"Neil Mackenzie," said Castleleathers, "unless you forget what brought you here this night, you are not like to remember it at all."
"Who are you?" gasped Mackenzie, trying to see the better.
"I," replied Castleleathers, "am Muckle John."
"Muckle John?" He doubted it, but it was black darkness where they lay amongst the heather.
"What of the affair Loch Carron way?" continued Castleleathers. "You came poorly enough out of that. But I have a mind to end it this time. I am not a patient man and no one has dealings against me who does not at last regret it."
"I will go back," said Mackenzie in a heavy tone like a man beaten once and for all.
"You must tell your people that you are satisfied with the answer the Duke has given you."
"I will—I swear it!"
Castleleathers drew back and leaped to his feet.
"Away then!" he said, "the road to the west lies clear. But if you so much as dream of treachery—-no power can save you."