"Let us have a crack together for a moment," said he in a low voice. "That we will be seen is probable, but I think none watched just now. Ye might wonder why I," he continued, speaking more loudly, and with his head turned a little towards the trees, "who have exercised such care, have trusted you, Rob, who are a stranger to me. Then I just canna tell you, for I do not know, and that's the sober truth. Anyway here is a plan o' the places and other things; and dinna let this out of your hands, Rob, and if ye are taken, swallow it, or destroy it in some way. In case we are watched take it from my hand as though we were saying good-bye. Now!" and extending his right hand, Cameron cried, "Good-bye, Rob," in a very clear voice. and made to pass the paper; but with a flustered movement he bungled it, dropping it upon the ground. "Tuts!" said he, and stooping quickly made a great business of thrusting it into Rob's hands. "Follow that spy to-night," he said, "and then haste ye on the footsteps of the Prince, and tell him that I wait his instructions in Lochaber. Should ye need me send word that 'there's a muir-fowl snared.' Mind the words, laddie, for I'll ken by that ye are taken." At that moment there was a small noise like a sigh behind them, and Cameron started and peered into the darkness. "Speak lower," he said, "you understand?" "I do," Rob replied. "Then come. Let us set the fellow loose, and after that the less we see of Arkaig the better." So saying he led the way to the hollow place. The moonlight shone smoothly down between the swaying tree-tops, but it fell upon empty greensward and bristling heather. No man lay there. Not even his ropes remained. It was as though he had been spirited away. Without a word, Cameron drew Rob swiftly back. "Separate and run," he whispered in an agitated voice, "for we must be surrounded," and bending his body he darted amongst the trees towards the open hill-side. At that Rob overtaken by a sudden fear of the unknown, and a great dread of Ephraim Macaulay, took to his heels, and running in a direction at right angles to that in which Cameron had gone, he doubled on his tracks, and dropped down under a bank of heather. Fortunate it was he had done so, for swift flying footsteps sounded close above his head, and two men sped past him into the wood. Then, crawling on hands and feet, he made for the head of the loch. But he had travelled a bare five hundred yards before the clear soft note like the sound of a chanter drifted towards him. And the bar that it played was the fantastic, ghostly tune of Muckle John, the same twisted melody that had so shaken the school-master in Miss Macpherson's house.