To his horror there were four men gathered about the fire--the innkeeper and three ragged, crouching figures, with cruelty and murder written all over their faces. They were dressed in a tartan so filthy and stained with rain and mud that Rob was ignorant of their clan. They were shaggy as cattle beasts, dirty, smoke-blackened fellows, below the average size, active as wild cats, and chattering in whispers like a crew of unwashed monkeys. Even in the remnants of the Chevalier's army Rob had not encountered such as these. Only in Lochaber and Rannoch could such scourings of the clans be found until one met the red Macgregors which Providence forfend. The innkeeper had his back turned to the stairway, but by the motion of his hands Rob read what he said like an open page. He was telling them of the silver that he, in his rashness, had exposed. In the red firelight Rob could see their eyes gleam beneath their matted hair. With hypnotized gaze he watched a man unsheath his dirk and make a gesture significant enough, and with a gurgle in the throat requiring no explanation. So that was to be the end of it all--a secret murder by a band of lawless caterans ready to prey upon every stranger luckless enough to beg a night's lodging. He would never see Muckle John again. It made him wonder what he would have done to save his life. Muckle John always had a way. [Illustration: HE WATCHED ONE OF THE MEN UNSHEATH HIS DIRK AND MAKE A GESTURE SIGNIFICANT ENOUGH.] Down below the men had risen to their feet. He saw them standing in their own steam, their heads close together, and their beards wagging as they whispered. Then one by one they approached the stairway. A wild terror seized him at that. The soft pat of their brogues upon the rungs of the ladder and the creak of it under their weight was like to make him scream. Starting back he stood upon the trap door in the empty hope that they would not be able to lift it. A moment, and he felt it give a faint heave under him. It was delivered gently, as though the man on the ladder suspected it would be stiff or difficult to push back. And then there was absolute silence. Did they suspect that he was awake? Rob listened intently. But what he heard was the innkeeper softly ordering them back, and at that moment there sounded outside in the night a man's voice calling. Once more Rob lay upon the floor and peered below. Around the fire the men were sitting as before. In the doorway the innkeeper was standing with the firelight upon his back. Outside there was the humid noise of a horse losing its hold in sopping ground, and again a voice called-- "Can you give me shelter?" With a backward glance the innkeeper disappeared, leaving those crouching figures utterly silent. To Rob a wild flash of hope flamed suddenly. Who could say but this might be a friend in distress?