Nearer it came, and he lay flat upon the ground with a fallen tree before him. Suddenly on to the moonlit shore stepped a figure he could not mistake--the huge shoulders and chest, the massive head of Muckle John himself. And as he played he peered this way and that, as though he were in search of some one. Rob was about to run forward, then as quickly he sank lower in the shadow. Something held him back. Presently Muckle John laid aside the instrument, and whistled the haunting catch of tune in the moonlight. CHAPTER VIII FLIGHT Fear of the night, the unknown prowlers in the heather, the escape of the schoolmaster, and above all the danger to his paper, held Rob in a breathless silence. And all the time Muckle John was walking towards him, whistling softly as he came. Passing a few yards to the left of the fallen tree behind which Rob was crouching he halted suddenly, and then in a leisurely fashion seated himself on the trunk of it, with the tails of his coat almost touching Rob's cheek. For long enough he remained with his elbows upon his knees staring out upon the loch, and yet Rob never stirred, biding his time. At last with a profound sigh Muckle John began to speak to himself in a low, musing voice, like a man troubled about something and doubtful about the course he should take. "Poor Rob," he said, "where has he got to now?" Upon which he sighed again and shook his head. "I doubt," he murmured, "that they've taken him--for he no answered my bit whistle. He would have answered had he heard, for he promised me, and Rob's no the lad to go back upon his word--oh no, you'd never suspect Rob of that," and he paused in a heart-breaking manner as though emotion had fairly overcome him. As for Rob, it was all he could do not to spring up and catch him by the hands; but he lay like a stone, utterly miserable, hating the paper and his wretched suspicions. "Besides," continued Muckle John more briskly, "I saved the laddie's life, and glad to do it. Oh, no, no; dinna tell me that Rob heard the whistle and ran his neck into the noose I was calling him from. Poor Rob," said he again, "I doubt but he's laid by the heels by this time." Then he stirred a little and began to button his coat. "I must save Rob," said he in a mighty determined tone, and at that the boy touched him softly on the coat. "Muckle John," he whispered. The man beside him started violently, and came near to falling off the log altogether, so great appeared to be his astonishment. But with an effort at recovery he pushed Rob back. "Down," he whispered, in Gaelic, "down for your life," and he began to stretch himself as though he had fallen to sleep. "Rob," he murmured at last, "I hope ye did na hear my vapourings." "I fear I did," replied Rob. "Well, well, there's no harm where no ill was spoken. But I was hurt, ye ken, that you did not heed my whistle. Speak low, Rob, for there's been a man behind yon tuft o' heather for the last half-hour."