Cameron drew in a cloud of tobacco and sent it floating in rings above his head.
"Yon's a bonny one," he murmured, and then, cocking an eye upon the other. "Where's the letter?"
Grant drew it carefully from his stocking.
Cameron read:
"This to tell you that the treasure is discovered, and that unless it be put in a safe place all will be lost. The bearer of this letter can be trusted. Come to me at a place that this man will show you, for the Prince is with me, and is in need of you and some gold. ROB FRASER."
"Humph!" grunted Cameron. Then he took to reading it again, weighing every word. Once he stared for a very long time at the messenger, but the followers of Muckle John were chosen carefully. The expression of Grant's bearded face displayed no emotion whatever.
Presently, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, he pursed his lips, and handing the letter to Murray, frowned and pulled at one ear, humming and keeping time with his foot—the very picture of a man wanting to go all ways at one and the same time.
"It looks genuine enough," he said grudgingly in Murray's ear, "but I've no knowledge of the laddie's writing."
"Who is Rob Fraser?" asked Murray with shut eyes.
"I had near forgot myself; but he was useful that night on the shore of Arkaig. Maybe ye tak' my meaning?" Saying which he winked and looked meaningly at the other.