Boltin Kye by Alex Grant
Soon as John graubbit ma collar, his een telt me that he wis whit spooked the kye. Mere seconds since haurin the hooves ae the beasts beat the groun and I was laupin among them, kennin that whitever John’d done wisnae summit fir whit we’d want tae stay and face the consequences. Folk were awreddy strawn aroon. We, lit bulls oorsels, trampilt ower them. The peace ae the toon sooth ae the tryst becam clear through the chaos, signalin a safety awa fae the bovine terror unleashed upon these puir fowk. As we passed, somewan tried tae tak a coo back unner control. Wi the animal mid-stampede, the act hud bravery and brawn but no much brain. We wir tae busy runnin tae see whit the ootcome wis, but I hoped he’d still huv a chance later tae try oot the latter.
I hoped tae God that naebdy hud seen John near the kye. The Lord deals in guid time wi whitever lies upon yir conscience but I thocht it unlikely that a judge wid tak a prayer or twa as penance enough. Thochts ae the Licht ae the Wurld wir fast replaced by those ae the lichts ae the toon. They wir oor new salvation, a still sma voice cryin tae us atween the hurtlin kye. We’d chance the pub, bide there owernicht. The anticipation ae beer hud barely settled when a coo clipped John fae behind. Hud the storm ae livestock no been thundrin roon us, I’m sure I’d huv cringed at the soond his shooder made. Clamberin up wi his guid airm he ran aheid, trailin the ither ahint like wan mair tail swattin in the daurk.
The silence at the edge ae the tryst contrasted the houls ahint. Safety and security fir certain. I went tae John tae see tae his airm but there wis little I could dae wi it, except mebbe mak it worse. I thocht aboot that efter whit he’d put us through. But naw, this wis a job for the doctor tae dae or the barman tae dull – whoever we foun first. Torches appeart at the end ae the lane an we slid intae a close, hopin we’d no be spotted. Jist in case, I looked aroon fir an escape. The back hud a low fence but John wisnae in ony state tae go hoppin through the backs ae the hooses. In time though, the torchlicht grew, peaked and faded intae the distance.
We stumbilt the last feet tae the noise ae the bar, John coverin his left side wi ma cloak tae avoid ony prying questions. I pushed the door open, appreciatin the warmth ae the hearth and the lilt ae a fiddler playin tunes I kent fae back north. Hame. The familiarity ae a chair aneath and the long draught ae a pint through ma lips softened ma fears as I cawed tae the fowk aroon us.
“Noo lads, ye widnae believe whit I jist haurd…”