Presently we came to a place where the horses stopped of their own accord.  There was a sheer rock on one side, and the hill was steep below us, and a stream brawled somewhere before us.

“Well,” I said, “here we stay for the night.  It is of no use wandering any longer, and the night is warm.”

We thought nothing of this, for any hunter knows that such a chance may befall him in a strange and wild country.  So we laughed together and off-saddled and hobbled the horses, and so sat down supperless to wait for morning under the rock.  The mist was clammy round us, thinning and then thickening again as the breaths of wind took it; but the moon would rise soon, and then maybe it would go.

We had no means of making a fire, and no cloaks; so sleep came hardly, and we talked long.  Then the dogs grew uneasy, and presently wandered away into the fog and darkness.  I thought that perhaps they heard some game stirring, and did not wonder at them.

Now I was just sleeping, when I heard the sharp yelp of a dog in pain, and sat up suddenly.  Then came a second, and after that the distant sound of voices that rose for a moment and hushed again.

“We must be close to the village after all,” I said, for my comrades were listening also; “but why did the hounds yell like that?”

“Some old dame has taken the broomstick to them,” said Kolgrim.  “They are hungry, and have put their noses into her milk pails.”

“It is too late for open doors,” I said; “unless they have found our own lodging, where some are waiting for us.  But there they would not be beaten.”

“Ho!” said Kolgrim, in another minute or so, “yonder is a fire.”

The wind had come round the hillside and swept the mist away for a moment, and below us in the valley was a speck of red light that made a wide glow in the denser fog that hung there.  One could hardly say how far off it was, for fog of any sort confuses distance; but the brook seemed to run in the direction of the fire, and it was likely that any house stood near its banks.

“Let us follow the brook and see what we can find,” I said therefore.  “These mists are chill, and I will confess that I am hungry.  We cannot lose our way if we keep to the water, and the horses will be safe enough.”

Anything was better, as it seemed to us, than trying to think that we slept comfortably here, and so we rose up and went down the banks of the stream at once; and the way proved to be easy enough, if rocky.  The bank on this side was higher, and dry therefore, so that we had no bogs to fear.  We knew enough of them in the Orkneys and on the Sutherland coast.

The white mist grew very thick, but the firelight glow grew redder as we went on, and at last we came near enough to hear many voices plainly; but presently, when one shouted, we found that the tongue was not known to us.

“Now it is plain whom we have come across,” I said.  “This is a camp of the Cornish tin traders, of whom the king told us.  They are honest folk enough, and will put us on the great road.  They must be close to it.”