down again. Then
another cast, and Scood threw his head sideways and held up one arm, but
this time the side of his bare head came with a sounding rap up against
the butt of Kenneth's rod.
"Mind what you're doing!" shouted Kenneth.
"Hwhat tid ye do that for?" cried Scoodrach, viciously rubbing his
sconce.
"Do it for? Why don't you sit still, and not get throwing your head
about all over the boat?"
"She tid it o' purpose," growled Scoodrach; "and she's cooard to hit a
man pehind her pack."
"If you call me a coward, Scoody, I'll pitch you overboard."
"No, she wouldna. She has not get pack her strength."
"Then Max will help me, and we'll see then."
"Pitch her overboard, then, and she'll swim ashore, and she'll hae to
row ta poat her ainsel'."
But Scoodrach had no occasion to swim, for he was not pitched overboard;
and, as the wind dropped and the water became like glass, the rods were
laid in, and Scoodrach rowed them along in sulky silence toward the
shore; Kenneth, as he sat now beside his companion, returning to the
idea he had been about to start some time before.
"I say, Max," he said, "I wonder what's the matter with father. I wish
old Curzon was here. I think the pater is going to be ill."
"I hope not."
"So do I; but he always seems so dull, and talks so little."
"I thought he seemed to be very quiet."
"Quiet! I should think he is. Why, he used to be always going out
shooting or fishing, and taking me. Now, he's continually going to
Glasgow on business, or else to Edinburgh."
"When do you expect him back?"
"I don't know. He said it was uncertain. Perhaps he'll be there when
we get home."
But The Mackhai was not back, and a fortnight elapsed, and still he was
away.
The last few days seemed to have quite restored Kenneth, who, once able
to be out on the mountains, recovered strength at a wonderful rate.
Those were delightful days to Max. His old nervousness was rapidly
leaving him, and he was never happier than when out with the two lads
fishing, shooting, boating, or watching Kenneth as he stood spear-armed
in the bows, trying to transfix some shadowy skate as it glided as if
flying over the sandy bottom of the sea-loch.
One grandly exciting day to Max was on the occasion of a deer-stalking
expedition, which resulted, through the clever generalship of Tavish, in
both lads getting a good shot at a stag.
Max was first, and, after a long, wearisome climb, he lay among some
rocks for quite a couple of hours, with Tavish, watching a herd of deer,
before the time came when, under the forester's guidance, the deadly
rifle, which Max had found terribly heavy, was rested upon a stone, and
Tavish whispered to him,--
"Keep ta piece steady on ta stane, laddie, and when ta stag comes well
oot into ta glen, ye'll chust tak' a glint along ta bar'l and aim richt
at ta showlder, and doon she goes."
Max's hands trembled, his heart beat fast, and the perspiration stood on
his brow, as he waited till, from out of a narrow pass which they had
been watching, a noble-looking stag trotted slowly into the glen, and,
broadside on, turned its head in their direction.
Max saw the great eyes, the branching antlers, and, in his excitement,
the forest monarch seemed to be of huge proportions.
"Noo!" was whispered close to his ear; and, "glinting" along the barrel,
after fixing the sight right upon the animal's flank, Max drew the
trigger, felt as if some one had struck him a violent blow in the
shoulder, and then lay there on his chest, gazing at a cloud of smoke
and listening to the rolling echoes as they died away.
"Aweel, aweel!" said a voice close by him, in saddened tones. "Ye're
verra young, laddie. Ye'll hae to try again."
"Isn't it dead?" said Max.
"Na, she's no' deid, laddie."
"But I don't see it. Where is the stag?"
"Ahint the mountain yonder, laddie; going like the wind."
"Oh!" said Max; and for the next few minutes he did not know which way
he felt--sorry he had missed, or glad that the noble beast had got away.
Kenneth was more successful. He brought down his quarry a couple of
hours later, and the rough pony carried home the carcase for Long Shon
to break up, Max partaking of a joint of the venison a few days later,
and thinking it was very good, and that he enjoyed it all the more for
not having shot the animal himself,--though he could not help telling
Kenneth that the fat seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth.