His eyes, which had all the fascinating glare of the fierce bright orbs of the rattle-snake, leisurely surveyed the quailing soldiers one after another in silence, and then he grinned, as if pleased by the startling impression his sudden appearance created, and spreading his strong, brown, swarthy hands over the flames, thrust them almost into the fire, without seeming to feel the heat in any way oppressive.
"Who are you?' asked the sergeant, firmly.
"One whom you may perhaps know well enough by-and-by," replied the other, with a grimace.
"Are you a Lowlander?" asked the corporal.
"Dioul!" growled the other; "did such pure Gaelic as mine ever come from the tongue of a bodach in breeks? But speak out, my friends; of what are you afraid?"
"I fear nothing human," replied the sergeant; "but I fear God, and hate the devil and all his works."
"What wrong has the devil ever done you?"
"He put it in the heart of a vile Cateran to draw his dirk on me at the Inverness cattle tryst in August last."
"Nay, sergeant, it was not the poor devil who caused this, but your hot Highland whiskey and temper to boot. Yet I do not think you have much to complain of, as you well nigh slew him afterwards."
"The devil?"