, and there was nothing
for us but to assume that they had reached the Brig by noon as agreed
on and passed on their way down the glen. A signal held together by two
stones on the glen-side of the Brig indeed confirmed this notion almost
as soon as we formed it, and we were annoyed that we had not observed it
sooner. Three sprigs of gall, a leaf of ivy from the bridge arch where
it grew in dark green sprays of glossy sheen, and a bare twig of oak
standing up at a slant, were held down on the parapet by a peeled willow
withy, one end of which pointed in the direction of the glen.

It was M'Iver who came on the symbols first, and "We're a day behind the
fair," said he. "Our friends are all safe and on their way before us;
look at that."

I confessed I was no hand at puzzles.

"Man," he said, "there's a whole history in it! Three sprigs of gall
mean three Campbells, do they not? and that's the baron-bailie and
Sonachan, and this one with the leaves off the half-side is the fellow
with the want And oak is Stewart--a very cunning clan to be fighting or
foraying or travelling with, for this signal is Stewart's work or I'm
a fool: the others had not the gumption for it. And what's the ivy but
Clan Gordon, and the peeled withy but hurry, and--surely that will be
doing for the reading of a very simple tale. Let us be taking our ways.
I have a great admiration for Stewart that he managed to do so well with
this thing, but I could have bettered that sign, if it were mine, by a
chapter or two more."

"It contains a wonderful deal of matter for the look of it," I
confessed.

"And yet," said he, "it leaves out two points I consider of the greatest
importance. Where's the Dark Dame, and when did our friends pass this
way? A few chucky-stones would have left the hour plain to our view, and
there's no word of the old lady."

I thought for a second, then, "I can read a bit further myself," said
I; "for there's no hint here of the Dark Dame because she was not here.
They left the _suaicheantas_ just of as many as escaped from----"

"And so they did! Where are my wits to miss a tale so plain?" said he.
"She'll be in Dalness yet, perhaps better off than scouring the wilds,
for after all even the MacDonalds are human, and a half-wit widow woman
would be sure of their clemency. It was very clever of you to think of
that now."

I looked again at the oak-stem, still sticking up at the slant "It
might as well have lain flat under the p