McLeod looked round with a gleam of satisfaction on the stalwart forms of his guests, as they stood each at his horse’s head examining the state of his weapons, or securing more firmly some portion of his costume.
“Mount! mount!” shouted Macgregor, galloping at that moment through the gateway, and dashing away in the direction of the forest.
“Stay!—my sketch-book!” cried Bertram in an agony, at the same time dropping his reins and his gun, and darting back towards the hall of the fort.
“Git on, lads; I’ll look arter him,” said Bounce with a grin, catching up the bridle of the artist’s horse.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the remainder of the party turned, and galloped after Macgregor, who, with the most of his own men, had already wellnigh gained the edge of the forest.
In a few seconds Bertram rushed wildly out of the fort, with the sketch-book in one hand and the two blunderbuss-pistols in the other. In leaping on his horse, he dropped the latter; but Bounce picked them up, and stuck them hastily into his own belt.
“Now put that book into its own pouch, or ye’ll be fit for nothin’,” said Bounce almost sternly.
Bertram obeyed, and grasped the rifle which his friend placed in his hand. Then Bounce vaulted into his saddle, and, ere those who were left behind had drawn the bolts and let down the ponderous bars of the gate of the Mountain Fort, the two horsemen were flying at full speed over the plain in the track of the avengers of blood who had gone before them.