Perhaps had he
gone in the first instance himself to Ringan and explained matters the
affair might without much difficulty have been arranged. But he had
taken the other course, and had demanded the key as a matter of right.
Hence came hot words between the two, and the upshot was that the
younger man left boiling with resentment at the "old Cameronian devil,
Ringan Oliver," and threatening to pay him out.
No very long time after this the old Marquess died, and Ringan's enemy
reigned in his stead. Nor was it long ere he began to show that no
portion of the wrath conceived by him against the old man had been
allowed to die for want of nursing. One September day, when Ringan's
crop was all but ready to cut, there came across the water from
Ferniehurst the new Marquess accompanied by several mounted men,
servants, and others, with dogs. Soon the party began riding over the
farm, ostensibly looking for hares; finally, they all went into the
standing crop, trampling it down wantonly, hallooing their dogs here,
there, and everywhere, and galloping furiously about wherever the corn
stood thickest. Ringan had been rapidly becoming more and more angry as
he found that the damage done was so manifestly wilful damage; and at
last, finding remonstrance to be so much waste of breath, he snatched up
an old musket, which possibly had not seen the light since
Killiecrankie, and shot one of the dogs.
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