"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake shut your mooth, an' let us get her gathered up
an' get oot o' here. Dammit, hae ye nae common sense, swearin' an'
jokin' about sic a thing! It's enough to tempt Providence, an' had it
no' been for the tumblerful o' whisky that Mr. Rundell gied us I dinna
think I could hae faced it. It's awfu'!"
"What the hell are ye girnin' at?" asked Archie, turning round on him.
"Are ye feart Mag bites ye? Man, she's got a' her bitin' by noo,
although I admit she's made a hell o' a mess at the end. Pit your shovel
in here an' lift this pickle, an' no' stand there gapin' like a grisly
ghost at the door o' hell! Fling it into her gapin' mouth, if you think
she's goin' to bite you!" and the others laughed uneasily at Archie's
sardonic humor.
It was a nerve-trying experience for most of them, and they felt sick
with horror of it, in spite of the whisky and their grim jokes. The pit
was put idle, and the men went home. A gloom brooded over the whole
place.
Black Jock saw Mag Robertson's eyes staring at him, as he hurried over
the moor. He had not even stopped to wash himself, but merely stowing
some money into his pocket, was off, not deigning to answer his
daughter's enquiries as to what was wrong, or where he was going.
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