Now at the side of the burn a shattered pine tree was standing against the evening sky, and as such gruesome thoughts passed through Rob's mind he raised his eyes, and a cry came and died unuttered on his lips. For on a solitary branch about the height of a tall man from the heather, a human head was stuck with the hair still fluttering in the breeze; while underneath dangled the faded uniform of an English soldier.
"Look!" cried Rob.
But Muckle John only nodded absently.
"They're as common as berries hereabouts," he replied.
"Hereabouts?" repeated Rob. "Then whose land is this?"
For answer Muckle John sprang upon a rock and with his hands hollowed about his mouth, sent a clear, penetrating call. From up the hillside a reply came swift as an echo.
"Some call it," he said, "the country of Muckle John."
Before Rob could reply several Highlanders came running down the hill-side, and greeted his companion with every sign of respect and pleasure, all of which he took very naturally.
Then passing onward they came to a narrow defile with a man on guard at the entrance, and continuing their way, reached the opening to a cave.
In the sheltered ground which lay before the cave three men were engaged around a fire, and the smell of cooking drifted in a cloud about their stooping forms.