In the meantime, Rob was outside, and he wished Muckle John would come. Before them was a weary tramp, and already he was tired. His eyes shut for a moment--then opened and shut again. He took to thinking of his father, and how it fared with Lord Lovat, and so thinking he fell asleep. His awakening was rude enough, for before he could open his eyes his arms were held behind his back, and he was hoisted roughly to his feet. The officer, good-humoured no longer, was facing him, while half a dozen red-coats shut him off from all chance of escape. And before him stood Ephraim Macaulay. "Which of you is Captain Strange?" cried Captain Campbell, very red in the face, and looking back towards his tent as though he awaited an indignant reply from within. "I am Captain Strange," replied Macaulay stiffly. "Then where are your papers?" "They were stolen by the man who came with his boy, who was sleeping outside your tent." "Be careful of your words, sir. How am I to know that you are what you say?" "Perhaps you did not trouble to read the particulars on the passport?" "No, sir--I admit that I did not." "Then if you had you would have realized that I am not six foot two or thereabouts, or travel with a notorious rebel, such as that boy there. Also that my name is not--Muckle John." "MUCKLE JOHN!" shouted the officer, "if what you say is true," he cried, and breaking off he started running towards the tent and peered within, then parting the folds, disappeared altogether. But an instant later, he was tearing about the camp like a man gone mad. "He's made off!" he shouted. "Sound the bugle there, and search the hills!" Then plunging into his tent again, he reappeared with his hat in his hand. For Muckle John had taken his departure, leaving behind him only a neat hole in the canvas of the tent, on the side farthest from the real Captain Strange, whose reputation as a secret agent in the English service did not warrant for his future safety. For long the soldiers searched, but no sign of Muckle John was discovered, and none had seen him go. To Rob, however, this was poor comfort, for bound hand and foot and guarded by two soldiers he passed a miserable night, and when morning came he was set between a file of soldiers, and the march to Fort Augustus commenced, where it was rumoured that the Duke of Cumberland would arrive that day. It was not till mid-day that his hands were loosed, and then, very cautiously, he searched for the precious paper, knowing that the time for its destruction was come. His fingers ran cautiously down the side of his brogue. He did so lying on his side, and his legs tucked up under his kilt. _But all in vain, for the paper was gone_. CHAPTER X THE LAST FLICKER