Without they kindle a fire and smoke us out, I don't see how they'll beat us.

Our provisions are a' there, and there's a grand well o' water inside.

Forbye there's the road down the rocks that'll keep our communications open....

But what's come to Mr.Heritage ?" Dickson to his shame had forgotten all about his friend.

The Poet lay very quiet with his head on one side and his legs crooked limply.