"Ochone! Mr. Stuart," replied the old man, who was cleaning his weapons in his plaid, "dinna say a word about thanks; keep a' them for the kernel there."
"I was coming over the mountains from Candeleria," said Fassifern, "where I have been president of a court-martial. Your cries alarmed us within a few yards of this old cross, and my horse began to snort and rear, refusing to advance a step; but trusty Dugald went headlong on, and with his short weapons, I see, has done you right good service. 'Tis well the matter is no worse, and had the wolves not given you so severe a mauling, Stuart," added the colonel with a smile, as he put his foot in his stirrup, "I should have sent Claude for your sword again. You know you should never be without your arms, or forget the order against strolling more than two miles from camp or quarters. By my word, these were no ordinary foes to contend with, these wolves; they are larger than Highland shelties, and their skins will be a prize for the paisanos in the morning, for Dugald is, of course, too proud to take fee or reward from the alcaldes."
"I have escaped their maws by a miracle," said Stuart, yet gasping with the excitement of the fierce struggle.
"By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just by the help o' a teuch auld carle's hand and the bit cauld iron; and I assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht, broonie, or ony ither scrap o' deevildom sae common at name in the Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma' matter to cut the weasens o' thae awfu' monsters o' wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a blade that has rung on the target o' the lham-dearg; and after that, what could a bold hand not do wi' it?"
"On the target of who?" asked Ronald.
"The lham-dearg, sir."
"The words are Gaelic; but who is he?"
"A spirit wi' a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o' Glenmore, in the Grants' country."
"What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested in every thing which looked like a northern legend.
"Pooh!" said Cameron; "'tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald's prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie."