The Sabine rape was playwork to this. Donald swore, and Archibald cursed; but still the progress which they made was little, and the trouble and labour which they were subjected to were immense. At last matters came to a dead stand: Doddy absolutely refused to march one inch further; and Donald proposed that, since "matters might no better be," they should "slay te prute" at once. So, having secured Jessie's ankles by means of her napkin, and placed her upon a rock in the midst of the mountain stream, with all suitable admonitions respecting the folly of even meditating an escape, Archibald and Donald set to work to carry their deadly purpose into execution on Doddy. But how was this to be effected? Doddy, very unaccountably, as it seemed to her nightly visiters, would neither lead nor drive, nor in any way be art and part in her own destruction. Having held a council of death, and having resolved to carry over the hill as much as they could of Doddy's flesh, they immediately set to work in compassing the means of destruction. But these were not so much at hand as might have been wished. They had neither nail nor hammer, else they would have given Doddy a Sisera exit; nor had they even an ordinary pocket-knife. They were totally destitute of arms, by order of their officer, as their duty was not to kill, but to keep alive--not to conquer, but to spoil. What was to be done? "Deil tak them wha hae nae shifts," says the old proverb; but then it unfortunately adds, "Deil tak them, again, that hae owre mony." So, at the suggestion of Donald, a large water-worn stone was selected from the channel of the burn, and being tied up firmly into the corner or poke of the Highland plaid, it was judged an efficient instrument of death. Doddy, however, observed, and appeared, at least to Jessie, to understand what was going on, and had taken her measures accordingly. There they stood--Donald holding _on_ by the horns, and Archy swinging and aiming, but hesitating, from the instability of the object to be struck, to inflict the fatal blow. Again and again the stone was swung, and the blow was meditated; but again and again did Doddy twist and twine herself almost out of Donald's hands. At last, losing all patience, Archy swung the great stone round his head, which, when in mid-air, took a different direction from that which was intended--or it might be that the error was owing to the sudden wresting of Doddy; but so it was, and of verity, that the stone came ultimately full swing, not upon the forehead of the cow, but upon the temples of Donald, and felled him to the ground. "Wi' glowering een and lifted hands," says Burns, "Poor Hughoc like a statue stands."