He was in Highland dress and made a great appearance of surprise at seeing Cameron, which ill accorded with the reception that unfortunate gentleman gave him. Then turning, he clapped Rob upon the shoulder and bade them both be seated.
"It's poor hospitality," said he in Gaelic; "but these are sad times, Dr. Cameron. Old campaigners like us know there's thin rations when one takes to the heather."
"Come, sir," replied Cameron, still standing and replying in Scots, "what is it you want? I ken ye fine, and well ye know it. It is not for the pleasure of my company that your cutthroats brought me here. But I warn you there will be a reckoning for this. There will be a bonny ending for you, sir, when it is known in Lochaber."
"Lochaber," sneered Muckle John. "While there is a guineapiece buried in Lochaber neither you nor the Prince himself would raise a Cameron to his side."
"Braw words for a nameless man," cried Cameron bitterly, but very red about the neck. "Hark, Rob, for maybe ye will never hear the like again."
"I am no nameless man!" roared Muckle John; "and well ye know it."
Cameron smiled quietly to himself.
"Then the greater the smirch on your clan—though I'm no just remembering the tartan," he said.
At that Muckle John, flinging back his stool, leaped to his feet, and called out a name which no man Lochaber way can hear in silence.
For an instant, indeed, Cameron seemed on the point of springing upon him; then restraining himself with an effort, he spoke in a very polite tone: