"The gloaming’s sae mirk and sae far advanced, that I canna see very weel; and my een are sair wi’ being in the gloom o’ this dismal den sae lang." "They are British troops; to what corps they belong we need not care, as all are friends alike. They have piled their arms. Surely they mean to bivouac there for the night. I pray to Heaven they may!" "O sir! let us do something to let them ken o’ their friends that are here in tribulation and jeopardy. Fire twa or three shots, just to draw them towards us." "Not one. We have but nine rounds left,—three each; and as our lives depend upon them, they must be reserved for a grand attempt as soon as it is dark. Besides, from the way the wind blows, they would never hear the reports at such a distance. The clouds are fast gathering, and I see with pleasure we shall have a very black night. We shall certainly escape them, if we are courageous and discreet. What think you, Pedro Gomez?" he asked in Spanish. "Of course, senor caballero. And as you will scarcely know the way after it is dark, if I have the honour to be again your guide I will get you off securely. Should I be shot,—a fate which our Lady of Succour avert!—you will find an easy ford some hundred yards down the stream. You may cross it fearlessly, and gain safely the place where our friends are bivouacked so quietly on the plain." "We shall scarcely find the spot in the dark, even with your aid, Pedro. What marks the ford?" "A stone cross, erected by the monks of San Juan to guide travellers. During a storm, one of the brotherhood perished when crossing the stream just below us here, and they marked the shallow part by a stone, to avoid such accidents in future." "But think o’ the sleuth-hounds, Maister Ronald," said Evan, who had been listening attentively to Pedro, and endeavouring to comprehend his Spanish. "I scunner at the very thocht o’ them, after the douking that ane gied me in the burn below." "We must take our chance of these infernals. But be cool and firm: the time is coming when we must have all our wits about us." Their conversation had often been interrupted by a stray bullet from the besiegers, who lounged lazily on the opposite bank, smoking their cigars, tearing hard American _bacallao_ with their teeth, and sucking the purple wine from a huge pig-skin, which they had pierced in several places with their knives, allowing it to stream on the green sward with a heedless prodigality, which showed how easily it had been come by. This employment they varied by venting curses at each other, and at their obstinate opponents, at whom they now and then sent a random shot; and on one occasion a complete volley at Evan’s bonnet, which, by way of bravado, he had elevated to their view on the point of his bayonet. A storm of balls whistled about it, and the young Gael laughed heartily at the joke. "Your bonnet is riddled," said Ronald, on seeing the feathers nearly all shot away.