IV.
The Devil in Shape of Pan.
It was in the days of smuggling whisky. There lived in the lower part of Corgarff a wild "raffie" sort of a man called David Bertie. He was a great smuggler. He kept a horse for carrying to different parts of the south country the product of his illegal still. One very dark night he set out on a southern journey to sell his whisky, mounted between two casks. As he had to pass near where the ganger (excise officer) lived, he had to keep a sharp look-out. On turning an angle of the road near the ganger's house, he met right in the face what looked like a man riding on horseback at a most furious gallop.
"Wiz ye ony fleyt, Davie?"
"L—d, man, terrible. I thocht it wiz the gauger."
"But it wizna (was not) him, wiz't (was it)?"
"Na."
"Did ye ken fah wiz't?"
"Aye, fine that."
"An fah wiz't than?"
"It wiz the devil."
"An wizna (were not) ye fleyt at him, Davie?"
"Na; I wiz relievt fin I kent it wiz him an nae the gauger."
"An faht like wiz he?"
"Ow, he wiz a gay decent-like chiel, if he hidna (had not) hid a terrible head o' horns, an fearfu' long hairy legs wee (with) great cloven feet; but L—d, man, he hid a terrible smell o' brimstane.'^ (Told by J. Farquharson, Corgarfif.)
