"A very foolish story, Dugald," said the colonel. "But you have forgotten to tell us that your father had emptied a capacious hunting-flask of fiery mountain whisky before he entered the cavern; and probably a fall on the rocks might account for the cloven targe." "Sir, ye never tried to account for it in that way before," replied the old man indignantly; "bethink ye, when at hame, how ye wadna put your nose outside the door-stane after dark, for fear o’ encountering _lham-dearg_. Ye were but a callant then, to be sure; but even now, wi’ a’ your bravery,—and I ken that, like a’ o’ your name, you’ve a lion’s heart in the field, on the water ye tremble like an aspen leaf, and a’ for fear o’ the kelpie. But as for my faither’s adventure, ye ken the hail country-side rang, and yet rings, wi’ the story." "Your father, Dugald, was always seeing things such as no other man ever saw, I believe." "I ken he was farer seen than maist folk; but mair than he hae viewed the fightin’ spectre o’ Glenmore, but nae man ever cam aff sae easy frae a tulzie wi’ him. Four o’ Rothiemurchus’ gillies ance foucht a battle wi’ him near Loch-morlach, and never ane o’ them survived the scuds his claymore gied them." "Well; and the dirk—" "My faither wore till his dying day,—and I shall wear till mine, in memory of that adventure. It’s no different frae other men’s,—a sharp blade wi’ a buckhorn hilt, ye see; but he micht sink it to the guard in an aiken tree, and it ne’er would bend or break. But, as I said before, my faither was farer seen than ither folk, and he ance had a mair solemn and eerie adventure wi’ a wraith,—ay, sirs, _his ain wraith_, than the ane I hae now related. "He joined me when I was wi’ the Prince and Lochiel, biding in concealment amang the wild shores of Loch-Archaig, at Kilmallie. The Prince of Wales lived in our puir hut on the top of Tor-a-muilt, frae whar we had a look-out for mony a mile, and richt gude need there was! The hail country was swarming wi’ red-coats and blood-thirsty mercenaries, under the Prince of Hesse. Ochone! ochone-aree! Had you seen the gallant Prince Charles as I saw him then! O sirs! the vera thocht o’t maddens me. He had neither shirt, shoe, nor hose on; he had been wandering for six weeks in the Corrie-nan-gaul of Knovdart, bare-footed, dressed in an auld tartan coat and _filleadh-beg_, wi’ a lang beard hanging frae his chin. He carried a musquet, dirk, pistol, and horn; and but for his famished and wae-begane face, lookit mair like some wild reiver o’ the isles, than the son o’ braid Scotland’s king.