But the thing that puzzled Murray was the nature of the package. For it held no paper (that he could see) but only a strip of Fraser tartan, and that very stained in one corner like the discoloration of blood.
CHAPTER XI
A NARROW ESCAPE
Now when Muckle John had heard the voice of Macaulay—or, to give him his real name, Captain Strange—approaching the tent, he had moved ever so slightly backward and loosened his dirk. The inevitable had happened, and he had played with fire too long. And so, when the officer hurried out to meet the new arrival, he did a number of things very quickly.
But the first was the cutting of the canvas farthest from the entrance. Then with a dive he was through, and with the tent between him and his enemies.
To the right of him, about a hundred yards distant, was a sentry, standing with his back turned, looking towards the hill opposite. On his left again were a group of red-coats off duty and playing cards.
To cross the open space and reach the slope unseen would seem impossible, and yet Muckle John did it, and what is more, took two hours about it, which in a period of acute danger might seem leisurely travelling.
What his quick eyes fell upon first was a horse grazing thirty yards away. But that he put out of his mind as too hazardous a risk. About half that distance away, however, a tussock of hay was lying—a loosely bound pile about eight feet long and four broad.
When Muckle John saw that he breathed again, and taking off his hat, he hurled it in the direction of the hay, then waited patiently. Fortunately, no one saw it skim into the air and drop upon the ground.
By this time Strange had roused the officer's indignation and then his alarm. He did exactly what any ordinary man would have done in the circumstances. He dashed into the tent—he saw the tear and peered quickly through it. But Muckle John was round the flap and unseen. Then, realizing that his late guest had bolted, he darted through the door of the tent again, and bawled the order to arms.