“The death of Marcus Achanna is on you, Mànus MacCodrum.”
“So be it, as between yourself and me, or between all of your blood and me; though Aulay MacNeil, as well as you, can witness that though in self-defence I threw the knife at Achanna, it was his own doing that drove it into him.”
“You can whisper that to the rope when it is round your neck.”
“And what will you be doing now, Gloom-mhic-Achanna?”
For the first time Gloom shifted uneasily. A swift glance revealed to him the awkward fact that the boat trailed behind the Luath, so that he could not leap into it, while if he turned to haul it close by the rope he was at the mercy of the two men.
“I will go in peace,” he said quietly.
“Ay,” was the answer, in an equally quiet tone, “in the white peace.”
Upon this menace of death the two men stood facing each other.
Achanna broke the silence at last.
“You’ll hear the ‘Dàn-nan-Ròn’ the night before you die, Mànus MacCodrum, and lest you doubt it you’ll hear it again in your death-hour.”