Out of the corner of one small eye Aaron watched Budthorne drink the tea.
“Then it’s settled,” said Dick. “I suppose we can get a boat near here. I don’t fancy there are any of the old-time Scottish outlaws around here now, Mrs. Myles?”
“Na, unless ye ma’ ca’ Rob MacLane one,” was her answer.
“Who is Rob MacLane?”
“He i’ th’ Auld Nick’s own!” was the answer. “A bad egg, if e’er there were one. I’ these law-abidin’ times he minds na law, an’ he fears nane—man nor de’il. It’s a’ things he has done but murder, an’ I think soon to hear he has done that.”
“Well, well! this is interesting, indeed!” cried the professor. “Why don’t they arrest him and put him in jail?”
“Arrist Rob MacLane!” cried the widow. “It’s richt plain ye ha’ na heard o’ him! He i’ strang as twenty men, an’ na officer daurs to go take him. Twa o’ them tried it once, an’ wi’ his bare hands he near beat them both to death. One didna get over that beatin’ till the day he died.”
“He would have made a fine outlaw in the old days,” laughed Dick. “Where does this ruffian live?”
“Na man kens. Mayhap to-day he be here, to-morrow he is i’ th’ mountains far awa’.”
“How does he live?”