"It is the quick mind he has," muttered a black Mackenzie to his neighbour. "I am not liking the look in his eyes," was the reply, "he is no fool that big man." But Muckle John was already fingering his whistle, and it was certainly a taking tune and yet with something queer about it--something that made them glance at each other under their eyes for dread of they knew not what. And Neil Mackenzie started from his lethargy too late. For at the last bar there was the noise of crackling upon the roof--and the thatch was in a blaze. With a shout he drew his sword and rushed for the door, but the stranger was ready for him and no man in the Highlands single-handed could hold his own for a minute against the long claymore of Muckle John. He stood in the narrow doorway leaning a little forward, and with a dirk in his left hand. "Dance!" he shouted derisively as the noise of the fired thatch grew to a sullen roar. "Dance, you dogs!" and flicking the claymore from Neil Mackenzie's hand he ran him through the sword arm. Then they came at him altogether, a bristling, snarling crowd, armed with dirks only and helpless against his long blade. He drove them back with harsh laughter--fought them back into the blinding smoke, and standing in the doorway burst into song again, putting words to the tune he had played. In a stricken silence they listened, while out in the darkness a boat on the loch halted and rested oars watching the red flames curling up into the night. "Dance--dance on the feet of fire!" sang Muckle John, "Mackenzies tripping it brawly." Suddenly from the room where the smoke was dense and black a voice called on him to hear them. It was Neil himself. "What do you want with us?" he cried. Muckle John stared into the mirk. "Throw out your arms," said he, "and you, Neil Mackenzie, come out first and stand on one side." There was an instant clatter of dirks and one broadsword. "Rob," cried Muckle John, "take this man away there and pistol him if he shows mischief, though I sliced his arm prettily enough." Then turning back, Muckle John collected the arms together and called on the Mackenzies to come out. This they did readily enough, gasping and coughing in the glare of the fire, and rubbing the smart of it from their aching eyes. Seeing that they meditated no attack Muckle John threw their dirks into the blazing house, and then marched up to them. "I am taking your chief," he said, "as a safeguard. If I am followed I will claymore him as surely as my name is Muckle John." "Muckle John!" they cried aghast. "I thought he was no ordinary man," said the black Mackenzie to his neighbour. "Muckle John!" repeated the other, "it is the rare fools we have been, Angus--I think I will be getting home." "Come," said Muckle John to Neil Mackenzie, and without a word they started. But of a sudden Muckle John stopped in his tracks.