His companions declared afterwards that had it not been for the strength of the curl, his hair would have stood upright.

For, following Bruce, led in fact by a string, came an awful apparition--Juno herself, a pitiable mass of caninity--looking like the resuscitated corpse of a dog that had been nine days buried, crowded with lumps, and speckled with cuts, going on three legs, and having her head and throat swollen to a size past recognition.
"She's no deid efter a'! Deil tak' her! for he's in her," said Doddles.
"We haena killed her eneuch," said Curly.
"I tell't ye, Curly! Ye had little ado to lowse the tow.

She wad ha' been as deid afore the mornin' as Lucky Gordon's cat that ye cuttit the heid aff o'," said Linkum.
"Eh! but she luiks bonnie!" said Curly, trying to shake off his dismay.
"Man, we'll hae't a' to do ower again.

Sic fun!" But he could not help looking a little rueful when Linkum expressed a wish that they were themselves well through with their share of the killing.
And now the storm began to break.

The master had gone to the door and shaken hands with his visitor, glancing a puzzled interrogation at the miserable animal in the string, which had just shape enough left to show that it was a dog.
"I'm verra sorry, Maister Malison, to come to you wi' my complaints," said Bruce; "but jist luik at the puir dumb animal! She cudna come hersel', an' sae I bude to bring her.