Each month we will be featuring a guest writer and this month is Andy William Frew. His father was born in Fife and brought with him to America a love of Scottish music and stories. He says he enjoyed both all his life, and now is ready to return something of what has always been such a delight for me. .

Part One of this story can be found in September 2002

Where was I? Oh, aye. When Sandy walked out the door that morn, he heard lowing and shuffling behind the byre just as if Bailie, Bizzem and Birse were saying in their way, "Milk us. Set us loose." Sandy knew that couldn't be, so he tip-toed out to see what could be making such a noise. But when he peeked ‘round the corner of the byre, there they stood, Bailie, Bizzem and Birse themselves. Overtaken with joy, Sandy rushed to his cows and threw his arms ‘round Bailie’s neck, but he passed straight through and ran up against the cow-pen rails. Shocked he was, and he whirled about to look at his cattle. They stood calmly, the way they always did, waiting for Sandy to unfasten the gate. Well, Sandy was no doup. He saw right off the spirits of his good cows had returned from the dead, though it wasn't clear why. He stared at them first in fright, but their big cow eyes told Sandy he’d naught to fear. They scuffed about a bit more, and Bizzem shuffled over to the gate, poked her nose through the rails, and sniffed. Bailie and Birse joined her at the gate. Sandy opened the gate, picked up the switch his eldest son had used when he last took Birse for her morning graze, and followed them across the field toward Brux Hill. Sandy stroked their backs with the switch as he always did, and they seemed to take comfort from it. At the top of the first rise, Sandy heard someone call. "What are you doing there, Sandy?" There stood Donald Huntly. Donald couldn't see nor hear the ghost cattle, you see, so it was small wonder he was asking why Sandy was waving a switch about in the air. Sandy decided not to tell Donald about three cows he couldn't see, and just said, "I’m going up the hill to see if the night left something behind. And yourself?" "Och, I couldn't sleep for fretting about this drought, so I came out for a walk. But what are you doing with the switch? Isn't that the way your boys drove your cattle to pasture?" "Aye, it is, just as I taught them, and sometimes doing the familiar is a comfort." "That it is, Sandy. That it is." Donald hung his head and walked down toward the sadly dried up burn at the bottom of the hillock. Quick as Sandy saw Donald was away, he hurried after his cattle. He caught up at the crest of the hill and together they walked easily down the far side. Sandy saw where they were headed, which made him ever more puzzled. They arrived at a deserted, dried up, unnamed glen where no water flowed and naught but lichen grew. Bailie led the way to a wee cairn to the side of the glen. The small pile of rocks was directly at the foot of a vertical crag three times as high as Sandy was tall. Sandy said, "What’s this, Bailie? What's this cairn about?" as if ever she could talk. Bailie bent her head low and sniffed at the rock pile, then nudged it. "All right then. We'll have a look," Sandy said. "You know, Bailie, there’s an old story that says five generations back one Gabhan Ghille-gair made a fortune in the spice trade. He was supposed to have buried it somewhere nearby." Sandy’s father had told him that old Gabhan had hidden the treasure where no one would see. And here, Chappy, was just such a place. There were no farms near this glen so there was no road. Or it may be there was no road near this glen so there were no farms. Gabhan wouldn't bury it near farms nor a road, so … Where was I? Oh, aye. Sandy chuckled as he bent down over the small cairn. "This couldn't be Ghille’s fortune, could it Bailie?" he said. Bailie lifted her head and snorted. Sandy gently moved the rocks from the pile. At the bottom was a shabby, weathered, faded blue purse. He could barely read the old Gaelic lettering. "Ghille," it said. Sandy looked at it a long time before he opened the purse and emptied it into his hand. There were three coins, a gold, a silver, and a copper. He sat down on the ground with a thump. "This is Gabhan’s fortune? Three coins? Why there’s only just enough to buy two cows." Bizzem snorted three times—for the sake of Birse—and headed down the hill, Birse and Bailie in tow, away from the Kilgour farm. Sandy scrambled to his feet and followed. They led him down to Kildrummy where a poor laird had more cows than he could support, what with the drought and all. There was a great scuffling in the cow-pen when the three ghost cows arrived. Bailie, Bizzem and Birse snuffled and pawed the ground and lowed at the cattle in the pen to calm them. There were eight cows. After settling down, six of them went back to their straw stack, but one was sniffing noses with Birse, and another came over and stood by Bizzem. The laird sold those two to Sandy, and the five cows—two mortal and three spirit—led Sandy up the side of Brux Hills with him stroking the cattle with his switch. Bizzem, at the front, led the small group back to the very same deserted, dried up, unnamed glen where no water flowed and naught but lichen grew. Only this time they found it wet and lush, and the two new cows ate and drank their fill. Sandy sat himself down in wonder. As he waited for them, he decided on names for these two new additions to the family. One would be Raukle, for she showed no fear of her ghost cousins right from the start. The other would be Duddie, for she didn't mind walking through a shallow stream and afterwards wearing mud stockings. All the Kilgours’ neighbors were happy for Sandy’s good fortune, all except George Cummin. Next afternoon at milking time, Donald Huntly came by to see the new cows and said, "They’re looking healthy and content, they are Sandy Kilgour." Donald peeked over Sandy’s shoulder at the milk bucket. "And I see they’re good milkers. But in this drought, how can you keep them so?" Sandy didn't look up from his milking. "There’s a small glen on the other side of Brux Hill where they’re able to eat and drink their fill." "Och, do you wish to pull my other leg too, Sandy? There’s naught up there but a deserted, dried up, unnamed glen where no water flows and naught but lichen grows." Sandy stood and hoisted the full bucket of milk to a shelf. "Aye, indeed, that’s the very glen, Donald. You know I’ve always believed in taking the best care of my livestock. Now Bailie, Bizzem, and Birse are repaying the kindness. They’ve made that glen into a place where Raukle and Duddie can eat and drink their fill." "Let me see if I hear you a-right. You’re grazing your cows in a haunted glen?" "‘Haunted’ is too harsh a word. I’d rather say blessed. It has all the pasture and water my animals could want." Donald scratched the back of his head. "What would happen if someone came along to this glen tomorrow?" "I can't say. But your welcome to join me if you’ve a mind to," said Sandy. Next morning Donald and his poor cow were waiting to follow Raukle and Duddie to the glen. Mack Swinton came up the hill with his cow as well. Even George Cummin was waiting with his, though he kept a distance. All but Raukle and Duddie had ribs showing through their sides. Sandy followed the five, though none other could see but the two. In the glen Raukle and Duddie ambled across the bright green grass nibbling at the tender shoots under an old oak tree. Donald’s cow went to the edge of the grass, but wouldn't go any further. Mack’s cow was the same. But though they were too skittish to eat, they both had a drink from the spring. George’s cow wouldn't get even that close, and for all him trying to force her in, she headed back down the hill for home. George yelled, "Sandy Kilgour, this glen is full of the Devil’s business! It’s plain your dabbling with kelpies." "No George," Donald called back, "kelpies are water horses, not water cows." Mack laughed, but George was none to happy about being the joke. George called back to them as he went after his cow, "Kelpies can take any form they please, and these cows are kelpies." Donald shook his head. "You can't make that fit the facts. Kelpies are evil and deadly. Look at Sandy’s Raukle and Duddie. You'll not convince me there's an evil being done here. It’s only that our cows are none too smart, or they’d be down there with Sandy’s animals. Go home, George, and tend your cow as best you can." Sandy said, "Donald, you’re a good friend, and I’m sorry I can't help your cow to more than a drink of water. Will you bring her up again tomorrow? And Mack, will you come as well?" Mack unfolded his arms and slapped Sandy’s shoulder. "Aye, Sandy. Even today is a blessing. The water is more than my cow has had in some time. I’ll be grateful for what we have. And yes, I’ll come up with you tomorrow, to Glen Kilgour." * * * * * Kilgours were aye true to their neighbors. The Swintons and Huntlys were ever welcome, and for them friendship and help were never further than the Kilgours’ door. Even George Cummin could have found a friend, but he wouldn't. Taugust came and the drought ended, and with the Kilgours’ help, the Swintons and the Huntlys got through. But for George Cummin August was too late. Stubborn man that he was, he never changed, and after all his cattle and all but one of his sheep died off, he moved away to Aberdeen and signed onto a fishing boat. That probably suited him better than farming. Aye, and look here Chappy, here’s my cattle byre. I’ll get the door. It’s got a wee hitch in its track and needs to be pushed twice. Step in. You’ll see I’ve eight cattle, and you’ll also see I keep nine stalls. Come down here to the big stall on the end. None of my cows ever come in this stall, and the light’s none too good, but have a close look. Do you see where the straw’s matted down in three of the corners?

The author can be reached by email.

More guest writers can be found here.