As the parties separated, Invernentie was whipping up his Highland garron, preparatory to taking a speedy leave, when Greumoch inserted the hook of his Lochaber axe in the collar of his coat, and roughly tumbled him on the roadway.
Enraged by such treatment, MacLaren drew his dirk, and was rushing on his captor, when the latter charged the pikehead of the axe full at his breast, and would have killed him without mercy, but for the interference of Campbell of Aberuchail and Rob Roy, who desired his followers to seize and convey him to a small inn which stood at the head of the strath; and there, as night was closing, MacLaren found himself abandoned by his companions, helpless, and a prisoner of the easily exasperated MacGregors, all somewhat excitable Celts,
whose patience
Was apt to wear out on trifling occasions.
Hamish MacLaren, a dark, fierce, and resolute fellow, asked Rob Roy, sternly, "for what purpose he had been separated from his friends, disarmed, and brought as a prisoner to this solitary house?"
"Because, in the first place," said Rob, calmly, "I wish to speak with you; and, in the second place, to punish you if you do not take my advice."
"In what matter—dioul!—in what matter?" demanded MacLaren, knitting his black brows till his gleaming eyes were almost hidden by them.
"The matter of the bond——"
"Which I hold over the lands of Grahame of Glengyle?"
"No; I know nothing of that document," replied Rob, twirling one of his pistols ominously round his forefinger by the trigger guard.
"Then to what do you refer?"