The preparations for this expedition were under discussion when Muckle John and Rob came into the main street. For a while they walked along in silence, Muckle John grown suddenly gravely absorbed, and taking such great strides that Rob was hard put to it to keep up. The dawn was come, and with it the town of Inverness began to hum and buzz like a hive of bees. Men, quartered in every house along the narrow street, commenced to pour out upon the highway, some putting on their sword-belts as they came, others wiping sleep out of their tired eyes with their knuckled hands. It was the sight of their claymores that sent Muckle John's flickering eyes upon his companion. "My lad," said he, stopping abruptly, "there's one thing we must be seeing too. For cutting firewood or driving bestial,* I have no doubt yon weapon might serve as well as another, but for the game of war it is disappointing," and whipping out his own sword he made a parry or two, and winked at him. * Cattle. "What do ye think o' that?" said he, and drove it home again into the scabbard. "I think it's bonny," said Rob shivering with the chill wind. "Bonny--you Fraser loon--what kind of word is that for the sword of Muckle John," and without a word, he turned his back and began to stride again up the street, snorting as he went. "But, sir," cried Rob, at his heels, "what about me?" "You," cried Muckle John in a huff, "what indeed?" "I know nothing of swords," said Rob, anxious to appease him at all costs. Presently Muckle John stopped and looked, first upon the ground and then at Rob, and so upon the ground again. "Rob," said he at last, "had ye no better take your ways home?" "Never!" cried he. Without a word the other turned upon his heel, again, and so in a dour silence they reached the centre of the town. "Rob," said Muckle John, "you see that house there? That is where the Prince is staying, and there at the door he is, and with him Lord George Murray, a braw soldier but no Irish, and so not above suspicion." On the door-step stood Prince Charlie talking in a vexed, irritated manner to a very choleric-looking gentleman, who seemed in a bubble of anger, which he could ill control. "Come ye with me, Rob," said Muckle John, "and keep your eyes open, and your mouth as tight as a gravestone." As they approached, the Prince let his eyes rest on the massive figure of Muckle John, then nodded absently like a man whose thoughts are far away. Lord George Murray, on the other hand, greeted him with some cordiality, and turning again to the Prince, continued his conversation. "I can assure your Highness that no aid will come from France," he said, "Fitzjames is captured, and that is not the last of it...." The Prince gnawed his lip with bitter vexation. "Your lordship was always most certain in disaster," he said peevishly, "a long face carries a long tale." "Unless we drive back Loudon we are like rats in a trap," went on Murray ignoring the words.