Angus was very solemn about it. He was a lean anxious man, just over fifty, with a face not unlike a stag’s, amazingly fast on the hills, a finished cragsman, and with all the Highlander’s subtle courtesy. Kennedy, the second stalker, was of Lowland stock; his father had come to the North from Galloway in the days of the boom in sheep, and had remained as a keeper when sheep prices fell. He was a sturdy young fellow, apt to suffer on steep slopes on a warm day, but strong as an ox and with a better head than Angus for thinking out problems of weather and wind. Though he had the Gaelic, he was a true Lowlander, plain-spoken and imperturbable. It was a contrast of new and old, for Kennedy had served in the War, and learned many things beyond the other’s ken. He knew, for example, how to dire
