The men dumped the body near the fire. One of them stooped down and was
for putting his hand in the man's pocket, but drew it back as if he had
thrust it by mischance into the flames.
Then I knew.
I have heard a mare squeal in a burning stable, but I have never heard
agony in sound as I heard it there, on the top of Shap, when Donald flung
himself across the dead body of his chief and foster-brother.
There is one tender memory of this distressing scene. Neither by look,
word, nor tone did Donald attach blame or responsibility to me. He
recovered himself in a few minutes, and then stood up, and gave a brief
command in Gaelic. Four awe-struck men spread a plaid on the ground,
placed the dead body on it, and carried it into the hut. Donald, gravely
silent, took the pipes from the man who had been playing, and followed
them. I bared my head and went after him miserably.
Maclachlan's body lay on the floor of the hut. The eyes were wide open,
but on his fine composed face there was no trace of the agony and passion
in which he had gone before his God. It was as if, in that last terrible
second, some vision of beauty had swept his soul clean.
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