Now, Dickson, I'll expect ye hame on the chap o' seeven." He crossed the rising stream on a swaying plank and struck into the moorland, as Dougal had ordered, keeping the bald top of Grey Carrick before him.

In that wild place with the tempest battling overhead he had no fear of human enemies.

Steadily he covered the ground, till he reached the west-flowing burn, that was to lead him to the shore.

He found it an entertaining companion, swirling into black pools, foaming over little falls, and lying in dark canal-like stretches in the flats.
Presently it began to descend steeply in a narrow green gully, where the going was bad, and Dickson, weighted with pack and waterproof, had much ado to keep his feet on the sodden slopes.

Then, as he rounded a crook of hill, the ground fell away from his feet, the burn swept in a water-slide to the boulders of the shore, and the storm-tossed sea lay before him.
It was now that he began to feel nervous.