In the greyness of the dawn Muckle John called a halt.
"Rob," he said, "here is the day and only a mile covered since last night. Ye ken what that means? Within a few hours reinforcements will arrive from Fort Augustus, they will find the body of Strange—what must follow then?"
Rob shook his head. Escape seemed impossible.
"And yet," said Muckle John, "there must be a way—there's always a way, Rob, if you give your mind to it. There is no prison that cannot be broken, no wall that cannot be scaled—with luck and a cool head. I know, Rob, for have I not done it time and again? But I've always had a sound pair of legs. Let us look at the situation, Rob. Within an hour or two this country-side will be hotching with red-coats. They think the Prince is hereabouts. Now I cannot cover half a mile in that time, and there is no cover worth thinking about. Nor is the ground marshy or I could lie hid to my nose until it was night. But there is a way, Rob...."
He paused and fingered his ankle very tenderly, muffling a strip of his shirt tightly round it.
"Over the knoll there, Rob, is a ruined castle, little enough of it left now to be sure, but there are four walls, a huddle of stones upon the roof, and a burial-place."
"A burial place?"
"Aye, but there's no harm in that. There was a chief of the Macraes buried there, he was a very queer man it is said, but it's long since I looked at his stone. No one ever goes near it after dark, Rob, and mind ye I'm no just hankering after it mysel'."
"But surely they will search the place?"
"Rob," said Muckle John cannily, "there's searching and searching. There's a deal in hiding where folk do not look for ye."