wish we were in some force, and this was a battle,
we would have bonnily out-manoeuvred them! But it isnae, Davit; and the
way it is, is a wee thing less inspiring to Alan Breck. I swither,
Davie."

"Time flies, Alan," said I.

"I ken that," said Alan. "I ken naething else, as the French folk say.
But this is a dreidful case of heids or tails. O! if I could but ken
where your gentry were!"

"Alan," said I, "this is no like you. It's got to be now or never."

"This is no me, quo' he,"

sang Alan, with a queer face betwixt shame and drollery.

"Neither you nor me, quo' he, neither you nor me,
Wow, na, Johnnie man! neither you nor me."

And then of a sudden he stood straight up where he was, and with a
handkerchief flying in his right hand, marched down upon the beach. I
stood up myself, but lingered behind him, scanning the sandhills to the
east. His appearance was at first unremarked: Scougal not expecting him
so early, and _my gentry_ watching on the other side. Then they awoke on
board the _Thistle_, and it seemed they had all in readiness, for there
was scarce a second's bustle on the deck before we saw a skiff put round
her stern and begin to pull lively for the coast. Almost at the same
moment of time, and perhaps half a mile away towards Gillane Ness, the
figure of a man appeared for a blink upon a sandhill, waving with his
arms; and though he was gone again in the same flash, the gulls in that
part continued a little longer to fly wild.

Alan had not seen this, looking straight to seaward at the ship and
skiff.

"It maun be as it will!" said he, when I had told him. "Weel may yon
boatie row, or my craig'll have to thole a raxing."

That part of the beach was long and flat, and excellent walking when the
tide was down; a little cressy burn flowed over it in one place to the
sea; and the sandhills ran along the head of it like the rampart of a
town. No eye of ours could spy what was passing behind there in the
bents, no hurry of ours could mend the speed of the boat's coming: time
stood still with us through that uncanny period of waiting.

"There is one thing I would like to ken," says Alan. "I would like fine
to ken these gentry's orders. We're worth four hunner pound the pair of
us: how if they took the guns to us, Davie? They would get a bonny shot
from the top of that lang sandy bank."

"Morally impossible," said I. "The point is that they can have no guns.
This thing has been gone ab