be of very high utility in
aiding my escape. Yet what founded our particular friendship was a
circumstance, by itself as romantic as any fable of King Arthur.

This was on the second day of our flight, after we had slept one night
in the rain upon the inclination of a mountain. There was an Appin man,
Alan Black Stewart (or some such name,[2] but I have seen him since in
France), who chanced to be passing the same way, and had a jealousy of
my companion. Very uncivil expressions were exchanged and Stewart calls
upon the Master to alight and have it out.

"Why, Mr. Stewart," says the Master, "I think at the present time I
would prefer to run a race with you." And with the word claps spurs to
his horse.

Stewart ran after us, a childish thing to do, for more than a mile; and
I could not help laughing, as I looked back at last and saw him on a
hill, holding his hand to his side, and nearly burst with running.

"But all the same," I could not help saying to my companion, "I would
let no man run after me for any such proper purpose, and not give him
his desire. It was a good jest, but it smells a trifle cowardly."

He bent his brows at me. "I do pretty well," says he, "when I saddle
myself with the most unpopular man in Scotland, and let that suffice for
courage."

"O, bedad," says I, "I could show you a more unpopular with the naked
eye. And if you like not my company, you can 'saddle' yourself on some
one else."

"Colonel Burke," says he, "do not let us quarrel; and, to that effect,
let me assure you I am the least patient man in the world."

"I am as little patient as yourself," said I. "I care not who knows
that."

"At this rate," says he, reining in, "we shall not go very far. And I
propose we do one of two things upon the instant: either quarrel and be
done; or make a sure bargain to bear everything at each other's hands."

"Like a pair of brothers?" said I.

"I said no such foolishness," he replied. "I have a brother of my own,
and I think no more of him than of a colewort. But if we are to have our
noses rubbed together in this course of flight, let us each dare to be
ourselves like savages, and each swear that he will neither resent nor
deprecate the other. I am a pretty bad fellow at bottom, and I find the
pretence of virtues very irksome."

"O, I am as bad as yourself," said I. "There is no skim-milk in Francis
Burke. But which is it to be? Fight or make friends?"

"Why," says he, "I think it will