s of towering Millfore, the shadowy form of
Millyea, to the north, the mountain of the eagle, Ben Yelleray, with his
sides gashed and scarred. But the young man's eyes instinctively sought
the opener space between the precipices, whence the face of the loch
glimmered like steel on which one has breathed, in the scanty moonbeams.
Hugh Kennedy had come as he said to seek the Back o' Beyont, and, by his
familiarity and readiness, he sought it not for the first time.

Surmounting the ridge, he wormed his way along the sky-line with
caution, till, getting his back into a perpendicular cleft down the side
of the mountain, he cautiously descended, making no halt until he paused
in the shadow of the precipice at the foot of the perilous stairway. A
plain surface of benty turf lay before him, bright in the moonlight,
dangerous to cross, upon which a few sheep came and went. A little burn
from the crevice of the rocks, through which he had descended, cut the
green surface irregularly. Into this the daring searcher for hidden
treasure descended, and prone on his face pushed his way along, hardly a
pennon of heather or a spray of red sorrel swaying with his stealthy
passage.

At the end of the grassy level the little burn fell suddenly with a
ringing sound into a basin of pure white granite--a drinking-cup with a
yard-wide edge of daintiest silver sand. The young man made his way
hastily across the water to a little bower beneath the western bank,
overhung with birch and fern, half islanded by the swift rush of the
mountain streamlet. Here a tiny circle of stones lay on the sand. Hugh
Kennedy stooped to examine their position with the most scrupulous care.
Five black at intervals, and a white one to the north with a bit of
ribbon under it.

"That means," he said, "that the whole crew are out, and they are
expecting a cargo from the south. The white stone to the north and the
bit ribbon--Flora is waiting, then, at the Seggy Goats."

He strained his eyes forward, but they could see nothing. Far away to
the south he heard voices, and a gun cracked. "I'm well off the ridge,"
he muttered; "they could have marked me down like a foumart as I ran.
They'll be fetching a cargo up from the Brig o' Cree," he added, "and
it'll be all Snug at the 'Back o' Beyont' before the morning." He
listened again, and laughed low to himself, the pleased laugh a lover
laughs when things are speeding well with him.

"Maybe," said he, "Roy Campbell may mi