A hundred yards passed and still they maintained this idle pace. Then suddenly the officer leaned forward. "Haud tight," he whispered into Rob's ears in a voice strangely familiar, "for we're no through with it yet," and with a plunge the great horse sprang into a gallop. "Muckle John!" cried Rob, nearly falling off altogether. "Aye," said he, "just Muckle John and no sae happy at that." Onward they rode at a headlong, tearing gallop, until the ill-fated field of Culloden with its heaps of huddled dead lay far behind them; and passing the water of Nairn, made for Aberarder and clattering through, thundered onward to Faraline. CHAPTER IV FRENCH GOLD A thin moon was drifting above the scattered clouds when Muckle John and Rob reached the head of a wild and desolate glen in Stratherrick, and here for the first time since their flight from Culloden they drew rein and alighted. So stiff and weary was Rob that his companion was compelled to lift him down, and lay him in the heather. The horse, utterly done, stood with his head hanging forlornly, and the sweat dripping from his neck upon the heather. Few horses would have carried them both so gallantly. Muckle John had long since discarded his English wig and coat. He stood in his shirt and with his hair fluttering in the night wind regarding with sombre eyes the blinking lights of a house down the valley, a square white house two stories high. Twice during the brief halt a man had crept out of the encircling darkness and scrutinized them narrowly. There was no sound beyond the wind sighing amongst the corries, but each time Muckle John had seen the heather quiver before something noiseless and stealthy that disappeared as softly as it had come. Once from far up the hill he heard a long whistle like a curlew on the wing. At last he turned his head and let his eyes rest on Rob, and then again upon the grey horse with its drooping head. With a faint shrug of his shoulders he shook the boy. "Rob," said he, "do you ken yon house?" With a groan Rob struggled up. "Gortuleg House," he replied, "I know it well." Muckle John of a sudden turned his head and raised his hand for silence. From far away along the track they had come was a sharp click-clack like the rattle of a loose stone on a horse's hoof. "Ye hear, Rob," he whispered, "there'll be few abed to-night. Come away, boy, this is a daft-like place to be found in." From up the hill came the mournful whistle once again. It was answered by another far down the glen. "The place is hotching with Frasers," he muttered, lifting Rob upon the horse, "and where the Frasers are a man must feel his way, saving your presence, Rob." "They are our friends," said Rob stoutly, "and my people." "I'm no denying it--though maybe ye had safer speak for yersel', Rob, but to-day will end many a friendship, and I'm no trusting Lochiel himsel' until I'm clear of this business."