It was a bold throw, but it won the hearts of many there, who hated Murray and his fiddling Lowland ways. Only Lochiel said nothing, swayed two ways at once, and ready to faint with the pain of his wound. "I think," broke in Roy Stuart, "we should defer signing until we meet again." "Bravely spoken," remarked Lovat, "let us meet with our men in ten days' time. I can promise three hundred Frasers, if not more." They all rose at that and conferred together before parting, each one promising a regiment, and that word should go through the hills. Only Murray stood alone, and only Murray saw a man enter with a package and hand it to Lovat. He watched the old man open it--he noted how he started and frowned. More than that, he read the sudden terror in his face. "Bring that man back!" cried the Fraser, but none heard him (save Murray), and when he learned at last that the messenger was nowhere to be found he groaned and a kind of despair settled upon his face like a mask. But the thing that puzzled Murray was the nature of the package. For it held no paper (that he could see) but only a strip of Fraser tartan, and that very stained in one corner like the discoloration of blood. CHAPTER XI A NARROW ESCAPE Now when Muckle John had heard the voice of Macaulay--or, to give him his real name, Captain Strange--approaching the tent, he had moved ever so slightly backward and loosened his dirk. The inevitable had happened, and he had played with fire too long. And so, when the officer hurried out to meet the new arrival, he did a number of things very quickly. But the first was the cutting of the canvas farthest from the entrance. Then with a dive he was through, and with the tent between him and his enemies. To the right of him, about a hundred yards distant, was a sentry, standing with his back turned, looking towards the hill opposite. On his left again were a group of red-coats off duty and playing cards. To cross the open space and reach the slope unseen would seem impossible, and yet Muckle John did it, and what is more, took two hours about it, which in a period of acute danger might seem leisurely travelling. What his quick eyes fell upon first was a horse grazing thirty yards away. But that he put out of his mind as too hazardous a risk. About half that distance away, however, a tussock of hay was lying--a loosely bound pile about eight feet long and four broad. When Muckle John saw that he breathed again, and taking off his hat, he hurled it in the direction of the hay, then waited patiently. Fortunately, no one saw it skim into the air and drop upon the ground.