As the mists completely melted away, Jim signalled to Phil and Phil repeated to McLean. The sign was passed along the other side as well.
Away down the roadway, at the turn between the low-lying hills, a heavy team appeared, struggling in front of a great wagon, piled high with produce of some kind. Another came into view, and still another, until eight of them, following closely on one another, crept along in what seemed to be a caterpillar movement.
As they came unsuspectingly onward, the drivers urging their horses––cheerful in the knowledge that the worst of their journey was successfully over––the silent watchers crept closer to cover, fearful that the brightening day would betray their whereabouts. But nothing untoward happened, except that a closer view of the oncomers gave out the fact that every wagon was loaded high with alfalfa, while what were looked for were wagon-loads of flour and feed.
McLean wormed his way past Phil and along to Jim.
“Dommit,––we’re fooled!” he whispered angrily.
“Deevil the fool! Get back, Mack,––get back!”
“But it’s alfalfa they’ve got. You canna risk holding them up when maybe the bunch we’re after are comin’ along hauf a mile ahin’.”
Jim bit his lip. This was something he had not reckoned on.
All at once his knowledge of Scottish History came to his aid.
“Something tells me they’re the crowd we’re after,” he answered in a low voice. “And we’ve got them––every mother’s son o’ them. Lord sake, Mack! I’m 181 surprised at ye. You a Scot and you canna remember the takin’ o’ Linlithgow Castle! What was under the hay-carts then, laddie?––what? but good, trusty highlanders. And what’s under the alfalfa now but good feed and flour that’ll show in your next Profit and Loss Account in red figures if you don’t recover it. It’s a fine trick, but it is too thin.