Hogg's own story must be read, to learn how, and at what dire peril to
the searchers, Borthwick's flock was at length found. They were huddled
together, and buried deep in a snow wreath so compact that when the
outside sheep had been extricated, most of the remainder were able of
themselves to walk out, leaving where they had stood a sort of vast
cave. Hogg himself, when the bulk of Borthwick's sheep had been at
length saved, started alone to rescue his own flock. With comparatively
little trouble he found them, got them by slow degrees to a place of
safety, and then turned to make his way home. Of the course to steer, it
never occurred to him to doubt; he had known the hills from infancy, and
could have walked blindfold across them. His instinct for locality was
as the instinct of some wild animal, or of an Australian black-fellow.
But what put some dread in his mind was the knowledge that between him
and home lay the Douglas Burn, possibly by now in spate, and dangerous
to cross. The noise of the wind would prevent him from hearing the roar
of the swollen torrent, the driving snow prevent him from seeing the
danger, and a false step on the bank might deposit him where he would
never come out alive. To a man alone on the hill in such weather, the
task was arduous, the danger great; moreover, in the last thirty-six
hours he had walked far, had undergone great toil, and he had been
without sleep all night.
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