Chapter IX: The Turn of the Scales

"Rob," said Muckle John, "this is a nice business, for here we are with the wild Cameron country and Arkaig safely behind us, and within a few steps of Glengarry's land, for which we have been struggling for the last four hours and more."

To the south-east of them was Glen-Pean and Glen-Kingie stretching out in solitude. But between them and comparative safety lay the sleeping English tents, and nearing them at every moment were the Camerons and Macaulay. Muckle John shook his head gloomily. "We canna go back, Rob, and we canna go forward--at least no until nightfall, and then we're like to meet with a bullet."

He lay upon the ground, and chewed a piece of grass, eyeing the English tents with a frown.

"We're as good as lost," said Rob hopelessly.

"Man Rob," replied Muckle John grimly, "ye possess a rare discernment."

With a sigh Rob let him be, and took to thinking about his own desperate affairs. Twice during the past twelve hours he had been on the point of destroying the paper and each time he was thankful that he had waited. But now they were as good as lost. Captured either by the English or by Macaulay they were doomed for a quick death, and the dispatch would prove a great piece of treasure-trove for either--the map that would show the way to Prince Charlie's gold, with which he could buy ten thousand men to his standard. At least that was how Rob looked at it, and some would say there was some truth in what he believed.

It was the thought of the money falling into such hands that determined him to destroy the map. He stole a glance at Muckle John, but his eyes were fixed steadily on vacancy. Then slipping away, he leaned with his back against a rock, and drew the envelope cautiously from the side of his brogue, where he had concealed it.

It was sealed and addressed to the Prince. Rob had hardly time to glance at it, however, before a warning call from Muckle John made him spring to his feet, the paper still in his hand.

"See, Rob," cried he, but eyeing the piece of paper keenly, "here comes Macaulay from the west, so we must decide on the instant. Once and for the last time, hae ye onything that I can tak' charge of, for it's you they'll search, no me."

Rob felt himself weakening, but again his promise to Cameron withheld him.

"No," he cried, and made as though to tear the paper in two.

"You doited fool!" screamed Muckle John, rushing at his hands.

Rob with quick alarm leaped aside, and the big man tripped and floundered along the ground. What was he to do? But of a sudden he stood still. Why should he doubt Muckle John?

"I've taken your advice," he said, and showed the piece of paper in his hand.

"It's only what seems reasonable," replied Muckle John. "Now put it by, for it's neck or nothing for us, Rob."

"Have you a plan?" asked the boy, with his eyes on the white tents and his heart in a sad state of fright.

"A sort of a plan," he replied, and started at a run rewards the English.

Without a word Rob followed him. There was no time to question such a course, and already Macaulay was within a mile of them. But when he saw them heading for the tents in the glen below he paused, as well he might, for the sight of two Jacobite rebels scampering towards an English camp was sufficiently arresting.

The Highlanders with him, who had no wish for nearer acquaintance with red-coated soldiery, slackened their pace too, and, dropping below the sky-line, became invisible in the heather.

On ran Muckle John, and behind him Rob, until an English sentinel raised his musket and called to them to halt. The boy glanced anxiously at his companion's face. But he gathered nothing there. There was certainly no sign of fear.

"Who goes there?" cried the sentry.

Quite quietly Muckle John thrust a hand into his great-coat pocket.

"Here is my passport," he replied, "and this is my guide. I am Captain Strange, on special duty in the west," and he handed over a document to the man, who read it slowly, and then saluting, stood at attention until they had passed.

When they were about twenty yards distant, however, Muckle John spoke in a low voice to Rob.

"Look up the hill," he said, "and tell me if Macaulay is coming down."

But there was no one to be seen, and on learning that, Muckle John gave a great sigh as though he were vastly relieved.

They neared the tents and were walking on, when an officer rose to his feet and stopped them.

"Who are you?" he asked, "and what kind of Highland wild-cat is that?" pointing with the end of his sword at Rob.

"I am Captain Strange," said Muckle John.

"Strange," echoed the man, who seemed a good-humoured fellow, greatly bored with sitting among the hills. "Oh yes, I ken ye by name, and I am Captain Campbell, at your service. Come and have a crack inside," and he made to enter his tent.

With a momentary hesitation Muckle John followed him, but first of all he took one swift sweeping glance over his shoulder at the hillside.

Then, seating himself within, he fell into conversation, while Rob waited outside the tent, watching the soldiers standing at their posts, or marching up and down amongst the heather.

All the time a curious presentiment of fear grew heavy upon him, which the silent day only intensified.

"I take it you were at Culloden," said Captain Campbell; "that must have been a poorlike affair."

"None so poor," said Muckle John; "where there are starving men and bickering chiefs you don't look for much resistance, but they broke two lines, sir."

"Did they so? It is evident the Argyll men were not in prominence."

"No," replied Muckle John drily, "the Campbells were employed in pulling down walls."

The other eyed him uncertainly. He felt the sting under his words.

"If the business had been left to the Duke," said he, "there would have been no call for levies from the Low Country."

"If it had been left to the Duke," replied Muckle John, "every clan in the north would have made havoc of Argyll."

"You speak strangely, sir--I take it you mean no offence to the Clan Campbell?"

"I," echoed Muckle John, "what have I against them? I am a Lowlander, as my name tells ye; we canna all be born across the Highland line."

"Well, well, Captain Strange, there are braw men on both sides; I take it you are on the trail of the rebel leaders?"

"And who else? But I would as wittingly trap foxes in Badenoch; they disappear like peat reek on a summer's night."

Captain Campbell nodded his head, and taking out a dispatch from his pocket, he drew his stool a shade nearer.

"You come at an opportune time," he said, "for here is a dispatch in which your name appears, and certain secret information is contained for transmission to you."

"Indeed, sir," said Muckle John, all attention.

"It has reached the knowledge of the Duke of Cumberland that certain rebels are concealed about the shores of Arkaig, and amongst them Lord Lovat, who has fled in that direction from Gortuleg House. Two days after Culloden, a party of dragoons surrounded the latter place, but he had gone, carrying his papers with him. He is an old man, and should not evade capture long. The Duke places the utmost importance on his capture. If Lovat is taken, he is assured all further trouble will simmer out. As long as Lovat lives he will counsel resistance, and that may mean months of service in the hills."

"Are any others mentioned?"

"It is stated that French gold has been landed at a place near Arkaig, and here is a warrant to arrest two rebels who have knowledge of it--one is a boy, Rob Fraser by name, who is acquainted with the hiding-place of Lord Lovat, and the other is--who do you think?"

"Who indeed, sir? Lochiel--Cluny...?"

"No, no, who but Muckle John, the most dangerous of them all when mischief is afoot."

"Muckle John? But is he not abroad?"

"Abroad--who ever heard of him abroad when there is a head to crack at home? They say he is wanted on a charge in the Low Countries."

"A dangerous fellow," said Muckle John severely, "and yet there's a kind of quality about the man--a bird of passage, Captain Campbell, and a bonny player on the chanter."

"More a gallows-bird than any other. He'll whistle a thin enough tune when the Duke has finished with him. He lays great stress on his taking, I can tell ye. He can spin a yarn, Captain Strange, that will be worth hearing, I'll be bound. He and that boy, Rob Fraser, are in company, as desperate a pair as ever skulk in the heather this day."

"I take it there is no saying where they lie?"

The other winked very slyly at that.

"The net is closing," he said, "and once the boy is caught, there is small chance of the other going loose."

In the meantime, Rob was outside, and he wished Muckle John would come. Before them was a weary tramp, and already he was tired. His eyes shut for a moment--then opened and shut again. He took to thinking of his father, and how it fared with Lord Lovat, and so thinking he fell asleep.

His awakening was rude enough, for before he could open his eyes his arms were held behind his back, and he was hoisted roughly to his feet. The officer, good-humoured no longer, was facing him, while half a dozen red-coats shut him off from all chance of escape.

And before him stood Ephraim Macaulay.

"Which of you is Captain Strange?" cried Captain Campbell, very red in the face, and looking back towards his tent as though he awaited an indignant reply from within.

"I am Captain Strange," replied Macaulay stiffly.

"Then where are your papers?"

"They were stolen by the man who came with his boy, who was sleeping outside your tent."

"Be careful of your words, sir. How am I to know that you are what you say?"

"Perhaps you did not trouble to read the particulars on the passport?"

"No, sir--I admit that I did not."

"Then if you had you would have realized that I am not six foot two or thereabouts, or travel with a notorious rebel, such as that boy there. Also that my name is not--Muckle John."

"MUCKLE JOHN!" shouted the officer, "if what you say is true," he cried, and breaking off he started running towards the tent and peered within, then parting the folds, disappeared altogether. But an instant later, he was tearing about the camp like a man gone mad.

"He's made off!" he shouted. "Sound the bugle there, and search the hills!" Then plunging into his tent again, he reappeared with his hat in his hand.

For Muckle John had taken his departure, leaving behind him only a neat hole in the canvas of the tent, on the side farthest from the real Captain Strange, whose reputation as a secret agent in the English service did not warrant for his future safety. For long the soldiers searched, but no sign of Muckle John was discovered, and none had seen him go.

To Rob, however, this was poor comfort, for bound hand and foot and guarded by two soldiers he passed a miserable night, and when morning came he was set between a file of soldiers, and the march to Fort Augustus commenced, where it was rumoured that the Duke of Cumberland would arrive that day.

It was not till mid-day that his hands were loosed, and then, very cautiously, he searched for the precious paper, knowing that the time for its destruction was come.

His fingers ran cautiously down the side of his brogue. He did so lying on his side, and his legs tucked up under his kilt.

_But all in vain, for the paper was gone_.