"'Sdeath and fury!" exclaimed Rob; "call me Campbell again, and I shall cleave you to the belt!"
"Excuse me; but I do not understand all this," said the officer; "are you not named MacGregor Campbell?"
"Yes; by tyrannical acts of Parliament, which I treat with the scorn they merit."
"Well, sir; your terms?"
"Are these,—Surrender your arms and ammunition; leave the Highland border, and begone to England or the Lowlands; let us see you no more in the country of the Clan Gregor."
"The Lowlands," said Clifford, haughtily; "sir, we are quartered in the castle of Dumbarton."
"Where you are quartered, captain, is nothing to me."
"There will be a bloody reckoning for this," said Clifford through his clenched teeth, as he gazed sadly on the mangled body of his poor friend and comrade, Captain Dorrington. "Chief, have you no fear for the future?"
"I fear nothing," replied Rob, haughtily; "moreover I am no chief, but a simple Highland gentleman, whom wrong and tyranny have driven to desperation. You have yet to learn, sir, that though the king may create a titled noble, Heaven alone can make a Highland chief."
The English officer shrugged his shoulders, and gave a disdainful smile, for to his ears this sounded like mere rhodomontade.