Now, though everybody was spying at Gourlay in the market, all were giving him a wide berth; for they knew that he was dangerous. He was no longer the man whom they had baited on the way to Skeighan; then he had some control, now three years' calamities had fretted his temper to a raw wound. To flick it was perilous. Great was the surprise of the starers, therefore, when the idle old Deacon was seen to detach himself and hail the grain merchant. Gourlay wheeled, and waited with a levelled eye. All were agog at the sight--something would be sure to come o' this--here would be an encounter worth the speaking o'. But the Deacon, having toddled forward a bittock on his thin shanks, stopped half-roads, took snuff, trumpeted into his big red handkerchief, and then, feebly waving, "I'll thee ye again, Dyohn," clean turned tail and toddled back to his cronies. A roar went up at his expense. "God!" said Tam Wylie, "did ye see yon? Gourlay stopped him wi' a glower." But the laugh was maddening to Gourlay. Its readiness, its volume, showed him that scores of folk had him in their minds, were watching him, considering his position, cognizant of where he stood. "They ken," he thought. "They were a' waiting to see what would happen. They wanted to watch how Gourlay tholed the mention o' his son's disgrace. I'm a kind o' show to them." Johnny Coe, idle and well-to-pass, though he had no business of his own to attend to, was always present where business men assembled. It was a gra-and way of getting news. To-day, however, Gourlay could not find him. He went into the cattle mart to see if he was there. For two years now Barbie had a market for cattle, on the first Tuesday of the month. The auctioneer, a jovial dog, was in the middle of his roaring game. A big red bullock, the coat of which made a rich colour in the ring, came bounding in, scared at its surroundings--staring one moment and the next careering. "There's meat for you," said he of the hammer; "see how it runs! How much am I offered for _this_ fine bullock?" He sing-songed, always saying "_this_ fine bullock" in exactly the same tone of voice. "Thirteen pounds for _this_ fine bullock; thirteen-five; thirteen-ten; thirteen-ten for _this_ fine bullock; thirteen-ten; any further bids on thirteen-ten? why, it's worth that for the colour o't; thank ye, sir--thirteen-fifteen; fourteen pounds; fourteen pounds for _this_ fine bullock; see how the stot stots[7] about the ring; that joke should raise him another half-sovereign; ah, I knew it would--fourteen-five; fourteen-five for _this_ fine bullock; fourteen-ten; no more than fourteen-ten for _this_ fine bullock; going at fourteen-ten; gone--Irrendavie."