e, "Here is my button back again, and I thank you for
parting with it, which is of a piece with all your friendships to me."
Then he took the warmest parting of the bouman. "For," says he, "ye have
done very well by me, and set your neck at a venture, and I will always
give you the name of a good man."

Lastly, the bouman took himself off by one way; and Alan I (getting our
chattels together) struck into another to resume our flight.

CHAPTER XXII

THE FLIGHT IN THE HEATHER: THE MOOR

Some seven hours' incessant, hard travelling brought us early in the
morning to the end of a range of mountains. In front of us there lay a
piece of low, broken, desert land, which we must now cross. The sun was
not long up, and shone straight in our eyes; a little, thin mist went up
from the face of the moorland like a smoke; so that (as Alan said) there
might have been twenty squadron of dragoons there and we none the wiser.

We sat down, therefore, in a howe of the hill-side till the mist should
have risen, and made ourselves a dish of drammach, and held a council of
war.

"David," said Alan, "this is the kittle bit. Shall we lie here till it
comes night, or shall we risk it, and stave on ahead?"

"Well," said I, "I am tired indeed, but I could walk as far again, if
that was all."

"Ay, but it isnae," said Alan, "nor yet the half. This is how we stand:
Appin's fair death to us. To the south it's all Campbells, and no to be
thought of. To the north; well, there's no muckle to be gained by going
north; neither for you, that wants to get to Queensferry, nor yet for
me, that wants to get to France. Well, then, we'll can strike east."

"East be it!" says I, quite cheerily; but I was thinking in to myself:
"O, man, if you would only take one point of the compass and let me take
any other, it would be the best for both of us."

"Well, then, east, ye see, we have the muirs," said Alan. "Once there,
David, it's mere pitch-and-toss. Out on yon bald, naked, flat place,
where can a body turn to? Let the red-coats come over a hill, they can
spy you miles away; and the sorrow's in their horses' heels, they would
soon ride you down. It's no good place, David; and I'm free to say, it's
worse by daylight than by dark."

"Alan," said I, "hear my way of it. Appin's death for us; we have none
too much money, nor yet meal; the longer they seek, the nearer they
may guess where we are; it's all a risk; and I give my word to go ahead
until w