"He said that?" said Cameron in a sharp voice. Then turning to Murray he grasped his arm. "Ye hear that?" he cried. "It's Rob right enough, and the Prince with him." He snatched up the letter again. "Gold," he repeated, and back came the frown. "No," he said under his breath, "I'll take no gold. I seem to scent treachery in the word gold. What need has the Prince with such? It's something mair substantial he'll require. Murray," he broke off, "how much have ye upon you?" "A hundred louis d'or--nae mair," said he. "But tak' it, Archie--only leave me ten for my ain needs." The coins again changed hands and Cameron again addressed Grant. "What other news do ye bring?" he asked. "There is word," Grant replied, "that the soldiers are moving south." He took to rummaging again in his shirt and drew out a piece of tartan--a tangled, stained fragment about the size of a man's hand. "One who shall be nameless," said he, "has ordered me to give this to Murray of Broughton, begging him to put it into Lovat's own hands." "It is a warning," gasped Cameron, "he says they are moving south." Murray showed no relish for the business. "I have no wish to speak with Lovat," he replied, "I am the last man from whom he would take such a message." "Tuts, Broughton," said Cameron impatiently, "at a time like this private misunderstandings are out of the question--ye may save him from the scaffold." "I would," retorted Murray sourly, "I could bring him to it. But give me the rubbish, I'll see he receives it, though it's poor thanks I'll get." "You misjudge him, man--he's dour but he's old. This man here has brought it from the Prince belike, who else?" he swung round on the messenger of Muckle John, "you are a Jacobite I take it?" he asked. The man shook his head. "I am a Jacobite where my ain race are concerned," he replied, at which Cameron regarded him gravely, and seemed somewhat suspicious and uncertain what to make of him. Then turning to Murray he drew him outside the place, and they lay about a dozen paces distant amongst the heather. "Ye ken what this means, Murray?" he said. "There's some one must warn Lovat. It's the Prince has sent word--leastways, ye can tell Lovat so, it will hearten the old man. Should he be taken the Highlands will lose heart. Get him carried by night Badenoch way. Could he win to Cluny's cage he would be as snug as a rat in a hole--and no sic a bad simile, eh?" "I'll go," said Murray, staring with tired eyes across the glen. "I'm no taken with this fellow here," went on Cameron, looking over his shoulder, "and yet what more can I want? He carries the daft words I gave to Rob just to impress him, and send him like a hare out of Arkaig--he warns us for Lovat. Oh, John, what can ye mak' o' it?" For a long time the other continued to stare into empty space. Then turning his head slowly he let his tragic eyes rest on Cameron.