It did not matter that the house was not his, nor an imposing habitation at the best of times. All that mattered was that he was at the turn of the brae, going downward--an exiled chief. Fully conscious that the setting was saga-like the clansmen set up a piteous lamentation, and bowing his great head Lovat motioned them on, and the journey continued. And in this fashion after many weary hours they reached Loch Muilzie in Glenstrathfarar and for the time being considered themselves in safety. Far away, dimly discernible in that wilderness of heather, two men were running like wolves on the trail--two men with dirks by their sides, and death in their hearts--running tirelessly. On the outskirts of the Fraser country they passed another man who was watching the pass and without a word he joined them--three men running in single file, bending double in open places--heading for Knoidart. Long after, when the sun was falling, Muckle John pulled in his horse for the third time within an hour and listened intently. From the drenched hillside a curlew was crying amongst the shadows, and from up the hill came the clamour of a muir-fowl. But no whisper of the danger that lurked unseen amongst the silences--awaiting the night. And then with troubled eyes he continued his way, taking cover where he could, seeking a place of refuge. CHAPTER V LOCH ARKAIG Day followed day with no sign of the soldiers, and as time passed, Rob wished most fervently that Muckle John had not disappeared so abruptly, leaving him in an unknown country with a helpless old man. One morning there was a movement in Lovat's hut and the old chief stood peering out of the doorway looking very savage and uncouth. He had forgotten to place his wig on his head and the scattered tags of grey hair were caught by every gust of wind. "Rob," he said at last, shivering with the cold, "take a day in the hills and learn where the English are and whether a French frigate is off the coast." Only too glad to fall in with such a suggestion Rob prepared to set off at once. Suddenly Lord Lovat called to him. "Rob," he said, "where did you come from that night?" "I came from Culloden." "Culloden--and did you meet anyone on the road?" "Only Muckle John." The Fraser's cold eyes swooped down on him like a hawk dropping from the clouds. "Muckle John," he repeated, "I seem to know the name--so you came with him did ye? And where were you, Rob, when the horsemen arrived? Was Muckle John with you then?" "No, he had left me." "Of course--of course--and then he came back and told you he was going away on important business, Rob." "He said he would return." At that Lovat left him, laughing as though something mightily funny had been said. But at the door he turned, still convulsed with his humour, and wagging a finger at him remarked: "Mind my words, laddie, the race is not always to the swift nor the battle to the strong."