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The inhabitants of Braemore - the valley on the Caithness side of Morven - have for generations made their livelihood by farming, but in those seasons when winter comes on before its time, their crops do not ripen, and any saving they may have effected is spent in the purchase of winter necessities. On one occasion, when they were thus chagrined by a lost harvest, a big, strong, lazy-looking man, whom they had often previously seen, came a-begging for help. In contradiction of proverbial Highland hospitality he everywhere met with a point-blank refusal. "Well if I'll get nothing to eat," said he to the inmates of the last house in the glen, "you folk will have little pleasure in your eating," and he went straight to their meal-mill, and carried off the upper grindstone on his shoulders.

For a long time after this the people of Braemore were missing cattle and sheep from the hills, and if they happened to bring home any money or valuables they soon mysteriously disappeared. The stock for miles around was frequently examined, and a watch was kept on all passing valuables, but no trace of the robber could be found. The native "wise women" were consulted, but their replies were given so oracularly that suspicion began to point to some of their own friends as the evil-doer; but they, to prove that the robber was no friend of theirs, charmed a considerable number of men so that they might be able to see him should the thief be a person in league with the powers of the nether deep, and therefore able to make himself hid to ordinary eyes.

Thus charmed, the band watched the hills, and many days had not elapsed ere they saw the gentleman who they knew to be the hero of the millstone, and whom they had learned to call Bodach Dhu, come stalking down the hill, knock over one of the best of their cattle with his first arrow, and then, swinging it over his shoulders, make for the mountain again. They gave chase, and away he fled up the hill. As they neared him down came such a mist cloud as to this day comes often and suddenly over Morven, and the Bodach was effectually shielded from them. They stayed until the mist had rolled away, but the Bodach was not then to be seen, and they had to return home to tell their tale.

Numbers of tourists climb Morven every year, and those who have never heard this tale, tell when they come down that they saw well up the mountain side a large millstone, and then, in their simplicity, ask how it got there. The story is told them, and they at once confidently volunteer to lead anybody to the place. They set off, and after much searching learn the oft-repeated experience that those who have seen it once and heard the legend can never see it again. It was last seen on Jubilee Day, when a number of tailors ascended the hill by different routes, and on meeting at the top one told he had seen a millstone. The story was told, but is it to be wondered at that after deeply pledging the Queen's health in genuine mountain dew even the sharp Messrs Snip were unable to find it?