“Dod, a ken it’ll be aboot Logie. He’s a fell man, yon. Have ye na got Flemington wi’ ye?”
Callandar looked upon his companion with disapproval. He had never seen him, never heard of him before, and he felt his manner and his way of speaking of his superiors to be an outrage upon discipline and order, which were two things very near his heart.
He did not reply.
“Whaur’s Flemington?” demanded the beggar again.
“You make very free with Mr. Flemington’s name.”
“Tuts!” exclaimed Wattie, ignoring the rebuke, “a’ve got ma orders the same as yersel’, an’ a’m to gie yon thing to him an’ to nae ither body. Foo will a dae that if a dinna ken whaur he is?”
His argument was indisputable.
“Mr. Flemington will be with me in a moment,” said Callandar stiffly. “He is following.”
The sound of horses’ feet was nearing them upon the road, and Callandar rose and beckoned to Archie to come on.
“Go to the top of the hill and halt until I join you,” he told the corporal as the men passed.