"You forget Prestonpans, my lord." The other shook his head fretfully. "The men are tired and wearied of it all," he replied, "they want to go home--they are not regular soldiers...." "What would you say to talk like this?" said the Prince, turning of a sudden upon Muckle John. "Sir," he answered, "your troops are exhausted. But in the mountains you could resist the enemy until they recovered their strength." "But there is no money--no sign of men nor arms. What of France--what of the English Jacobites?" "What indeed?" said a low voice from the doorway. Looking down upon them all stood a young man of about thirty--a thin, slight, anxious-looking man dressed in black, carefully tended clothes. It was Mr. Secretary Murray, or, to give him his full name, John Murray of Broughton. "May the English Jacobites not escape their just punishment," he said gravely, "should disaster await us," and he sighed and stared out across the street. "Shall I go north to assist Lord Cromartie?" asked Lord George Murray, who hated Broughton. The Prince frowned as though he would like to know the inner purpose for such a plan. Then, seeing none but that of reason and loyal service, and yet doubting the latter very sincerely, he replied almost gruffly: "We will see what Sir Thomas Sheridan has to advise," whereat the countenance of Lord George Murray grew dark with strangled rage. For a man who had risked his life and fortune and the lives of his people to be dependent upon the whim of an Irish adventurer with nothing to lose and everything to gain was enough to ruin any cause. Already the end of the '45 was in sight. Muckle John bowed and drew Rob away. A few minutes later Lord George Murray passed them with a face like murder, bound for the North. "Maybe ye see now," said Muckle John, "how the wind blows. There goes as good a soldier as can be, but ye'll find that whatever he advises will be contradicted by any poor Irish creature or Frenchman who may be passing. The longer Cumberland sits snug in Aberdeen the more time will there be for hectoring and desertion and the beginning of the end. Wae's me," he sighed, "I would give something to be upon the quay of Dunkirk, for there's nothing here for the likes o' me but a rope with a bit noose." The business of procuring arms for Rob was next undertaken, and it was a proud day indeed when he strapped a targe on his back, and a claymore to his side. He was attached to Lord George Murray's flying column in pursuit of Lord Loudon, and so on the evening of that day he bade farewell to Muckle John. The march north was uneventful, and in due course, with only a victorious expedition to his credit, Rob returned with the Duke of Perth to Inverness and was dispatched into Atholl with Lord George Murray's force.