Thankful indeed for his good fortune Rob bade his friend good-night, and lying down before the fire was soon fast asleep.
With the dawn they were marching towards Crianlarich where they took to the heather, and crossing the hills came down upon Loch Doine at the head of Balquhidder. As they streamed into the flat country at the top of the loch they passed a square thatched house at the foot of the slope facing the amber stream.
"That is Inverlochlarig where Rob Roy died," said Gloom. "I mind him well, a great red man with a heart of gold. But his sons are corbies, and I am hoping we do not meet them."
All up the side of the stream the cottages of the Macgregors clustered, with the thin veil of peat reek hanging above them in a kind of haze.
Without halting they passed over the flat marshy land that lay between the two ranges of mountain, and approached a small compactly built house upon the other side of the burn.
"We will stop here for the night," said Gloom, "and maybe Invernenty will see us. He is no friend of the Macgregors, being son of John Maclaren who was murdered by Robin Oig."
Leaving Rob he crossed the narrow stream and knocking upon the door exchanged some words with a woman who opened it. But to all that he said she only shook her head, and he returned somewhat discomfited.
"She says that Invernenty is not at home," he said, calling him by the name of his place, "and yet I am doubting her unless he is taken."
Without delay they set their camp, and during the day several Macgregors came over and eyed them secretly, red men in a red tartan—querulous, hot-blooded fellows.
Rob, ill at ease in a strange country, kept in the background, but in the afternoon seeing a great crowd of them gathered about a place up the glen he accompanied Gloom, being wearied of sitting alone.