"Come," said he, "for we must be far from here before the dawn." And so they passed out of that terrible place, with all its silent forms on the hill-side and that one lonely figure huddled in the moonlight, Muckle John leaning upon Rob's shoulder, limping towards the west. CHAPTER XVIII THE WHISTLE OF THE BANSHEE In the greyness of the dawn Muckle John called a halt. "Rob," he said, "here is the day and only a mile covered since last night. Ye ken what that means? Within a few hours reinforcements will arrive from Fort Augustus, they will find the body of Strange--what must follow then?" Rob shook his head. Escape seemed impossible. "And yet," said Muckle John, "there must be a way--there's always a way, Rob, if you give your mind to it. There is no prison that cannot be broken, no wall that cannot be scaled--with luck and a cool head. I know, Rob, for have I not done it time and again? But I've always had a sound pair of legs. Let us look at the situation, Rob. Within an hour or two this country-side will be hotching with red-coats. They think the Prince is hereabouts. Now I cannot cover half a mile in that time, and there is no cover worth thinking about. Nor is the ground marshy or I could lie hid to my nose until it was night. But there is a way, Rob...." He paused and fingered his ankle very tenderly, muffling a strip of his shirt tightly round it. "Over the knoll there, Rob, is a ruined castle, little enough of it left now to be sure, but there are four walls, a huddle of stones upon the roof, and a burial-place." "A burial place?" "Aye, but there's no harm in that. There was a chief of the Macraes buried there, he was a very queer man it is said, but it's long since I looked at his stone. No one ever goes near it after dark, Rob, and mind ye I'm no just hankering after it mysel'." "But surely they will search the place?" "Rob," said Muckle John cannily, "there's searching and searching. There's a deal in hiding where folk do not look for ye." Again they started laboriously on, Muckle John leaning upon Rob's shoulder and supporting himself with a rough crutch hewn from a tree upon the hill-side. Just over the knoll they saw the grey stones of the old stronghold Muckle John had spoken of, a poor enough refuge to all appearances, and certainly one not likely to be overlooked by the soldiers. Inside the walls the grass was long and rank and in the midst of the grass stood a slab of granite upon four other slabs, making a square memorial very moss-covered and decayed, marking the burial-place of the Macrae. Opposite it in the wall was a great open chimney-stack. To this Muckle John limped, and staring upwards beckoned to Rob. "See here," he said, "there is about three feet up a place in the wall large enough for a small man to lie hid. You cannot see it for a very good reason, but it's a bonny spot to hide. Come, Rob, upon my shoulders--there's not a moment to lose." "But what of you?" asked Rob.