There was for all that a mocking twinkle in Muckle John's eyes, and he whistled a bar of the tune he had played, and so, walking steadily onward, reached the empty space. It was that critical moment that they had selected for their volley of stones, and indeed it would have gone ill with anyone knocked off his balance at such a time. But this Muckle John realized as much as they, and out of the corner of his eye he had gauged their scheme to a nicety. He made a step forward, therefore, and a very quick fling back, which few could do where there was not room for the feet to stand, ankle to ankle. And as the stones rattled upon the face of the rock instead of his own, he crossed very coolly and passed on. Foiled in that plan, they took to aiming at him indiscriminately, and the dull thud upon his side and legs reached Rob up above. Soon a stone cut his face, and he must needs wipe the blood out of his eyes to see his way, which delayed him and brought his pursuers (the few who dared) the nearer. But he crept on, nevertheless, and at last reached Rob, and supported himself by the little broken tree. "Oh, Rob, Rob," he gasped, "I nearly spoilt all. Follow me, for they'll turn the corner in a minute. Once let us get back to the top, Rob, and there's no going back," and he looked down upon the heads of their pursuers with a meaning smile. The last five yards were as hazardous as the rest, and more than once Rob gave himself up for lost. But each time Muckle John steadied him and jested, and whistled a snatch of tune. At last they scrambled upon level ground, and lay with bleeding fingers and knees and all the strength gone out of them. Some minutes passed, and from below came the faint shuffling of footsteps. With a groan Rob struggled up and peered over. A dreadful sight faced him. About twenty yards beneath, where one man was forced to climb upon the other's shoulders, the foothold had failed, and after a momentary, fluttering grasp at the thin grass that grew in patches here and there, a mournful cry went up, and the two bodies slid and tumbled and sped out of sight. "They're killed!" cried Rob. Muckle John rose stiffly to his feet. "I said there were but two who knew the way," he replied, "and one is mysel'," and he stretched himself and began to walk up the slope of the hill. "Come, Rob," said he, over his shoulder, "they'll be after us now, but we have two hours' start, which, saving the English, should prove sufficient." Then quite suddenly he stopped in his tracks, and stared with a frown upon the glen below. Drawing Rob forward, he pointed downwards, saying no word. And Rob said nothing either; there was nothing to say. All along the valley and up into the hills beyond were scattered tiny white tents, and little figures in red coats moved hither and thither like ants in an open space amongst the heather, while the sun shone and glinted on white flickers of steel. CHAPTER IX THE TURN OF THE SCALES