They must be up early indeed who would weather on _him_! And so,
ruminating somewhat vain-gloriously, he pushed on over the ringing
ground, his horse snorting frosty breaths on the chill air, and inclined
to hump his back and squeal on the smallest excuse. Mile after mile
slipped easily behind him, and the sun began to show a blood-red face
over the hill; a "hare limped trembling through the frozen grass," and
crows cawed hungrily as they flew past on sluggish, blue-black wing,
questing for food. The world was awake now, and M'Fadyen reckoned that
by a couple of hours after noon he should be safe home with his money.
Only--who was that on the road ahead of him? A soldier by his coat,
surely, with his servant riding behind. Well, so much the better; that
would be company for him over the loneliest part of his ride, across the
moor which bore an evil name. So M'Fadyen pressed on, and soon he caught
up the two riders, first the servant, "mounted upon ane dark grey horse"
and armed with a "long gun"; then the master, also riding a dark grey
horse, and dressed in a scarlet coat with gold-thread buttons. A tall
man, the latter--a striking-looking man, quite a personage, with thin
refined face and high Roman nose; instead of a wig he wore his own brown
hair tied in a cue behind, and over one eye he had a notable
peculiarity, "a wrat (wart) as big as ane nut.
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