likely," said the bard; "it's the back we see
oftenest of the bonny gentleman."

M'Iver grew livid to the very lip, and sprang to his feet, dutching
with great menace the black knife he had been whittling with. Not a bit
abashed, the bard pulled out his dirk, and there was like to be a pretty
to-do when I put between them.

The issue of the quarrel that thus I retarded was postponed altogether
by a circumstance that changed the whole course of our adventure in this
wild country,--severed us at a sharp wrench from the Campbell regiments,
and gave us the chance--very unwelcome it was--of beholding the manner
of war followed by Alasdair MacDonald's savage tribes. It happened in a
flash, without warning. No blow had been struck by the two gentlemen
at variance, when we were all three thrown to the ground, and the bound
prisoners of a squad of Macgregors who had got out of the thicket and
round us unobserved in the heat of the argument.

They treated us all alike--the bard as curt as the Campbells, in spite
of his tartan,--and without exchanging any words with us marched us
before them on a journey of several hours to Kilcumin.

Long or ever we reached Kilcumin we were manifestly in the neighbourhood
of Montrose's force. His pickets held the road; the hillsides moved with
his scouts. On a plain called Leiter-nan-lub the battalion lay camped, a
mere fragment of the force that brought ruin to Argile: Athol men under
the Tutor of Struan, Stewarts of Appin, Maclans of Glencoe, a few of the
more sedate men of Glengarry, Keppoch, and Maclean, as well as a handful
of the Gregaraich who had captured us. It was the nightfall when we were
turned into the presence of Sir Alasdair, who was sitting under a few
ells of canvas playing cartes with some chieftains by the light of a
fir-root fire.

"Whom have we here?" said he, never stopping for more than a glimpse of
us.

"Two Campbells and a man who says he's bard of Keppoch," he was told.

"A spy in an honest tartan, no doubt," said Sir Alas-dair; "but well put
it to the test with Keppoch himself: tell him to come over and throw an
eye on the fellow."

Keppoch was sent for, and came across from a fire at another part of the
field, a hiccough at his throat and a blear look in his eye as one that
has been overly brisk with the bottle, but still and on the gentleman
and in a very good humour.

"Here's my bard sure enough!" he cried. "John, John, what do you seek in
Kilcumin, and i