ay to be
rid of quaking knees is to keep a busy mind.

He crossed the ridge of the plateau and looked down on the Garple glen.
There were the lights of Dalquharter--or rather a single light, for the
inhabitants went early to bed. His intention was to seek quarters with
Mrs. Morran, when his eye caught a gleam in a hollow of the moor a
little to the east. He knew it for the camp-fire around which Dougal's
warriors bivouacked. The notion came to him to go there instead, and
hear the news of the day before entering the cottage. So he crossed the
bridge, skirted a plantation of firs, and scrambled through the broom
and heather in what he took to be the right direction.

The moon had gone down, and the quest was not easy. Dickson had come
to the conclusion that he was on the wrong road, when he was summoned
by a voice which seemed to arise out of the ground.

"Who goes there?"

"What's that you say?"

"Who goes there?" The point of a pole was held firmly against his
chest.

"I'm Mr. McCunn, a friend of Dougal's."

"Stand, friend." The shadow before him whistled and another shadow
appeared. "Report to the Chief that there's a man here, name o'
McCunn, seekin' for him."

Presently the messenger returned with Dougal and a cheap lantern which
he flashed in Dickson's face.

"Oh, it's you," said that leader, who had his jaw bound up as if he had
the toothache. "What are ye doing back here?"

"To tell the truth, Dougal," was the answer, "I couldn't stay away. I
was fair miserable when I thought of Mr. Heritage and you laddies left
to yourselves. My conscience simply wouldn't let me stop at home, so
here I am."

Dougal grunted, but clearly he approved, for from that moment he
treated Dickson with a new respect. Formerly when he had referred to
him at all it had been as "auld McCunn." Now it was "Mister McCunn."
He was given rank as a worthy civilian ally. The bivouac was a
cheerful place in the wet night. A great fire of pine roots and old
paling posts hissed in the fine rain, and around it crouched several
urchins busy making oatmeal cakes in the embers. On one side a
respectable lean-to had been constructed by nailing a plank to two
fir-trees, running sloping poles thence to the ground, and thatching
the whole with spruce branches and heather. On the other side two
small dilapidated home-made tents were pitched. Dougal motioned his
companion into the lean-to, where they had some privacy from the rest