confessing the practical
joke, but the darkness of the night induced him to hope for another
escape from his position. He had not yet uttered a word; and, as he
could not distinguish the features of the Highlander, it was possible,
he thought, that the latter might have failed to recognise him. If he
could give him the slip, he might afterwards deny having had anything to
do with the affair. But it was not easy to give the slip to a man whose
knuckly hand held him like a vice.

"Shames," said Bane as he came near the fortress, "I've cot the peast!
come oot, man, an' fetch a stick wi' you. I'll ha'd 'im while you lay
on."

Salamander, who understood well enough what he might expect, no sooner
heard Dougall clambering over the barricade than he gathered himself up
for a tremendous wriggle, but received such a fearful squeeze on the
neck from the vice-like hand of his captor that he was nearly choked.
At the moment a new idea flashed into his fertile brain. His head
dropped suddenly to one side; his whole frame became limp, and he fell,
as it were, in a heap on the ground, almost bringing the Highlander on
the top of him.

"Oh! the miserable cratur," exclaimed Bane, relaxing his grasp with a
feeling of self-reproach, for he had a strong suspicion that his captive
really was Salamander. "I do believe I've killed him. Wow! Shames,
man, lend a hand to carry him to the fire, and plow up a bit flame that
we may see what we've gotten."

"Iss he tead, Tonald?" asked Dougall, in a pitiful tone, as he came
forward.

"No, Shames, he's no tead yet. Take up his feet, man, an' I'll tak' his
shouthers."

Dougall went to Salamander's feet, turned his back to them, and stooped
to take them up as a man takes a wheelbarrow. He instantly received a
kick, or rather a drive, from Salamander's soles that sent him sprawling
on his hands and knees. Donald Bane, stooping to grasp the shoulder,
received a buffet on the cheek, which, being unexpected, sent him
staggering to the left, while the sly youth, springing to his feet
bounded into the bushes on the right with a deep-toned roar ending in a
laugh that threw all his previous efforts quite into the shade.

The Highlanders rose, but made no attempt to pursue.

"My friend," said Bane, softly, "if that wass not an evil speerut, I
will be fery much surprised."

"No, Tonald, it wass _not_ a speerut," replied the other, as they
returned to their fortress. "Speeruts will not be