"That for you and your friends," and I snapped my fingers. "What wanted you with this maid? Answer, or you lie in Rathesby gaol this night."
But all the answer I got was a mocking laugh, as the fellow sprang away and was gone down the cliff-path. I plunged forward, but Ruth's hand clutched mine and her voice pulled me back. "Nay, Davie! Leave him go and let us return—for—for I am afraid!"
And the little sob she gave held me to her more than her grip, so that I laid her head against my shoulder and comforted her until she smiled once more. But she did not smile until I had promised to say no word of the affair to my father Fergus.
CHAPTER III.
THE "LASS O' DEE" SAILS.
We talked little on the way back to the town, but none the less I was wondering greatly. So this seeming Frenchman could talk good Gaelic speech, as well as chatter French! That set me to marveling, for he looked like a Frenchman right enough. And what he called himself—The Pike! Surely that was no name for an honest man to bear, considering what kind of fish the pike was, even had the very giving of such a name not been a heathenish and outlandish thing. I had heard that the heathen in the colonies were named after beasts and birds, and so I came to the conclusion that he must have lived overseas. His Gaelic, however, was not that of the west coast, but held the burn of the Highlands.
I kept all this thinking to myself for the next few days. No harm had been done Ruth, so no harm had come of it; though why they dared to carry off a Scots maiden so near home was more than I could explain. In the end I gave up the attempt, having other things to busy myself with.
When we had reached the inn once more we found my father ready to depart. With him was sour old Alec Gordon, who would bide with us at Ayrby over night. They rode on ahead, and from their talking Ruth and I gained some inkling of the great scheme.
The "Lass" had been engaged to take over the expedition upon her return from the next cruise, which would be in a month's time. This would give us who were going plenty of time to sell our farms and stock and to make all ready for departure. As to selling these, there would be little trouble about that, for the hill folk and those from the south would be glad enough to take them over and pay ready cash. We of the west have alway been accounted poor folk, but even in those days it was a poor farm indeed that did not have a leathern sack hidden away beneath the hearth, with something therein to clink. The days of Claverhouse had taught the west folk a stern lesson.
Neither Ruth nor I was greatly in favor of seeking the New World. We had many a conversation about Gib o' Clarclach, which usually resolved itself into wondering why he had stared so at the golden brooch; and in the end Ruth placed it away and wore it no more until our departure. She loved our home, with its rolling moors and cliffs and mountains, and could see no reason for change; for that matter, neither could my father, except that, as I said before, he was restless and thinking about our future state.