Great Northern?. Arthur Ransome

made them think of geology again.

      “There must be somebody,” said Titty. “That grouse wasn’t startled by us.”

      Roger picked up a stone and began tapping with it on a rock. He grinned at Dorothea, and Titty knew that his geology was for her more than for stalkers who were not there.

      A moment later a shrill whistle sounded above and behind them. The smile left Roger’s face.

      “There’s no doubt about that anyhow,” said Titty. “We all heard it.”

      “But where is it?” said Roger.

      A whistle sounded again. They stared up towards the top of the ridge.

      “That wasn’t in the same place,” said Dorothea. “The first one was over there.”

      “Different whistle, too,” said Roger.

      Titty looked back down the valley. They had come a long way from the cove where the Sea Bear was being scrubbed by the rest of her crew, who could do nothing to help the explorers, supposing help were needed. “We’re going back now,” she said.

      “We must make them show themselves,” said Roger. “I’m going on.” He beat a tattoo on a rock and took a few steps forward.

      Titty and Dorothea followed him. After all, those whistles had not sounded very near. They might have been over the skyline, on the other side of the ridge.

      Dorothea squeaked. Something was moving on the hillside at last. Two dogs were leaping through the heather. Clear of it, they came racing down the rocky slope.

      Roger looked back rather doubtfully. Titty plunged forward past Dorothea to join Roger. The dogs were coming at a terrific pelt.

      “What do we do?” gasped Dorothea.

      “We’d better stand quite still,” said Titty. “It’s the only way.”

      “You have to look them straight in the eye,” said Roger.

      “But there are two of them,” said Dorothea.

      Again there was a shrill whistle on the hillside. The explorers heard it gratefully. At that moment they would have welcomed any stalkers. The dogs stopped as if unwillingly. They crouched on the ground, but kept edging forward a foot or two at a time. One of them stood up and growled.

      “That one’s coming on,” said Roger, and looked at the stone he had picked up for use as a geological hammer.

      “Put that stone down,” said Titty. “He may think you are going to throw it.”

      Roger dropped the stone. The dog that had stood up looked back over its shoulder. It dashed forward once more. The other jumped up and came racing after it.

      The whistle shrilled again, twice. Both dogs stopped dead, turned as if unwillingly, and went, slowly at first, and then faster, up the hillside towards the heather they had left.

      “Gosh!” said Roger. “We couldn’t have done much anyway. It was like Christians waiting for the lions.”

      “But who called them back?” said Dorothea. “I can’t see anybody.”

      Then, for the first time, they saw someone on the ridge above them.

      “It’s a boy,” said Titty, “in a kilt. It’s that boy we saw on the tower.”

      “A savage Gael,” said Dorothea.

      “What a beast,” said Roger, “sending those dogs after us.”

      “He called them back,” said Titty.

      Without more talk, the three of them turned off the track straight down into the valley. There was no point in getting into rows with natives.

      Worse was to come. They dropped over a steep brow to the flats and disturbed yet another lot of hinds that had been quietly feeding out of sight from above. The hinds set off up the valley at full gallop.

      There was a furious yell from the ridge behind the explorers. Somebody was shouting at them or at somebody else in a language they did not know. Somebody else was shouting back.

      “Gaels,” said Dorothea, “talking Gaelic at each other.”

      “They’re shouting at us,” said Titty.

      There was another burst of angry shouting. They could not see the boy but, looking back, they saw a man coming down from the ridge further up the valley. He shouted again, shook his fist, turned as if he meant to get ahead of the moving deer, changed his mind and came leaping towards the explorers.

      That was enough. The explorers turned and ran, and at that moment, far away, they heard the long drawn hoot of the Sea Bear’s foghorn.

      “She’s afloat,” said Titty. “We ought to have turned back long ago.”

      “We’re done,” said Dorothea. “We’ll never get there before that Gael catches us. I do hope Dick’s gone back already.”

      “He’ll have heard the foghorn,” said Titty.

      “Not if he’s looking at birds,” panted Dorothea.

      “That man’s stopped running,” said Roger.

      They paused and looked back. The man had indeed stopped running, but he was shouting his Gaelic and someone they could not see was answering him.

      “He’s shaking his fist at us,” said Roger.

      “Don’t stop,” said Titty, “he’ll only come after us again.”

      “And we’ve got to find Dick,” said Dorothea.

      The three explorers hurried on down the valley to the lochs and were presently looking for Dick along the rocky shores.

      “What would have happened if they’d caught us?” said Roger.

      “Native trouble,” said Titty. “Just what we’ve got to keep out of. But anyhow we’ve been beautifully stalked.”

CHAPTER VI

      FIRST SIGHT OF THE BIRDS

      DICK, notebook in one hand, pencil in the other, telescope lying handy and triumph in his heart, crouched among some rocks on the shore of the upper of the two lochs. For the first time in his life he had seen a Diver. After leaving the others at the Pict-house, he had gone straight to that upper loch, so that, if the signal for return came too soon, he would at least be able to pass the other loch on the way back to the ship. Almost at once he had seen one of the birds the thought of which had leapt into his mind the moment he had known that he and Dorothea were to join the others in a cruise among the Western Isles. He had heard it, even before he had seen the long line of splashes far out that showed where a largish bird had taken to the water.

      “Cuck … cuck … cuckcuckcuck …”

      He had never heard a cry quite like it before. The splashes had shown him where to look, but in the rippled water he found it very hard to see the bird. Something was moving on the water out there. But what? The wind made things very difficult. Every time he had caught sight of the black moving spot he had lost it again before he had been able to bring his telescope to bear. The wind was blowing from behind him over the loch, so that the roughest water was on the far side, where that bird had come down. At first, he had hardly let himself hope it was a Diver. It might have been a duck, or any other largish bird. Whatever it was, he would wait until he knew for certain.

      There had come a lull in the wind. Smooth water spread out over the loch from the shore, and far out on the loch he had seen the bird swimming out of the rippled water into the smooth. As he watched, it disappeared. It had come up again, nearer. He had known then that it was a diving bird of some kind. It was swimming low in the water. Very like a grebe. It must have gone under and come up again without a splash. No. It did not always go under like that. He had seen it hump itself above the water,