Rob let them go in silence. The Prince was safe for the present, and with him Cameron and the keys to the treasure. For him, as for Muckle John, there was nothing but danger, even if they won through in the defence of the pass. Presently the first shot rang re-echoing down the desolate glen, and he crept forward to where Muckle John sat with a musket across his knees. "Rob!" he cried, in a voice half anger, half surprise. "I could not go," he said simply. For a moment Muckle John looked at him queerly. "Man, Rob," he said at last, "you're a rare one. But what of Mistress Macpherson? Promise me that you will take to your heels when I tell ye, and go straight for Inverness. She will shield you till better times. Promise, Rob." "I promise," replied he. Next moment the firing started in earnest. Rob took in the situation at a glance. It was very improbable that the soldiers had come upon them by accident. They most certainly knew that the Prince was in hiding in the cleft of the hill. To surround the place was impossible. The only way was to rush the defence, and carry the pass by storm. The reckless manner in which they exposed themselves pointed to the prize they had in view. As he looked down the glen, lying full length upon a smooth-faced boulder, something in the appearance of a soldier standing a little apart made him call to Muckle John and point him out. At that very moment, however, the man took off his hat to wipe his brow, and they recognized the cunning features of Captain Strange. "The crows are gathering," said Muckle John in his sombre voice, and taking careful aim he fired at him, and sent his hat flying from his hand. "A miss!" he cried, bitterly; and, as though the report of his gun were the signal for the advance, the soldiers began to move rapidly towards them. What Strange was shouting to them Rob could not hear; but probably, elated at the chance of capturing the Prince, and vying with one another in scrambling up the precipitous place, they were surprised to see a dozen of their number riddled with bullets before they had come to within a hundred yards of the pass. Then, taking cover, they began to move their way upwards, firing as they came. It was a case of a hundred against a dozen; but after an hour the rocks were dotted with silent red-coats, and still the little garrison held out. Two Highlanders were killed and one wounded. The Prince had had his chance. Unless some unforeseen misfortune had overtaken him he was safe by now. Calling his men softly, Muckle John dispatched two with the one who was wounded, thus reducing his forces to seven, and, lighting a pipe, he calmly awaited the next attack. It came with a wild rush, and a shattering fire some ten minutes later. The English had planted a dozen marksmen up the hill sides to command the pass, and under the protection of their fire the remainder began to run towards the narrow defile.