"A slash with an axe has slain him," resumed Rob Roy; "a sword would never cut so deep; but the brave boy has defended himself, for his skene is yet grasped in his better hand, so let it go to the grave with him."
Mutterings of grim approval went through the group.
"To you, Red Rob, I look for vengeance—for vengeance on the murderers!" cried the mother wildly, as she stretched her hands towards the chieftain.
"And vengeance you shall have, Jean; by the faith of our fathers, you shall!" replied Rob Roy. "I have little doubt that the same hand which slew Fair Colin, cast Callam's daughter into the river; but time will show."
"We have the cattle to recover too," said several; "let us to the hills—to the hills! The creagh (spoil) cannot be far off yet."
"What! are the cattle carried off?" asked Rob, with a darkening frown.
"The cattle I bought at Fil-ina-chessaig—that blessed 21st of March, at the fair of Callender—ay, every hoof and horn," said Greumoch.
"Well, the blackest mail we ever levied will I lay on these caterans, and the reddest blood we have shed shall be theirs, Jean! But there are other wounds here," continued Rob, as he turned down the winding-sheet; "look at the poor child's hand: it has been bitten!"
"Bitten as if by a wolf!" screamed the mother, with growing horror.
"Nay, bitten by a man who has lost every alternate tooth in his lower jaw, and by that mark shall we know him!"