and me a chance to better our reputation that he would
have us hang on.

"You have hard luck indeed," he would say. Or, "You played that trick as
few could do it" Or, "Am not I in the key to-night? there's less craft
than luck here." And he played even slovenly once or twice, flushing,
we could read, lest we should see the stratagem. At these times, by the
curious way of chance, he won more surely than ever.

"I must be going," I said again. And this time I put the cartes bye,
firmly determined that my usual easy and pliant mood in fair company
would be my own enemy no more.

"Another chappin of ale," said he. "Tearlach, get Elrigmore to bide
another bit. Tuts, the night's but young, the chap of two and a fine
clear clean air with a wind behind you for Shira Glen."

"Wheest!" said Tearlach of a sudden, and he put up a hand.

There was a skliffing of feet on the road outside--many feet and wary,
with men's voices in a whisper caught at the teeth--a sound at that hour
full of menace. Only a moment and then all was by.

"There's something strange here!" said John Splendid, "let's out and
see." He put round his rapier more on the groin, and gave a jerk at the
narrow belt creasing his fair-day crimson vest For me I had only the
dirk to speak of, for the _sgian dubh_ at my leg was a silver toy, and
Tearlach, being a burgh man, had no arm at all. He lay hold on an
oaken shinty stick that hung on the wall, property of the ferry-house
landlord's son.

Out we went in the direction of the footsteps, round Gillemor's corner
and the jail, past the Fencibles' arm-room and into the main street of
the town, that held no light in door or window. There would have been
moon, but a black wrack of clouds filled the heavens. From the kirk
corner we could hear a hushed tumult down at the Provost's close-mouth.

"Pikes and pistols!" cried Splendid. "Is it not as I said? yonder's your
MacNicolls for you."

In a flash I thought of Mistress Betty with her hair down, roused by the
marauding crew, and I ran hurriedly down the street shouting the burgh's
slogan, "Slochd!"

"Damn the man's hurry!" said John Splendid, trotting at my heels, and
with Tearlach too he gave lungs to the shout.

"Slochd!" I cried, and "Slochd!" they cried, and the whole town clanged
like a bell. Windows opened here and there, and out popped heads, and
then--

"Murder and thieves!" we cried stoutly again.

"Is't the Athole dogs?" asked some one in bad Englis