my. (The heavy bullet had smashed through the
eight-day clock.) McKelvie was retreating warily to his barrels again,
and I wondered if he had another pistol, when Dan laid his hand on Dol
Beag.

"Stop a minute," said he; "there's some talk due to me before ye kill
McKelvie."

"Ay, ay, wan at a time, McBride; I'll be feenishing the stickin' o'
this pig before I will start on you, and you can be countin' your
bastards again," and with that he whipped round on Dan like an eel with
his dirk hand high. But a spring took Dan clear, and before Dol Beag
could follow, Dan had him in the air spitting like a cat.

"Ashes to ashes," says he, "dhust to dhust," says he, in a thick blind
rage, and hurled Dol smash between the stone jambs to the back of the
fire.

I saw Dol Rob Beag's neck take the corner of the jamb, and heard the
wrench, and then the singeing smell started, and I pulled him out from
the fire and the Skye man flung a stoup of water on him.

"Give him the whisky quick," cried swart Robin McKelvie; "put it down
his throat," but Dol Beag lay still.

A young man at the door--the same exciseman, Gilchrist, that trotted at
Mirren Stuart's coat-tails--cried in a thin voice, "Christ, he's deid;
ye'll swing for this, Dan McBride," and disappeared in the night. With
that the sailors made for the door, driven by that fear of the law with
the long arm and the ruthless grasp; but Dan stood for a while looking
on his handiwork in dour silence.

"He brought it on himself, Hamish," says he; "but, man, I'm sorry for
his wife's sake."

"Out, man, out," I cried at him; "there's nae time for sorrow," and
there came the clop-clop of a galloping horse on the frozen road, and
Ronny McKinnon flung himself among us.

"The back door, damnation, the back door," he cried, and pushed Dan
before him. "Will ye wait till that wasp's bink is buzzin' aboot yer
lugs?"

We followed McKinnon through the kitchen and into the yard behind the
inn, and a great fear came on me, for the yard was overhung with a
bush-covered precipice, and the long icicles glittering, and there was
only the track round to the main road open.

"We're trapped, Dan; we're trapped."

"Trapped nane. Follow me, ye gomeril; there's a track up the broo,"
whispered McKinnon, and swung himself among the lowest of the bushes,
and we followed.

"I ken the very branches to put my hand on," says he, "and where every
stane is, for many's the night I ran the cutter for t