David Barclay got up the moment Kirsty was out of the room, dressed
himself in haste, swallowed a glass of whisky, saddled the gray mare,
gave her a feed of oats, which she ate the faster that she felt the
saddle, and set out for Tiltowie to get the doctor. Threatening as the
weather was, he was well on the road before the wind became so full of
snow as to cause him any anxiety, either for those on the hill or for
himself. But after the first moment of anxiety, a very few minutes
convinced him that a battle with the elements was at hand more
dangerous than he had ever had to fight with armed men. For some
distance the road was safe enough as yet, for the storm had not had
time to heap up the snow between the bordering hills; but by and by he
must come out upon a large track recovered by slow degrees and great
labour from the bog, and be exposed to the full force of the now
furious wind, where in many places it would be far easier to wander off
than to stay upon a road level with the fields, and not even bounded by
a ditch the size of a wheel-track. When he reached the open, therefore,
he was compelled to go at a footpace through the thick, blinding,
bewildering tempest-driven snow; and was not surprised when, in spite
of all his caution, he found, by the sudden sinking and withdrawing of
one of his mare’s legs with a squelching noise, that he had got astray
upon the bog, nor knew any more in what direction the town or other
abode of humanity lay. The only thing he did know was the side of the
road to which he had turned; and that he knew only by the ground into
which he had got: no step farther must in that direction be attempted.
His mare seemed to know this as well as himself, for when she had
pulled her leg out, she drew back a pace, and stood; whereupon David
cast a knot on the reins, threw them on her neck, and told her to go
where she pleased. She turned half round and started at once, feeling
her way at first very carefully. Then she walked slowly on, with her
head hanging low. Again and again she stopped and snuffed, diverged a
little, and went on.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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