Outside the old castle they were saluted by a trio of yelps and barks, the three dogs, after bounding about their master, smelling Max's legs suspiciously, Sneeshing, of the short and crooked legs, pretending that he had never seen a pair of trousers before, and taking hold of the material to test its quality, to Max's horror and dismay.

"Oh, he won't bite!" cried Kenneth; "it's only his way."

"But even a scratch from a dog's tooth might produce hydrophobia," said Max nervously.

"Not with Scotch dogs," said Kenneth, laughing. "Here, Sneeshing, you wouldn't give anybody hydro-what-you-may-call-it, would you, old man, eh?"

He seized the rough little terrier as he spoke, and turned him over on his back, caught him by the throat and shook him, the dog retaliating by growling, snarling, and pretending to worry his master's hand.

This piece of business excited Dirk the collie, who shook out his huge frill, gave his tail a flourish, and made a plunge at the prostrate dog, whom he seized by a hind leg, to have Bruce's teeth fixed directly in his great rough hide, when Kenneth rose up laughing.

"Worry, worry!" he shouted; and there was a regular canine scuffle, all bark and growl and suppressed whine.

"They'll kill the little dog," cried Max excitedly.

"What, Sneeshing? Not they. It's only their fun. Look!"

For Sneeshing had shaken himself free of Dirk, over whose back he leaped, then dashed under Bruce, raced round the other two dogs for a few moments, and then darted off, dodging them in and out among the rocks, the others in full pursuit till they were all out of breath, when Sneeshing came close up to his master's heels, Bruce trotted up and thrust his long nose into his hand, while Dirk went to the front, looked up inquiringly, and then, keeping a couple of yards in front, led the way toward a cl.u.s.ter of grey stone buildings hidden from the castle by a stumpy group of firs.

"He knows where we are going," said Kenneth, laughing, and stopping as they reached the trees. "Hear that! Our chief singing bird."

Max stared inquiringly at his guide, as a peculiar howl came from beyond the trees, which sounded as if some one in a doleful minor key was howling out words that might take form literally as follows:--

"Ach--na--shena--howna howna--wagh--hech--wagh!"

"Pretty, isn't it?" said Kenneth, laughing. "Come away. The ponies are in here."

He led the way into a comfortable stable, whereupon there was a rattling of headstalls, and three ugly big rough heads were turned to look at him, and three s.h.a.ggy manes were shaken.

"Hallo, Whaup! Hallo, Seapie! Well, Walter!" cried Kenneth, going up and patting each pony in turn, the little animals responding by nuzzling up to him and rubbing their ears against his chest.

"Look here!" cried Kenneth. "This is Walter. You'll ride him. Come and make friends."

Max approached, and then darted back, for, rip rap, the pony's heels flew out, and as he was standing nearly across the stall, they struck the division with a loud crack, whose sound made Max leap away to the stable wall.

"Quiet, Wat!" cried Kenneth, doubling his fist and striking the pony with all his might in the chest.

The st.u.r.dy little animal uttered a cry more like a squeal than a neigh, shook its head, reared up, and began to strike at the lad with his hoofs so fiercely, that. Kenneth darted out of the stall, the halter checking the pony when it tried to follow, and keeping it in its place in the punishment which followed.

"That's it, is it, Master Wat, eh?" cried Kenneth, running to a corner of the stable, and taking down a short thick whip which hung from a hook. "You want another lesson, do you, my boy? You've had too many oats lately. Now we shall see. Stand a little back, Max."

This Max readily did, the pony eyeing them both the while, with its head turned right round, and making feints of kicking.

The next minute it began to dance and plunge and kick in earnest, as, by a dexterous usage of the whip, Kenneth gave it crack after crack, each sounding report being accompanied by a flick on the pony's ribs, which evidently stung sharply, and made it rear and kick.

"I'll teach you to fight, my lad. You rhinoceros-hided old ruffian, take that--and take that--and take that."

"Hey! what's the matter, Master Ken?" cried a harsh voice.

"Kicking and biting, Shon. I'll teach him," cried Kenneth, thrashing away at the pony. "I wish he had been clipped, so that I could make him feel."

"Hey! but ye mak' him feel enough, Master Ken. An' is this the shentleman come down to stay?"

"There's one more for you, Wat, my boy. Don't let him have any more oats to-day, Shon," cried Kenneth, giving the pony a final flick. "Yes, this is our visitor, Shon. Max, let me introduce you. This is Long Shon Ben Nevis Talisker Teacher, Esquire, Gillie-in-chief of the house of Mackhai, commonly called Long Shon from his deadly hatred of old whusky--eh, Shon?"

"Hey, Master Kenneth, if there was chokers and chief chokers down south, an' ye'd go there, ye'd mak' a fortune," said the short, broad-set man, with a grin, which showed a fine set of very yellow teeth; "and I'm thenking that as punishment aifter a hard job, ye might give me shust a snuff o' whusky in a sma' gla.s.s."

"Father said you were never to have any whisky till after seven o'clock."

"Hey, but the Chief's never hard upon a man," said Shon, taking off his Tam-o'-Shanter, and wiping his brow with the worsted tuft on the top; then, turning with a smile to Max, "I'm thenking ye find it a verra beautiful place, sir?"

"Oh yes, very," replied Max.

"And the Chiefs a gran' man. Don't ye often wonder he ever had such a laddie as this for a son?"

"Do you want me to punch your head, Shon?" said Kenneth.

Shon chuckled.

"As hard as hard, sir; never gives a puir fellow a taste o' whusky."

"Look here, have you broken up the deer?"

"Broke up the deer, indeed? Why, she wa.s.s just finished packing them up in ta boxes."

"Come and see, Max," cried Kenneth, leading the way into a long, low building, badly lit by one small window, through which the sun shone upon a man seated crouched together upon a wooden block, with one elbow upon his bare knee, and a pipe held between his lips.

"Hallo, Tavish, you here?" cried Kenneth. "Here, Max, this is our forester. Stand up, Tavish, and let him see how tall you are."

Max had stopped by the doorway, for the smell and appearance of the ill-ventilated place were too suggestive of a butcher's business to make it inviting; but he had taken in at a glance a pile of deal cases, a block with knives, chopper, and saw, and the heads, antlers, and skins of a couple of red deer.

The smoker smiled, at least his eyes indicated that he smiled, for the whole of the lower part of his face was hidden by the huge beard which swept down over his chest, and hid his grey flannel shirt, to mingle with the hairy sporran fastened to his waist.

Then the pipe was lowered, two great brown hairy hands were placed upon his knees, and, as the muscular arms straightened, the man slowly heaved up his back, keeping his head bent down, till his broad shoulders nearly touched the sloping roof, and then he took a step or two forward.

"She canna stand quite up without knocking her head, Master Kenneth."

"Yes, you can--there!" cried Kenneth. "Now then, head up. There, Max, what do you think of him? Six feet six. Father says he's half a Scandinavian. He can take Shon under one arm and Scood under the other, and run with them up-hill."

Max stared wonderingly at the great good-tempered-looking giant, with high forehead and kindly blue eyes, which made him, with his aquiline nose, look as grand a specimen of humanity as he had ever seen.

"She knockit her head against that beam once, sir and it's made her verra careful ever since. May she sit down now, Master Kenneth?"

"Yes, all right, Tavish; I only wanted my friend to see how big you are."

"Ah, it's no great thing to be so big, sir," said the great forester, slowly subsiding, and doubling himself up till he was once more in reasonable compa.s.s on the block. "It makes people think ye can do so much wark, and a man has a deal to carry on two legs."

"Tavish is afraid of the work," grumbled Shon. "I did all these up mysel'."