Some little time after this, when the snow was melting off the mountains, he lifted his arrow bladder on his back, sent word for Big Donald, son of the son of Ranald MacRae from Inverinate, and they walked as one together across Kilaolainn. Old Alastair Liath of Carr accompanied them. They walked through the mountains of Loch-carron. They came in by the mountains of Kenlochewe. They came at a late hour in sight of Loch Tollie, and they took notice of MacBeath's castle in the island, and of a place whence it would be easy for them to send their arrows to the castle. There was a rowan-tree alongside the castle, which was in their way, but when the darkening of night came they moved down to the shore in such a way that the heroes got near the bank of the loch, so that they might in the breaking of the sky be opposite MacBeath when he came out. [Illustration: ON CRAIG TOLLIE.] When MacBeath came out in the morning, the other man said to Donald Mor, "Try how true your hand is now, if it is not tremulous after the night; try if you can hit the seed of the beast, the hare, so that you make a carcase of him where he is, inasmuch as he has no right to be there." Donald shot his arrow by chance, but it only became flattened against one of the kind of windows in the kind of castle that was in it. When the man from Carr saw what happened to the arrow of the man from Inverinate, he thought that his companion's arrow was only a useless one. The man from Carr got a glimpse of one of the servants of MacBeath, carrying with him a stoup of water to boil a goat buck, which he had taken from Craig Tollie the night before; but, poor fellow! it was not he who consumed the goat buck. Old Alastair Liath of Carr threw the arrow, and it went through the kidneys of him of the water-stoup. MacBeath suspected that a kind of something was behind him which he did not know about. He thought within himself not to wait to eat the goat buck; that it would be as well for him to go ashore--life or death to him--as long as he had the chance to cross. He lifted every arrangement he had, and he made the shore of it. Those who would not follow him he left behind him; he walked as fast as was in his joints, but fast as MacBeath was, the arrow of the son of Big Donald fixed in him in the thickest of his flesh. He ran with the arrow fixed, and his left hand fixed in the arrow, hoping always that he would pull it out. He ran down the brae to a place which is called Boora to this day; and the reason of that name is, that when MacBeath pulled the arrow out, a buradh, or bursting forth of blood, came after it.