er of his life. His
restless, inquiring spirit kept him constantly on the move, and one
fine day he had roamed away up toward the north end of the island, and
so overstayed his time that night had fallen ere he reached the
outskirts of the city.

There were no street lights in those days, and, save where a friendly
gleam came from the window or open door of a house, the streets were
dark as pitch; hence there were many good chances for highwaymen to
practise their evil profession, which they were not slow to seize upon.

Donalblane had just got well into the city, when, as he passed through
a dark, narrow street, he heard a cry for help, followed by the sounds
of a violent struggle. At once the impulse to render aid took
possession of him, and he darted in the direction whence the sounds
came, grasping tightly his pistol, which he always carried with him. A
short run brought him to where three persons were struggling together,
one crying out for help, while the other two strove to smother his
cries and knock him senseless with their bludgeons.

"Hi, there, ye scoondrels!" shouted Donalblane. "Hands off, or I'll
shoot ye!"

As the words left his lips, one of the highwaymen got in so brutal a
blow that his victim fell limply to the ground; but the next instant
the report of the pistol rang out, and its bullet buried itself in the
ruffian's shoulder.

Completely taken by surprise--for neither of them had been aware of the
boy's swift approach--the rascals were so panic-stricken that they took
to their heels and disappeared around the corner, leaving Donalblane
with the seemingly lifeless form.

"The puir man, they've killed him, nae doot," he murmured sadly, as he
bent over the prostrate figure to feel if there were any signs of life
left.

He was thus engaged when a door near by opened, and out sprang a couple
of men, who rushed upon him and grasped him roughly, exclaiming--

"Ah--ah! now we've caught you red-handed! You'll swing high for this,
you villain!"

"Hoot, man, ye're quite wrong!" retorted Donalblane hotly. "I'm no'
the villain. I ran to help this man. 'Twas the robbers that killed
him."

But they refused to believe him, and others coming up, the poor boy was
like to have been roughly handled, when a grey-haired man, who spoke
with authority, commanded that he be brought to his house for
examination. When this had been done, and the men realised what a mere
lad he was, and what a frank, ho