"By nae miracle at all, sir," said old Dugald, "by nae miracle; but just by the help o’ a teuch auld carle’s hand and the bit cauld iron; and I assure your honours, I wad rather face a thoosand rampaugin wolves, than ae kelpie, habgoblin, wraith, spunkie, sheeted ghaist, deadlicht, broonie, or ony ither scrap o’ deevildom sae common at name in the Hielands. Hoich, sirs! it was indeed nae sma’ matter to cut the weasens o’ thae awfu’ monsters o’ wolves; but," said he, holding aloft his long Highland dagger, which flashed back the rays of the moon, "but that is a blade that has rung on the target o’ the _lham-dearg_; and after _that_, what could a bold hand not do wi’ it?" "On the target of who?" asked Ronald. "The _lham-dearg_, sir." "The words are Gaelic; but who is he?" "A spirit wi’ a bloody hand, that haunts at the mirk hour the wood o’ Glenmore, in the Grants’ country." "What has this to do with your dirk?" said Stuart, who became interested in every thing which looked like a northern legend. "Pooh!" said Cameron; "’tis an old ghost story, and not one of Dugald’s prime ones. But he is as prosy with his legends, as Colin Campbell is about Egypt and Ralph Abercrombie." "He doesna believe it noo," muttered Dugald, shaking his white hairs sorrowfully; "but when he was a bairn at hame in Fassifern-house, I hae made his vera lugs tingle wi’ fear at the name o’ the _lham-dearg_, and he used to grane and greet for a licht that he micht see to sleep, as he said; and in thae days he wadna hae gane into a dark place, to be made king o’ the braw Highlands frae Castle Grant to Lochaber. But noo wars and campaigning hae learned him to scoff at a’ thae matters, though his faither, the laird, (gude guide him!) a man as auld as mysel, believes every word o’ them. I daursay, he doesna believe noo that deidlichts burn on the piper’s grave in the auld kirk-yaird at hame; or that spunkies and fairies bide in the glen o’ Auchnacarry, kelpies in Loch-Archaig, or that the _daoine shie_ haunt the dark holes, cairns, round rings, and unco’ places o’ the Corrie-nan-gaul in Knoydart, where I mysel hae seen them dancing tulloch-gorm in the bonnie moonlicht." "Certainly not, Dugald. What I believed when a child, will scarcely pass now for truth; and I believe you never saw any thing unearthly until Ferintosh had swelled your belt to bursting. Come, Dugald, acknowledge this to be true," said Cameron, laughing. "May be ye’ll no believe in the red-cap, that haunts the auld tower at Archaig; and may be no in the vera _taisch_?" said the old servitor in a voice approaching to a groan at the other’s apostasy. "Ochone, may be no! although I mysel saw bluid on his hand, and tauld him o’ it the day before the shot struck him there at the battle of Arroya del Molino."