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〃God preserve us！〃 said Ranald to himself。 He had caught sight of
a dark form as it darted through the gleam of light in front。
〃What did you say； Ranald？〃 The voice was quiet and clear。
〃It is a great pony to run whatever；〃 said Ranald； ashamed of
himself。
〃Is she not？〃
Ranald glanced over his shoulder。 Down the road； running with
silent； awful swiftness； he saw the long； low body of the leading
wolf flashing through the bars of moonlight across the road； and
the pack following hard。
〃Let her go； Mrs。 Murray；〃 cried Ranald。 〃Whip her and never
stop。〃 But there was no need； the pony was wild with fear； and was
doing her best running。
Ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt； and the pony
drew away rapidly。 But as rapidly the wolves were closing in
behind him。 They were not more than a hundred yards away； and
gaining every second。 Ranald； remembering the suspicious nature of
the brutes； loosened his coat and dropped it on the road； with a
chorus of yelps they paused； then threw themselves upon it； and in
another minute took up the chase。
But now the clearing was in sight。 The pony was far ahead； and
Ranald shook out his colt with a yell。 He was none too soon； for
the pursuing pack； now uttering short； shrill yelps； were close at
the colt's heels。 Lizette； fleet as the wind； could not shake them
off。 Closer and ever closer they came； snapping and snarling。
Ranald could see them over his shoulder。 A hundred yards more and
he would reach his own back lane。 The leader of the pack seemed to
feel that his chances were slipping swiftly away。 With a spurt he
gained upon Lizette； reached the saddle…girths； gathered himself in
two short jumps； and sprang for the colt's throat。 Instinctively
Ranald stood up in his stirrups； and kicking his foot free； caught
the wolf under the jaw。 The brute fell with a howl under the
colt's feet； and next moment they were in the lane and safe。
The savage brutes； discouraged by their leader's fall； slowed down
their fierce pursuit； and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds'
great deerhound； Bugle； up at the house； they paused； sniffed the
air a few minutes； then turned and swiftly and silently slid into
the dark shadows。 Ranald； knowing that they would hardly dare
enter the lane； checked the colt； and wheeling； watched them
disappear。
〃I'll have some of your hides some day；〃 he cried； shaking his fist
after them。 He hated to be made to run。
He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something
tearing down the lane to meet him。 The colt snorted； swerved； and
then dropping his ears； stood still。 It was Bugle； and after him
came Mrs。 Murray on the pony。
〃Oh； Ranald！〃 she panted； 〃thank God you are safe。 I was afraid
youyou〃 Her voice broke in sobs。 Her hood had fallen back
from her white face； and her eyes were shining like two stars。 She
laid her hand on Ranald's arm； and her voice grew steady as she
said： 〃Thank God； my boy； and thank you with all my heart。 You
risked your life for mine。 You are a brave fellow！ I can never
forget this！〃
〃Oh； pshaw！〃 said Ranald； awkwardly。 〃You are better stuff than I
am。 You came back with Bugle。 And I knew Liz could beat the pony
whatever。 Then they walked their horses quietly to the stable； and
nothing more was said by either of them； but from that hour Ranald
had a friend ready to offer life for him； though he did not know it
then nor till years afterward。
CHAPTER V
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
Macdonald Dubh's farm lay about three miles north and west from the
manse； and the house stood far back from the cross…road in a small
clearing encircled by thick bush。 It was a hard farm to clear； the
timber was heavy； the land lay low； and Macdonald Dubh did not make
as much progress as his neighbors in his conflict with the forest。
Not but that he was a hard worker and a good man with the ax； but
somehow he did not succeed as a farmer。 It may have been that his
heart was more in the forest than in the farm。 He was a famous
hunter； and in the deer season was never to be found at home； but
was ever ranging the woods with his rifle and his great deerhound；
Bugle。
He made money at the shanties； but money would not stick to his
fingers； and by the time the summer was over most of his money
would be gone； with the government mortgage on his farm still
unlifted。 His habits of life wrought a kind of wildness in him
which set him apart from the thrifty； steady…going people among
whom he lived。 True； the shanty…men were his stanch friends and
admirers； but then the shanty…men； though well…doing； could hardly
be called steady； except the boss of the Macdonald gang； Macdonald
Bhain； who was a regular attendant and stanch supporter of the
church； and indeed had been spoken of for an elder。 But from the
church Macdonald Dubh held aloof。 He belonged distinctly to the
〃careless；〃 though he could not be called irreligious。 He had all
the reverence for 〃the Word of God； and the Sabbath day； and the
church〃 that characterized his people。 All these held a high place
in his esteem； and though he would not presume to 〃take the books；〃
not being a member of the church； yet on the Sabbath day when he
was at home it was the custom of the household to gather for the
reading of the Word before breakfast。 He would never take his
rifle with him through the woods on the Sabbath； and even when
absent from home on a hunting expedition； when the Sabbath day came
round； he religiously kept camp。 It is true； he did not often go
to church； and when the minister spoke to him about this； he always
agreed that it was a good thing to go to church。 When he had no
better excuse； he would apologize for his absence upon the ground
〃that he had not the clothes。〃 The greater part of the trouble was
that he was shy and proud； and felt himself to be different from
the church…going people of the community； and shrank from the
surprised looks of members； and even from the words of approving
welcome that often greeted his presence in church。
It was not according to his desire that Ranald was sent to the
manse。 That was the doing of his sister； Kirsty； who for the last
ten years had kept house for him。 Not that there was much
housekeeping skill about Kirsty； as indeed any one might see even
without entering Macdonald Dubh's house。 Kirsty was big and strong
and willing； but she had not the most elemental ideas of tidiness。
Her red； bushy hair hung in wisps about her face； after the greater
part of it had been gathered into a tight knob at the back of her
head。 She was a martyr to the 〃neuralagy；〃 and suffered from a
perennial cold in the head； which made it necessary for her to wear
a cloud； which was only removed when it could be replaced by her
nightcap。 Her face always bore the marks of her labors； and from
it one could gather whether she was among the pots or busy with the
baking。 But she was kindhearted； and； up to her light； sought to
fill the place left empty by the death of the wife and mother in
that home； ten years before。
When the minister's wife opened the door； a hot； close； foul smell
rushed f