"Rob," said Gloom, "there's danger threatening--when was there not in this wild country? Who do you think that was?" Rob shook his head. "Who but John Maclaren himself, new come from giving the red-coats the go-bye on the road to Carlisle. He says James is up to his pranks, and that the clan are scared to death at the very sight of you in the heart of their country. It is away we must go, Rob," and summoning his men they prepared to set out, leaving their camp fires burning in case their flight was suspected. Over the cleft in the hills they went, and crossing the top of Beinn-an-Shithein, came down on Strathyre and Castle Murdoch. "There is a strange man lives there," said the gipsy to Rob, "it's like enough he will send us about our business should we stop." "Who are ye?" snarled a voice at that moment from the wall of the place, "ye canna bide hereabouts." The moon had risen and under its clear rays Rob looked up and saw a white-haired man watching them from the rampart. "What kind of night skulking is this?" he cried. "I am Gloom," replied the gipsy. "And who is that with you, he is none of your people." "He is a friend, Murdoch." "Bring him here--this is an ill time for friends," and he disappeared. A few minutes later they saw him crossing the courtyard, a lamp swinging in his hand, limping through a shortness of his right leg, and frowning at them as he peered through the shattered iron gates. "Come nearer," he rasped, "you boy there with the borrowed claes." Rob took a step towards him so that the light streamed down upon his features. "Humph!" grunted Murdoch, cocking his eyes at the gipsy, "it is queer company ye're taken up with, my man. Do ye ken who that is with his innocent face and braw blue eyes? That's the lad of Muckle John." "Whist!" warned Gloom, "the very rocks have ears." At that moment a little girl came running over the courtyard. "What did ye say of Muckle John?" she asked. "Gang to your bed, Ethlenn," screamed the old man. "Janet, away with the bairn." A woman ran out into the twilight. There was a noise of sudden crying and a door banged. "Can we bide the night here?" asked the gipsy, but with poor enough heart in it. "Bide the night," echoed Murdoch sharply, "bide the night in company with yon? Can ye--by the dogs of Lorn I think ye're crazed. What have I ever done to ye that ye should mak' me sic a daft-like proposal?" "It is no use, Rob," said Gloom sadly. With a kind of horror at his own notoriety Rob turned away and passed down the slope. He heard the voice of Murdoch raised in shrill anger and falling into nothingness on the wind. Behind him trooped the gipsies, uncomplaining but dispirited, streaming towards Strathyre. And so passing through the sleeping village they reached the narrow defile at the head of Loch Lubnaig, and ascending the hillside passed a dreary night.