ccommodations are more limited than those to which you have been
accustomed."

"Don't stand gaping there, Montagu. Get off those uncivilized rags of
yours and slip on these. You're going out as Sir Robert Volney."

"I am desolated to interfere with your revenge, but--the guards?"

"Fuddled with drink," he said. "I took care of that. Don't waste time
asking questions."

"The Duke will be in a fearful rage with you."

His eyes grew hard. "Am I a child that I should tremble when Cumberland
frowns?"

"He'll make you pay for this."

"A fig for the payment!"

"You'll lose favour."

"I'll teach the sullen beast to refuse me one. The boots next."

He put on the wig and hat for me, arranged the muffler over the lower part
of my face, and fastened the cloak.

"The watchword for the night is 'Culloden.' You should have no trouble in
passing. I needn't tell you to be bold," he finished dryly.

"I'll not forget this," I told him.

"That's as you please," he answered carelessly. "I ask no gratitude. I'm
settling a debt, or rather two--one due Cumberland and the other you."

"Still, I'll remember."

"Oh, all right. Hope we'll have the pleasure of renewing our little game
some day. Better take to the hills or the water. You'll find the roads
strictly guarded. Don't let yourself get killed, my friend. The pleasure
of running you through I reserve for myself."

I passed out of the hut into the night. The troopers who guarded the bothy
were in either the stupid or the uproarious stage of their drink. Two of
them sang a catch of a song, and I wondered that they had not already
brought down on them the officer of the day. I passed them carelessly with
a nod. One of them bawled out, "The watchword!" and I gave them
"Culloden." Toward the skirts of the village I sauntered, fear dogging my
footsteps; and when I was once clear of the houses, cut across a meadow
toward the shore, wary as a panther, eyes and ears alert for signals of
danger. Without mishap I reached the sound, beat my way up the sand links
for a mile or more, and saw a boat cruising in the moonlight off shore. I
gave the whaup's cry, and across the water came an answer.

Five minutes later I was helping the gillie in the boat pull across to
Raasay. When half way over we rested on our oars for a breathing space and
I asked the news, the rug-headed kerne shot me with the dismal tidings
that Malcolm Macleod and Creagh, rowing to Skyes for a conference with
Capta