Huske was the brigade-major.
CHAPTER XLII.
A STRANGE MEETING.
Marching with all speed by paths that were wild and rugged, the old Fingalian war-paths, or tracks by which the cattle were driven, on the 9th of June the troops of General Wightman came within ten miles of the camp of Seaforth, when a halt was ordered just as the sun was setting amid that solemn scenery, where a deep and secluded arm of the sea penetrates among the hills of Glensheil.
"Major Huske," said General Wightman, as the wearied troops piled their arms, posted sentinels, and prepared to cook some venison which had been shot for them by the Munroes of Culcairn, "with an officer and a hundred men of Montague's as an advanced guard, or rather as an outlying picket, you will march one mile further on, and see them properly posted. Reconnoitre well before you halt, and if aught can be seen of the enemy send back a messenger to me."
"For further instructions?"
"Yes. Look well about you; for the notorious and desperate outlaw, Robert MacGregor, or Campbell, who has been in arms against the Government ever since the Revolution, is among these rebels, and may give us more trouble with twelve men than Lord Seaforth could with so many hundreds."
"Rob Roy!" exclaimed Huske, starting.
"Egad, yes; Rob himself," said the general, dismounting. "You seem surprised, major. Did he give you so great a fright when he beat up your quarters at Inversnaid?"
"Do not mistake me, General Wightman," replied Huske, with an air of severity. "It was but the start of an almost savage joy which I experienced, on hearing that I was to have again opposed to me the man to whom I owe the infliction of a terrible grief—the loss of my son Harry, my poor little motherless boy!"