Chapter VIII: Flight

Fear of the night, the unknown prowlers in the heather, the escape of the schoolmaster, and above all the danger to his paper, held Rob in a breathless silence.

And all the time Muckle John was walking towards him, whistling softly as he came. Passing a few yards to the left of the fallen tree behind which Rob was crouching he halted suddenly, and then in a leisurely fashion seated himself on the trunk of it, with the tails of his coat almost touching Rob's cheek.

For long enough he remained with his elbows upon his knees staring out upon the loch, and yet Rob never stirred, biding his time. At last with a profound sigh Muckle John began to speak to himself in a low, musing voice, like a man troubled about something and doubtful about the course he should take.

"Poor Rob," he said, "where has he got to now?" Upon which he sighed again and shook his head. "I doubt," he murmured, "that they've taken him--for he no answered my bit whistle. He would have answered had he heard, for he promised me, and Rob's no the lad to go back upon his word--oh no, you'd never suspect Rob of that," and he paused in a heart-breaking manner as though emotion had fairly overcome him. As for Rob, it was all he could do not to spring up and catch him by the hands; but he lay like a stone, utterly miserable, hating the paper and his wretched suspicions.

"Besides," continued Muckle John more briskly, "I saved the laddie's life, and glad to do it. Oh, no, no; dinna tell me that Rob heard the whistle and ran his neck into the noose I was calling him from. Poor Rob," said he again, "I doubt but he's laid by the heels by this time."

Then he stirred a little and began to button his coat.

"I must save Rob," said he in a mighty determined tone, and at that the boy touched him softly on the coat.

"Muckle John," he whispered.

The man beside him started violently, and came near to falling off the log altogether, so great appeared to be his astonishment. But with an effort at recovery he pushed Rob back.

"Down," he whispered, in Gaelic, "down for your life," and he began to stretch himself as though he had fallen to sleep. "Rob," he murmured at last, "I hope ye did na hear my vapourings."

"I fear I did," replied Rob.

"Well, well, there's no harm where no ill was spoken. But I was hurt, ye ken, that you did not heed my whistle. Speak low, Rob, for there's been a man behind yon tuft o' heather for the last half-hour."

"I was feared," said Rob, "Ephraim Macaulay was loosed and oh--Muckle John, I..."

"No suspected me, surely?" he gasped.

"I was feared, ye see, and..."

But Muckle John shook his head, and fell into a soliloquy in Lowland Scots.

"Oh, Rob, Rob," he said, "this is no pleasant hearing. It makes things difficult. I'm minded to leave ye, Rob, though I shrink frae doing so, for the country is fair hotching with spies and sic' like, and at this present moment, there's a wheen men with eyes fair glued to this spot, and all o' them just hungering for the dawn. It's a dangerous ploy ye're engaged upon, Rob, and one beside which Culloden was as snug as snaring rabbits," and he sighed again with his eyes up on the loch.

"Rob," he broke out suddenly, "it's enough to mak' me die with shame when I say it, but it's Macaulay ye think I loosed. Come then, Rob, and follow me, and I swear on the naked dirk I'll show ye Macaulay," and sliding through the undergrowth, he beckoned back to him. In this manner taking advantage of every scrap of cover, they reached the wood where the mist was rising before the dawn.

At this point Muckle John advanced very cautiously upon his hands and feet, and Rob marvelled at so large a man moving as softly as a cat. Of a sudden, however, he dropped upon his stomach and waggled his foot as a warning. For men's voices in muttered Gaelic came from behind a rock immediately to their right.

"He cannot have left the shore, Angus," said one, "for Neil is watching the brae and we will close in on him at sunrise. Besides, he is only a boy."

"There is a great man with him, Donald; who will he be?"

"I am not knowing for sure, Angus, but belike he has taken to the heather like many another pretty fellow, though he looked like one ye know of, whose name I will not be mentioning. Whoever he is--he will not be meddling with us, Angus."

"But where can the Captain have got to--he was watching Archie Cameron and then he disappeared, and Cameron too."

With a backward look Muckle John stole on, and Rob and he passed into the heart of the wood and up to the hollow place where Macaulay had disappeared. There Muckle John straightened himself, and pushing aside the bracken at the lower end of the hollow he beckoned to Rob.

"There," he said, "is your prisoner," and sure enough there lay the bound and silent form of Ephraim Macaulay.

"But how did he get here?" asked Rob. "He could not have rolled."

"Rob," replied Muckle John, "I will be franker with you than you have been with me. I brought him here mysel'."

"You?"

"And who else? But let that be. I have a notion that we must hurry," and he began to unloose the ropes about the prisoner's hands.

Rob watched him without a word, too perplexed to speak.

"Muckle John," he whispered at last, "could we no mak' use of his clothes?"

"Tuts," he replied, "it's evident ye were much impressed with Culloden day; but I would scorn to use an auld trick like that twice in one week. There are folk, Rob, would send the word round that Muckle John was no what he was," and he turned again to Macaulay and loosed his feet. But the gag he left in his mouth, only removing the bandage from his eyes. "Now, sir," he went on, addressing Macaulay in a low voice, "I have here a dirk which does its work secretly and yet with dispatch. Ye take my meaning? I have also a loaded pistol in my pocket, and I flatter myself you are acquainted with my marksmanship. Before we start upon our jaunt there are one or two questions I would ask ye. Just nod your head and I'll excuse a civil answer. I take it that we are surrounded here?"

A violent nod could just be discerned in the gloom.

"Thank ye. In which quarter are your people gathered? Point with your hand."

After a momentary hesitation the prisoner pointed towards the west.

"Brawly done, sir, I knew I could trust you to lie. So we will gang to the left just to spite ye. Now walk between us, and mind, my dirk is itching for a dig into your ribs. If we are challenged say it is only twa o' your friends, and at the first word o' treachery I'll stick you like a pig." With this caution, he drew the gag out of Macaulay's mouth.

"Hark ye, Rob," he went on in a low tone. "There are a score of men around this place, and they're after something with which you are no unacquainted. Should we win through there will be no rest for us till we are well out of the Cameron country--but I doubt the length and breadth of the Highlands will hardly be large enough."

All this he said in a very grave voice, and then taking Macaulay by the arm, he led him towards the hill-front with Rob upon his other side.

The dawn was near at hand and the driving mist fell cold as ice upon their faces. Down below them they could see the cold sheen of the loch, and hear the wild fowl crying in the reeds. After a full quarter of a mile Muckle John halted.

"Now, Rob," said he, "we have reached their line of watchers. As we pass up the brae, we will be scanned by many an unseen eye. Dinna speak, but nod to me when I address ye, and tak' the upper side, for you are nane the waur for a bit heightening," and with that they left the shelter of the trees. In the dim, grey light, the hillside looked very wan and desolate. A whaup was crying mournfully over a lonely pool of hill water. Like a shadow a dog-fox, homeward bound, slipped over the path and was swallowed up amongst the crags.

No other sound reached their ears.

Suddenly from the heather at their very feet a man leapt up--a squat, red-headed fellow with a naked dirk in his hand. Something in Macaulay's dim face seemed to have aroused his suspicions.

"Who are you?" he cried in Gaelic.

"Answer him," growled Muckle John in Macaulay's ear, but before he could say a word, the Highlander had scanned Rob's face, and with a shrill warning scream he leaped backward into the heather. It was his last mortal word. With a whistle of flying steel Muckle John whipped his claymore free, and lunging as it swung from the scabbard, drove the blade in to the hilt.

With a terrible cry the man slithered backwards and coughed, and Rob turned sick at the manner in which he writhed in the heather. Through the mist half a dozen forms came running in their direction. There was not a moment to lose. Hastily disengaging his sword, Muckle John flung his great-coat about the head of the schoolmaster, and hurling him down the hillside dragged Rob to his knees with a hand upon his mouth.

The clatter of Macaulay's flying form and his muffled cries drew the newcomers past the place where they lay, and then springing to his hands and feet Muckle John made off in the opposite direction into the heart of the swirling mist. There was a brief silence and then far away, came a shrill yell taken up again and again until every crag seemed alive with voices, and the faint glow of the rising sun made their escape seem impossible.

"They've found him," cried Muckle John, mounting the hillside at a great pace with Rob at his heels, "so it's save your breath and follow me."

There was little cover on that part of the hill, and it was evident from the frenzied shouts rising from below, that their pursuers had seen them crossing an open space.

"Quicker, Rob!" cried Muckle John, darting away like a hare, his head bent below his shoulders as he ran.

At last, when they had reached a mass of crags and loose stones, he dropped behind the first, dodging back along the upper part of the slope, while Rob scrambled behind him. They halted for a moment, about five hundred yards higher than the way they had passed a few minutes before, and Muckle John peeped round a boulder and scanned the misty slope beneath.

"Look," said he at last. Far below, by stretching his head forward, Rob saw many forms moving like dots amongst the heather. Foremost of all came Ephraim Macaulay, waving them on; then, in a rude half-moon, swept some thirty ragged Highlanders, shock-headed, bearded, fierce looking caterans, racing like dogs upon the trail.

"Broken men," said Muckle John grimly, watching them as keenly as a fox watches the hounds. "Cameron rogues and nameless cattle. Would we were out of this country."

The sun was rising over the glen, and even in that hour of deadly peril Rob must needs admire the gold light upon the blue loch, and the fresh greenness of the spring in the trees far below.

Their pursuers had now reached the point where they had doubled back along the hill, and here they were put out, searching the rocks, and spying along the other slope and making closer search.

"It was that last burst did it, Rob," whispered Muckle John, in a glow at his cleverness; "but I must admit I'm no liking the position. They're anxious to lay hands on ye, Rob, and that's the truth. I'm thinking it must be grand information ye carry, but I'm no the man to question onybody about what best concerns himsel'." Shaking his head he took to watching the movements of their pursuers again.

"I wish I could tell you, Muckle John," replied Rob unhappily.

"Och," said he with a great show of indifference, "I was only daffing ye. It's maybe only because ye were seen wi' Archie Cameron. He's no good company for folk just now."

"He's a brave gentleman, Muckle John."

"Oh, maybe; but there's aye some one to bring up stories against a man. Some say he is faithful to the Prince, but others whose names I'm not knowing will tell you he has an eye to his own affairs."

Rob listened with a flush of indignation upon his face.

"You do him wrong," he blurted out. "The Prince has need to thank him for last night's work, and I'm bound to carry word of it."

He paused abruptly, fearing he had said too much. But Muckle John was apparently intent upon the hillside.

"Look," said he, "they're coming straight for us. Now, Rob, it will be touch and go, and do what I tell you without question, for I know this country like my ain hand; and I tell ye at once that if we are not twenty mile on the other side of them before nightfall, we might as well cut our ain throats. And, Rob, mind it's you they're after, no me. Should you care to hand anything over for safe keeping, just in case--ye ken--" and he paused, looking over Rob's head.

"That I cannot," said Rob firmly.

"Then follow me," was all the answer Muckle John gave, and putting a huge rock between them and their enemies, they ran swiftly slant-wise up the slope until they reached the summit, where for a moment Muckle John looked back. The great half-moon formation of the ascending Highlanders was moving quickly upwards.

"This is no red-coat work," he gasped, "but tartan against tartan, and fox hunting fox," and away they went along the opposite side of the hill, just low enough to miss the sky-line.

As luck would have it that part of the hill was very bare and empty of cover, and ere they had gone half a mile a distant shout warned them that they were seen, and that the whole force of their pursuers was now upon their line of flight.

Rob saw a sudden tightening of Muckle John's mouth, and now it ceased to be a game of hide and seek, but a race for dear life. The pace was terrible. Rob's lungs were bursting with the straining, so that red flashes of light swam before his eyes.

"Quicker!" cried Muckle John, "they are gaining! Oh, can ye no mak' a sprint, Rob--only a hundred yards?"

For a while Rob struggled on, stumbling and gasping, until at last his foot caught in a tuft of heather, and he fell heavily to the ground. Without a word or pause, Muckle John, who was leading by some ten feet, turned swiftly, and picking him up, continued his wild race for the broken rocks that lay before them.

Two hundred yards behind came the foremost Highlanders, leaping over the ground in bounds, their claymores ready in their hands. A minute, and Muckle John had passed among the rocks, then doubling right and left, he sped towards a monstrous boulder, and scrambling up, pulled Rob on top. Now on the back of this boulder lay another great stone poised upon it, and carrying Rob over his shoulder, he clambered up and so to a cleft in the side of the precipice which fronted the hill.

Rob had been too blinded by exhaustion to notice that before them lay what was apparently a cul-de-sac with bare crag on every side, and had he done so he would have realized why the Highlanders had bared their swords. For they were to all appearances in a death-trap.

But Muckle John, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat, seemed well enough content, and placing Rob upon the barren cleft, he turned about and looked down upon the scene below. His assailants were gathered about the rock on which he had first sprung, and were debating what course to take. Far behind came the main body, and still farther away, Ephraim Macaulay.

"Rob," said Muckle John, "have you your wind yet?"

The boy groaned in reply, but struggled to his feet.

"Now," said Muckle John, "I am not the daft fool ye no doubt take me for--there is a way up this cliff only known to me and one other. You see this cleft? It runs for fifty yards in a slanting direction, and there's little enough foothold. There is a break at the corner there and a bit jump of maybe two feet, but no easy, with just a bare rock and six inches to land on. But dinna waver or lose heart, for there's no return and it's certain death to bide here. After that, climb straight up, but leaning to the left, and when ye reach a small tree-stump wait for me, for then it becomes no easy matter."

For a moment Rob hesitated, but Muckle John pushed him gently on the shoulder.

"It's death here," said he again, "for they can go back and reach the top in two hours." Then in a leisurely manner he drew his claymore to hold the rock against assault.

Knowing that if he hesitated he was lost, Rob set foot upon the narrow path that ran along the smooth edge of rock, and never looking down for fear of turning giddy, he wormed his way upwards, feeling every foot of the slippery surface.

A sudden silence fell upon the onlookers below, and then a harsh noise of voices reached him, and a moment later a stone crashed on the rock within a foot of his head.

"Haud tight, Rob," shouted Muckle John; "dinna mind them!" and whipping out his pistol he fired, shattering the arm of another man who was poised for his aim.

Had any one of them there carried a musket, Rob would have been shot like a crow, but as Muckle John shrewdly guessed, no one of that ragged crew had more than cold steel, though that was ready should the boy falter and fall.

But creeping onward he reached the place where the empty space lay, and without a pause he stepped across, regained his balance and disappeared round the corner. At that a great yell of anger broke out, and a sudden rush was made for the lowest rock, upon which half a dozen men climbed and thence swarmed up within three feet of where Muckle John stood, awaiting them.

At that he swung down upon them, and laying about him with his claymore, cleared the stone and stood looking upon the crowd of his enemies with great good-humour. Growling sullen threats, they fell back out of reach of his deadly sword, and so, setting his back against the crag, he drew out his whistle and, placing the hilt of his claymore between his legs, he broke into a Highland rant.

Now the story of that tune was one peculiarly obnoxious to the men below, for it was written to commemorate a great clan battle, in which the people of the West had not covered their name with glory. He played it with grim relish, giving it such a sprightly measure, that every note seemed a jeer and a bitter gibe at their kith and kin.

Indeed, so engrossed did he grow with his melody, that he did not notice a man to his left pick up a great stone, and launch it like a flash upon him. Moreover, it was aimed with a deadly purpose, for it took the claymore on the blade and sent it spinning over the edge upon the earth below.

With a cry Muckle John leaped for the cleft. The men below, with a wild shout, swarmed up like hungry wolves upon the place he had abandoned.

And then drawing his pistol and dirk, he fell upon his knees like a wild-cat defending its lair with tooth and claw, and sent the first man hurtling backwards with a bullet in his brain.

"Lochaber pig," he taunted, "it takes a dirk to make you squeal."

"Man without a tartan," they screamed back in Gaelic, "landless--nameless one..."

"No name is better than a Lochaber name," he cried with a laugh, driving them back for the third time.

But his position was desperate, for the long blades of his assailants could reach him before he could reload, and his dirk was useless except at close quarters.

Now beside him there was a rugged boulder of about three feet in diameter, and no sooner had his eye rested on that, than he bent his long arms around it, and pushing it to the edge rolled it over upon the jeering faces within a few feet of his own, and without watching the panic that it caused, he sprang upon the narrow cleft and began to pass along the road that Rob had gone before.

But now things were very different. Below him, a dozen men had stones in their hands--behind him, those who had the courage were already mounting the dead-strewn rock to follow him.

There was for all that a mocking twinkle in Muckle John's eyes, and he whistled a bar of the tune he had played, and so, walking steadily onward, reached the empty space. It was that critical moment that they had selected for their volley of stones, and indeed it would have gone ill with anyone knocked off his balance at such a time.

But this Muckle John realized as much as they, and out of the corner of his eye he had gauged their scheme to a nicety. He made a step forward, therefore, and a very quick fling back, which few could do where there was not room for the feet to stand, ankle to ankle. And as the stones rattled upon the face of the rock instead of his own, he crossed very coolly and passed on.

Foiled in that plan, they took to aiming at him indiscriminately, and the dull thud upon his side and legs reached Rob up above. Soon a stone cut his face, and he must needs wipe the blood out of his eyes to see his way, which delayed him and brought his pursuers (the few who dared) the nearer.

But he crept on, nevertheless, and at last reached Rob, and supported himself by the little broken tree.

"Oh, Rob, Rob," he gasped, "I nearly spoilt all. Follow me, for they'll turn the corner in a minute. Once let us get back to the top, Rob, and there's no going back," and he looked down upon the heads of their pursuers with a meaning smile.

The last five yards were as hazardous as the rest, and more than once Rob gave himself up for lost. But each time Muckle John steadied him and jested, and whistled a snatch of tune.

At last they scrambled upon level ground, and lay with bleeding fingers and knees and all the strength gone out of them.

Some minutes passed, and from below came the faint shuffling of footsteps. With a groan Rob struggled up and peered over. A dreadful sight faced him. About twenty yards beneath, where one man was forced to climb upon the other's shoulders, the foothold had failed, and after a momentary, fluttering grasp at the thin grass that grew in patches here and there, a mournful cry went up, and the two bodies slid and tumbled and sped out of sight.

"They're killed!" cried Rob.

Muckle John rose stiffly to his feet.

"I said there were but two who knew the way," he replied, "and one is mysel'," and he stretched himself and began to walk up the slope of the hill.

"Come, Rob," said he, over his shoulder, "they'll be after us now, but we have two hours' start, which, saving the English, should prove sufficient."

Then quite suddenly he stopped in his tracks, and stared with a frown upon the glen below. Drawing Rob forward, he pointed downwards, saying no word.

And Rob said nothing either; there was nothing to say.

All along the valley and up into the hills beyond were scattered tiny white tents, and little figures in red coats moved hither and thither like ants in an open space amongst the heather, while the sun shone and glinted on white flickers of steel.