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I
tried
for
hours
,
but
none
of
the
words
answered
.
Then
I
fell
asleep
and
woke
at
Dumfries
just
in
time
to
bundle
out
and
get
into
the
slow
Galloway
train
.
There
was
a
man
on
the
platform
whose
looks
I
did
n't
like
,
but
he
never
glanced
at
me
,
and
when
I
caught
sight
of
myself
in
the
mirror
of
an
automatic
machine
I
did
n't
wonder
.
With
my
brown
face
,
my
old
tweeds
,
and
my
slouch
,
I
was
the
very
model
of
one
of
the
hill
farmers
who
were
crowding
into
the
third-class
carriages
.
I
travelled
with
half
a
dozen
in
an
atmosphere
of
shag
and
clay
pipes
.
They
had
come
from
the
weekly
market
,
and
their
mouths
were
full
of
prices
.
I
heard
accounts
of
how
the
lambing
had
gone
up
the
Cairn
and
the
Deuch
and
a
dozen
other
mysterious
waters
.
Above
half
the
men
had
lunched
heavily
and
were
highly
flavoured
with
whisky
,
so
they
took
no
notice
of
me
.
We
rumbled
slowly
into
a
land
of
little
wooded
glens
and
then
to
a
great
wide
moorland
place
,
gleaming
with
lochs
,
with
high
blue
hills
showing
northwards
.
About
five
o'clock
the
carriage
had
emptied
,
and
I
was
left
alone
as
I
had
hoped
.
I
got
out
at
the
next
station
,
a
little
place
whose
name
I
scarcely
noted
,
set
right
in
the
heart
of
a
bog
.
It
reminded
me
of
one
of
those
forgotten
little
stations
in
the
Karroo
.
An
old
station-master
was
digging
in
his
garden
,
and
with
his
spade
over
his
shoulder
sauntered
to
the
train
,
took
charge
of
a
parcel
,
and
went
back
to
his
potatoes
.
A
child
of
ten
received
my
ticket
,
and
I
emerged
on
a
white
road
that
straggled
over
the
brown
moor
.
It
was
a
gorgeous
spring
evening
,
with
every
hill
showing
as
clear
as
a
cut
amethyst
.
The
air
had
the
queer
,
rooty
smell
of
bogs
,
but
it
was
as
fresh
as
mid-ocean
,
and
it
had
the
strangest
effect
on
my
spirits
.
I
actually
felt
light-hearted
.
I
might
have
been
a
boy
out
for
a
spring
holiday
tramp
,
instead
of
a
man
of
thirty-seven
very
much
wanted
by
the
police
.
I
felt
just
as
I
used
to
feel
when
I
was
starting
for
a
big
trek
on
a
frosty
morning
on
the
high
veld
.
If
you
believe
me
,
I
swung
along
that
road
whistling
.
There
was
no
plan
of
campaign
in
my
head
,
only
just
to
go
on
and
on
in
this
blessed
,
honest-smelling
hill
country
,
for
every
mile
put
me
in
better
humour
with
myself
.
In
a
roadside
planting
I
cut
a
walking-stick
of
hazel
,
and
presently
struck
off
the
highway
up
a
by-path
which
followed
the
glen
of
a
brawling
stream
.
I
reckoned
that
I
was
still
far
ahead
of
any
pursuit
,
and
for
that
night
might
please
myself
.
It
was
some
hours
since
I
had
tasted
food
,
and
I
was
getting
very
hungry
when
I
came
to
a
herd
's
cottage
set
in
a
nook
beside
a
waterfall
.
A
brown-faced
woman
was
standing
by
the
door
,
and
greeted
me
with
the
kindly
shyness
of
moorland
places
.
When
I
asked
for
a
night
's
lodging
she
said
I
was
welcome
to
the
"
bed
in
the
loft
"
,
and
very
soon
she
set
before
me
a
hearty
meal
of
ham
and
eggs
,
scones
,
and
thick
sweet
milk
.
At
the
darkening
her
man
came
in
from
the
hills
,
a
lean
giant
,
who
in
one
step
covered
as
much
ground
as
three
paces
of
ordinary
mortals
.
They
asked
me
no
questions
,
for
they
had
the
perfect
breeding
of
all
dwellers
in
the
wilds
,
but
I
could
see
they
set
me
down
as
a
kind
of
dealer
,
and
I
took
some
trouble
to
confirm
their
view
.
I
spoke
a
lot
about
cattle
,
of
which
my
host
knew
little
,
and
I
picked
up
from
him
a
good
deal
about
the
local
Galloway
markets
,
which
I
tucked
away
in
my
memory
for
future
use
.
At
ten
I
was
nodding
in
my
chair
,
and
the
"
bed
in
the
loft
"
received
a
weary
man
who
never
opened
his
eyes
till
five
o'clock
set
the
little
homestead
a-going
once
more
.
They
refused
any
payment
,
and
by
six
I
had
breakfasted
and
was
striding
southwards
again
.
My
notion
was
to
return
to
the
railway
line
a
station
or
two
farther
on
than
the
place
where
I
had
alighted
yesterday
and
to
double
back
.
I
reckoned
that
that
was
the
safest
way
,
for
the
police
would
naturally
assume
that
I
was
always
making
farther
from
London
in
the
direction
of
some
western
port
.
I
thought
I
had
still
a
good
bit
of
a
start
,
for
,
as
I
reasoned
,
it
would
take
some
hours
to
fix
the
blame
on
me
,
and
several
more
to
identify
the
fellow
who
got
on
board
the
train
at
St
Pancras
.
It
was
the
same
jolly
,
clear
spring
weather
,
and
I
simply
could
not
contrive
to
feel
careworn
.
Indeed
I
was
in
better
spirits
than
I
had
been
for
months
.
Over
a
long
ridge
of
moorland
I
took
my
road
,
skirting
the
side
of
a
high
hill
which
the
herd
had
called
Cairnsmore
of
Fleet
.
Nesting
curlews
and
plovers
were
crying
everywhere
,
and
the
links
of
green
pasture
by
the
streams
were
dotted
with
young
lambs
.
