"Up," said Muckle John, "I see them on the brow of the hill." "No," said Rob, "I will not go until..." But he had time for no more for Muckle John had him by the throat and was squeezing the very life out of him. "Dinna clash words with me--you Fraser loon," he snarled, "up ye go or I'll break your neck." After that Rob was only too ready to get out of reach of those terrible arms. In the chimney-stack, just as Muckle John had said, there was a place very cunningly hollowed so as to be invisible from below, where a man looking upward saw only a square patch of sky and the broken masonry that fringed the top. Crouching doubled up with his head upon his knees, he listened for a word from Muckle John. But none came. All he heard was a curious shuffling and a noise like the shutting of a door. Suddenly, it seemed about a mile distant, a bugle sounded, and very faintly there drifted to him the echo of a shout. Through the empty place below he heard the wind crying, and the singing of it in the long grass, but of Muckle John not a word. Out on the moor he could hear the stream drumming cheerily over the stones. It was a bright spring morning full of the singing of birds, very difficult to associate with sudden death and a quick burying under the heather. Those who had met the English on their jaunts into the hills had small reason to hope for mercy and none for the dignity of a trial. It was better to leave home by the back door and dodge the bullets. In those far-off days an English soldier at fifty yards was comparatively harmless. Rob craned his ears for any sound of their advance. But there was not the smallest hint of impending danger. For all he knew they might be scouring the country-side Loch Ness way. They might by this time be a couple of miles away. Already he was becoming exceedingly stiff. He struggled with a growing temptation to move one leg just an inch. Very cautiously he did so. He succeeded in making a noise--not a loud noise, indeed, but in that hollow place quite loud enough to make him turn cold with fear. But nothing happened, there was no whisper of spying red-coats creeping stealthily amongst the ruins, listening for all he could tell within three feet of his hiding-place. Suddenly he heard a rustle in the grass below him, and a creak like the noise of a boot. He was instantly transfixed with terror. It is well enough to meet death in the open, though by no means a pleasant business there, but to sit cooped up in a chimney unable to see what is happening above or below is more than human nerves can tolerate. He had a tantalizing desire to peep over the edge, to catch one heartening glimpse of the green grass below, to assure himself that a red-faced English soldier was not peering up or fixing his bayonet to poke it about inside.