“What can they be doing in this direction, I wonder?” whispered Wallace.
“My freend,” answered Quentin, “dinna whisper when ye’re hidin’. Of a’ the sounds for attractin’ attention an’ revealin’ secrets a whisper is the warst. Speak low, if ye maun speak, but sometimes it’s wiser no to speak ava’. Dootless the sodgers’ll be giein’ Andrew Black a ca’, but he kens brawly hoo to tak’ care o’ himsel’.”
When the horseman approached it was seen that they were driving before them a boy, or lad, on foot. Evidently they were compelling him to act as their guide.
“It’s Ramblin’ Peter they’ve gotten haud o’, as sure as I’m a leevin’ man,” said the shepherd with a low chuckle; “I’d ken him amang a thoosand by the way he rins.”
“Shall we not rescue him?” exclaimed Wallace, starting up.
“Wheesht! keep still, man. Nae fear o’ Peter. He’ll lead them in amang the bogs o’ some peat-moss or ither, gie them the slip there, an’ leave them to find their way oot.”
Just as the troop trotted past an incident occurred which disconcerted the hiders not a little. A dog which the soldiers had with them scented them, stopped, and after snuffing about for a few seconds, began to bark furiously. The troop halted at once and challenged.
“Tak’ nae notice,” remarked Quentin in a low voice, which went no farther than his comrade’s ear.
A bright flash and sharp report followed the challenge, and a ball whistled through the thicket.
“Ay, fire away,” soliloquised Quentin. “Ye seldom hit when ye can see. It’s no’ likely ye’ll dae muckle better i’ the dark.”