near the spot just then.
But we'll need to hurry."

"I think I understand," said Foster, who went on with them. "Still you
can't save much time, even if you walk very fast."

"Verra true," Pete replied. "But it's no' difficult to pit back the
clock."

Leaving the road presently, they struck across a bog that got softer as
they advanced until Foster felt the rotten turf tremble beneath his
feet. All round were clumps of rushes, patches of smooth but
treacherous moss, and holes where water glimmered in the moonlight. He
imagined it was a dangerous place for a stranger to cross, but his
companions knew the way, and although he sank to the top of his boots
they reached firmer ground. Soon afterwards, Pete showed him a rough
track that crossed the side of a hill.

"Yon's your road and ye'll see the clachan in aboot a mile. If they're
no' verra willing to tak' ye in, ye can tell them ye're a freend o'
mine."

Foster thanked him and followed the track, which led him to a hollow
where lights shone among a clump of bare ash trees. A few low, white
houses straggled along the roadside, and he thought one that was
somewhat larger and had dormer windows was the change-house. When he
knocked he was shown into an untidy kitchen where two men sat drinking
by a peat fire. At first, the landlord seemed doubtful about being
able to find room for him, but his manner changed when Foster
carelessly mentioned that he understood from Pete that he would be
welcome, and one of the others gave him a keen glance.

"Where met ye Pate?" he asked.

"On the hill," said Foster, who felt sure of his ground. "I helped him
with the net."

"Had he any luck?"

"Not much," said Foster. "Two gamekeepers turned up and although we
got a few partridges Pete lost his net."

There was silence for a moment, and then another remarked: "I wouldna'
say but we ken enough. We hae helpit Pate oot before, and a change is
lightsome. He can gang till the moss-side folk noo."

They let the matter drop, but Foster was given a better supper than he
expected and afterwards a bed in a cupboard fixed to the kitchen wall.

XII

A COMPLICATION

At noon next day Foster sat, smoking, on a bridge near the clachan.
The air was mild and sunshine filled the hollow, while Foster had just
dined upon some very appetizing broth. The broth was thick with
vegetables, but he did not think the meat in it came from a barn-door
fowl. The clachan was a poor