Underneath him the horse coughed and rattled its bit. Only an inch or two of wood between him and safety--only a thin decayed layer of wood. A rat was gnawing in a far corner; he heard it squeak in the darkness. Down below they were sitting quite speechless about the fire, waiting for the newcomer to seek his sleep. Murray was white and brooding, knowing no Gaelic, certain that danger was all about him, nodding with weariness and ever pulling up for dread of what was biding its time to strike. In haste Rob examined the flooring of the loft. His fingers ran along the fringes of the boards. No flaw, no splintered grain, no crumbling of worm-eaten plank. Still the rat gnawed with steady persistence in the far corner. Perhaps there was a way there. He groped about, and his hands encountered a sack propped up against the wall. It was very heavy but he moved it gradually. The rat scuttled away and dropped out of the room. He heard it fall upon the soft mud below, and into his face there rose the warm smell of cows. Breathlessly he examined the flooring behind the sack, and at the corner where the thing had stood his hands groped in vacancy. There was a hole a foot in breadth. Without delay he gripped the frayed edge, where the rat had gnawed, in his strong muscular fingers and, setting his feet against the wall opposite him, strained to his fullest power. With a sharp crack it broke away--a good two feet. Underneath the horse snorted with sudden fear; it seemed to be only a few inches beneath his hand. Lying full length, he stretched down into the pitch darkness and touched its ear, soothing it with a whisper. The way lay clear. Then, regaining his feet, he stole back to the other end of the place and looked down upon the men below. It was a curious, somewhat pathetic sight that met his eyes. Murray was upon his feet and bidding them good night. He looked as though he knew in his heart what deed they intended, and was on the point of appealing to their chivalry (if they had any), and yet too proud to do so. In the end he only bowed and, taking a rushlight from the innkeeper, climbed slowly up the stairway and lifted the trap-door. Now it was evident to Rob that if Murray, unnerved by illness and fatigue came upon him suddenly, he might hesitate or utter a cry, and for this reason he hid himself behind the sack until he was in the room and the trap-door shut, when he whispered, "Mr. Murray, Mr. Murray," as gently as he could. There was a sharp sound like a gasp, and Murray replied in the same tone, "Who is it?" With his finger on his lips, Rob appeared before him. "Quick!" he whispered, "lift the sack with me and put it upon the trap-door. It will serve for a few minutes. They are cut-throats down there." For an instant Murray fumbled with his sword and then, controlling himself, he aided Rob, though his strength was not of much value at such a time.