with you, and don't bother your head. When I want you
to call, I'll come, too. You can count upon that."

"Well, so long as I don't 'ave to call alone I doesn't mind so much,"
retorted Dollops. Then, swinging round in his tracks, he went off down
the pathway, whistling that very hackneyed but popular tune, "Pack Up
Your Troubles in Your Ole Kit-Bag and Smile, Smile, Smile!" While
Cleek, watching him for a moment, felt a sudden warmth of feeling
toward the rough-mannered but warm-hearted youth who had followed
him--willy-nilly--ever since they two had met upon that memorable
far-off day when Cleek had made himself responsible for the boy's
safety.

A leisurely cigarette smoked in company with the worthy host, and then
Cleek took up his soft "squash" hat, seized hold of his blackthorn
stick, and with a nod and a smile to Mr. Fairnish, swung out into the
roadway, monocle screwed into left eye, well-cut tweeds setting off the
splendid figure of him, and looking for all the world like the leisured,
perfectly turned-out exquisite who journeys so far out of his beaten
track only in pursuit of a sport which vastly amuses him, and to whom
Bond Street and the very outer edge of the Western Highlands are all one
and the same thing, so long as he can get a day's amusement out of them.

The walk to the Castle was not as long as he expected. It was, in fact,
but a brief fifteen minutes over a rough, hilly road which in parts was
little more than a track, and which swung up and down so unevenly over
the moor that walking was at times difficult. Halfway there, as Cleek
turned the corner of a little ravine and came out upon a full view of
the valley, with the Inn of the Three Fishers to the left of him and
the Castle to the right, he heard the _thud-thud_ of a horse's hoofs,
and in a moment more, drawing up against the bank to allow whoever was
coming to pass, he saw a rider approach from the right and go through a
gate which led apparently to the Castle grounds. As the rider passed,
Cleek stepped out into the path with a sudden impulse and raised his
hat.

"I say," said he in his London drawl, as the rider dismounted and,
removing his hat, stood before him--a fine figure of a man in Scotch
tweeds, measuring a good six-feet-two of staunch muscle and bone, with
the shoulders of a giant and a big-featured, kindly face, and the blue
eyes and high hooked nose of the typical Scotsman; the all-observing eye
of Cleek noticed that one of th