Dugald laughed.
“Not just yet,” he answered; “it’s the other way; you come with me.”
The stranger bit his lip and frowned.
Then he put his hand in his pocket and produced a gold piece.
“This is yours,” he said, “if you come at once.”
Fire seemed to flash from Dugald’s eyes. He clenched his fists convulsively, and looked for a moment as if he meant to spring at the stranger’s neck.
“Put up your bawbees,” he said at length. “If Highlanders are poor, they are also proud, and the gold isn’t dug yet that would tempt Dugald McCrane to neglect his duty. And if the auld laird himsel’ was standing there, he’d tell you it’s the truth I’m speaking. Right about face, my man, and march with us to the glen-head, or it may be the worse for you.”
The stranger gave a sigh and a sickly kind of smile, but he shouldered his gun and prepared to follow.
“One minute,” said Dugald, for Kenneth had beckoned him aside.
Kenneth and he conversed for a moment; then Dugald returned.