We made up some bear-meal bannocks, and a collop of boiled venison in a knapsack that I carried on my back, borrowed plaids from some of the common soldiery, and set out for Strongara at the mouth of the night, with the snow still driving over the land.
MacLachlan was for with us, but John turned on him with a great deal of determination, and dared him to give extra risk to our enterprise by adding another man to the chance of the enemy seeing us.
The lad met the objection ungraciously, and John took to his flattery.
“The fact is, MacLachlan,” said he, taking him aside with a hand on his lapel, and a show of great confidence—“the fact is, we can’t be leaving this place in charge of a lot of old bodachs—Sir Donald the least able of them all,—and if there’s another attack the guidance of the defence will depend on you. You may relish that or you may not; perhaps after all you would be safer with us——”
MacLachlan put up his chest an inch or two, unconscious that he did it, and whistled a stave of music to give evidence of his indifférence. Then he knitted his brows to cogitate, as it were, and—
“Very well!” said he. “If you come on my coz, you’ll bring her back here, or to the castle, I suppose?”
“I had no thought of running away with the lass, I’ll take my oath,” cried John, sticking his tongue in the cheek nearest me.
“I wish I could fathom yon fellow’s mind,” I said to my comrade, as we stepped out through the snow and into the wooded brae-side, keeping a wary eye about for spies of the enemy, whose footprints we came on here and there, but so faint in the fresh snowfall that it was certain they were now in the valley.
“Do you find it difficult?” asked John. “I thought a man of schooling, with Latin at his tongue’s-end, would see to the deepest heart of MacLachlan.”
“He’s crafty.”