The family residence of the Forbes stood about half-way up Ben Sgurrach, the highest hill in the district, and the house was at least 1,000 feet above the sea.  It was sheltered from the east wind by a clump of scarecrow-looking pine trees, and a spur of barren rock rose behind it on the north.  I could imagine those trees, though I have never seen them; we have some such in our little wood behind the presbytery.  Gaunt-looking figures they are indeed!  Some have been twisted into uncouth shapes by adverse winds; others stand draped in veritable garments of gray lichen—­weird and shaggy.  The latter, seen in the dusk, are calculated to terrify a chance comer who might find himself in their neighborhood; for he would probably mistake them for goblins.

A copious spring of excellent water and several convenient crevices in the surrounding rocks made Davie’s place an excellent site for a still.  His son Jock was occupied with odd jobs provided for him as handy man at a shooting lodge not far from the foot of the hill, where he tended the garden and looked after the pony at ordinary times, and acted as gillie when the shooting season came round.  Peter did most of the work on the croft, lower down the hill; for David himself was getting past arduous labors, though he directed the distilling, in which Peter, and occasionally Jock, did the greater part of the work.  Much of the barley for the still grew on their own land, where also they raised corn for their own oatmeal and for Maggie Jean’s chickens, as well as turnips for her “coo.”  The customers for whiskey were many; for owing to its innocence of government duty it was cheaper than could be got from a merchant, while for quality it was renowned.  Davie was a past master in the art of distilling, and the secluded nature of his storehouses enabled him to keep it until its rawness had worn off with age.

Many a tale was told of Davie’s adventures in his contraband trade.  In days when he was young and strong revenue officers would scour the hills with a small band of soldiers in their company, the better to over-awe the country folk.  On one such occasion Davie had the misfortune to be apprehended in his house, when off his guard; for he was well known to the preventive men of the district, who had long been seeking to trap him.  They had tracked him from his still, which they then took charge of, and surrounded his house to prevent escape.  But Davie was too wary for them in the end.  He feigned submission, and got his old mother to bring out refreshments for the party within the house, and went himself to the door with glasses and whiskey for the two soldiers on guard there.  But they never tasted their dram; Davie was the renowned wrestler of the neighborhood, and in a second or two he had tripped up both men and had made off for some secret hiding-place in the hills before the party inside, aroused by the cries of the sentinels, were able to understand what had happened.  Both the unfortunate soldiers had been so badly bruised by their fall on the flagstones near the doorway that they were unable to rise without help.