"About twenty miles, if you pass through Glenfalloch." The soldiers, who were a mixed party of the 15th Foot and the South British Fusiliers, muttered something which sounded very like oaths. In those days an officer's escort accompanied every Government letter or message through the Highlands, as smaller parties were liable to be cut off. "It will be mirk midnight before you get half way through the glen," resumed Rob, with a mocking smile; "and people say that Glenfalloch is haunted." "By what?" asked the officer, who wore a Ramillie wig, a three-cornered hat, and red rocquelaure. "Spirits." "Indeed--whisky, I suppose?" said the sergeant, laughing. "Loud voices are heard talking in the air overhead, when nothing can be seen but the sailing clouds." "Voices!" exclaimed Captain Huske. "Yes, as if one hill-top was talking to the other." "Bah! I can bid our drummer beat the 'Point of War.' I warrant he'll scare away all your Highland goblins, even Rob Roy himself, whom I wish was as near me as you are." "You have had him near enough once before," said MacGregor, gravely, as he suddenly recognized the officer, though some time had elapsed since they last met. "Hah--when?" "In Moffatdale, where he gave you a lesson in humanity, and in good manners, too." "Zounds, sirrah, what do you mean?" asked Captain Huske, cocking his hat fiercely over his right eye, and stepping forward a pace. "Simply, that he ran you through the body, as he is quite prepared to do again, if you do not instantly yield up your packet of despatches!" The officer sprang back, threw off his rocquelaure, and brought his pike to the charge; Rob parried the thrust by his claymore, but he uttered a shrill whistle on seeing the soldiers fixing their bayonets and cocking their muskets. "Shoot down the Highland dog!" cried Captain Huske, choking with passion; but his soldiers paused, for a yell now pierced the welkin, and fifty MacGregors, armed with sword and target, and each with the badge of his forbidden clan in his bonnet--a sprig of the mountain pine--rushed down with a shout of "Ard choille! ard choille! 'Srioghal mo dhream!" Perceiving that he was outnumbered, the officer withdrew his pike, and by outstretched sword-arm Rob kept back his own people, who glared over their shields at the unfortunate party of soldiers, who thought their doom was sealed, and that a hopeless and bloody struggle was about to ensue. "Are you all robbers?" asked the officer, fiercely. "No more than your citizens of London or Carlisle may be," replied MacGregor. "You might be shot by a cowardly footpad on Hounslow Heath--ay, or London Bridge, or in the High Street of Edinburgh; but who there would stop a band of armed soldiers as I this day stop you? Here, in front of your men, sir, I will fight you, with sword and pistol, or with sword and dirk; whichever please you."