Through the hanging mists they came, and when they had drawn level with his place of concealment he uttered a forlorn cry—such as the whaup sends falling over an empty moor. Instantly the little man who walked in front stopped in his stride, and sent his eyes sweeping the skyline above his head. But no whaup was there. Then turning he said a word to his companion, who only shook his head wearily, as though all the whaups in Scotland might have cried themselves hoarse for all he cared.
Presently the man under the rock whistled very softly.
"I hear ye, sir," said the short fellow, speaking in Gaelic but never raising his head; "and who might ye be there, like a fox in his earth?"
"It is Archibald Cameron I want," replied the messenger of Muckle John.
At that the tall, cadaverous man seemed to bestir himself, and began to speak in a low anxious tone to his companion, who cut him short, however, with scant courtesy.
"What is it you want?" he cried, turning his head towards the hill. "I am Archibald Cameron, and now your name, sir, and your business?"
"Will ye come up, Dr. Cameron? You will find me beneath the round rock ten paces from the burn."
"Come," said Cameron to the man with him; "there's maybe news of the Prince."
"No news," sighed the other, "is better than bad news."
Then taking to the hill-side they reached the hidden place and crept within.