olk (however far
out), and strangers too, moreover? And then the low door opened, and
the innkeeper entered from the taproom, a dark man, very heavy across
the shoulders, and a little bent on his legs like a sailor. I had seen
him as we entered, black-bearded, silent, with his two swarthy sons,
eyeing his company from below pent-house brows. His eyes, blue and
keen, took us in from stem to stern, as the sailors say, and he came
close to Dan before the fire, and--

"Ay," says he, "it'll be the boat again," and his voice was a growl.

"Just that," says Dan, sipping his drink, and then he talked quickly,
and I heard him tell of Mirren Stuart's message and of Dol Rob Beag's
treachery (for he had taken the word to the Preventives of where McGilp
kept his cargo in the cove above the Snib before it was carted inland,
or stowed in many an innocent-looking smack bound for the mainland).

"Dol Rob Beag will be slipping his cable one of these fine nights,"
growled the listener; and then, "There's just the caves at the Rhu
Ban," [1] says he.

"I had that in my head," says Dan, "for the gangers are in the Cove at
Bealach an sgadan, and McGilp will be in the Channel. McDearg o' the
Isle House is in this to his oxters. There's just nothing for it but
to show a glim on the seaward side o' the Isle, and McGilp will take
the _Gull_ to the Rhu Ban when the wind takes off; but, man, it's
risky, devilish risky, wi' the bay fou o' boats."

"It's the deil's own night," agreed the innkeeper, "black as pitch and
blowing smoke, but the snow will be helping us too," and then we sat
before the fire all silent for a while, the goodwife busy with her
infusions and brews.

"Will ye be remembering the night they pressganged McKillop?" thus
suddenly to Dan.

"A droll night's work yon."

"Ye see," turning to me, "this Neil McKillop would be a likely lad,
clever on the boats, and clever wi' the snares--ay, clever, clever--and
kept his mother well. Ay--well, there came a night like this, but not
so much wind, and the pressgang boat slipped into the bay, and nobody
knowing, and ashore came the crew o' her, and many's the likely lad
they took, and among them Neil McKillop. The boat would just be
shoving off from the old Stone Quay when his mother came there in her
white mutch.

"'Give me back my son, my only son,' she cried, standing on the
quay-head; 'you will not be taking away the one that keeps me in meat
and drink, me an old, old wom