When I had talked him over, the man made an apology of a sort, but he still looked dissatisfied. Then he turned roundly on us. “Do you know young Fassiefern?” he asked.
My companions disclaimed any knowledge save by repute, and even I had the grace to lie stoutly.
“If I thought you were friends of Ewan Cameron,” said he, “you should go no further. It’s well known that he lies in hiding in these hills, and this day he is to be routed out and sent to the place he deserves. If you meet a dark man of the middle size with two-three ragged Highlanders at his back, you will know that you have foregathered with Ewan Cameron and that King George’s men will not be far behind him.”
Then the Deacon unloosed the bands of his tongue and spoke a homily. “What have I to dae,” he cried, “with the graceless breed of the Camerons? If I saw this Ewan of Fassiefern on the bent then I wad be as hot to pursue him as any redcoat. Have I no suffered from him and his clan, and wad I no gladly see every yin o’ them clapped in the Tolbooth?” And with the word he turned to a Campbell for approval and received a fierce nod of his red head.
“I must let you pass, sirs,” said the captain, “but if you would keep out of harm’s way you will go back to the Levin shore. Ewan’s days of freedom are past, and he will be hemmed in by my men here and a like party from Fort William in front, and outflanked on both sides by other companies. I speak to you as honest gentlemen, and I bid you keep a good watch for the Cameron, if you would be in good grace with the King.” And without more ado he bade his men march.
Our company after this meeting was very glum for a mile or two. The Deacon’s ire had been roused by the hint of suspicion, and he grumbled to himself till his anger found vent in a free cursing of the whole neighbourhood and its people. “Deil take them,” he cried, “and shame that I should say it, but it’s a queer bit where an honest man canna gang his ways without a red-coated sodger casting een at him.” And Graham joined his plaint, till the whole gang lamented like a tinker’s funeral.
It was now about midday, and the weather, if aught, had grown fiercer. The mist was clearing, but blasts of chill snow drove down on our ears, and the strait pass before us was grey with the fall. In front lay the sheer mountains, the tangle of loch and broken rocks where Ewan lay hid, and into the wilderness ran our bridle-path. Somewhere on the hillsides were sentries, somewhere on the road before us was a troop of soldiers, and between them my poor cousin was fairly enclosed. I felt a sort of madness in my brain, as I thought of his fate. Here was I in the company of Whig traders, with no power to warn him, but going forward to see his capture.
A desperate thought struck me, and I slipped from my horse and made to rush into the bowels of the glen. Once there I might climb unseen up the pass, and get far enough in advance to warn him of his danger. My seeing him would be the wildest chance, yet I might take it. But as I left the path I caught a tree-root and felt my heels dangle in the void. That way lay sheer precipice. With a quaking heart I pulled myself up, and made my excuse of an accident as best I could to my staring companions.
Yet the whole pass was traversed without a sight of a human being. I watched every moment to see the troop of redcoats with Ewan in their grip. But no redcoats came; only fresh gusts of snow and the same dreary ribs of hill. Soon we had left the pass and were out on a windy neck of mountain where hags and lochans gloomed among the heather.
And then suddenly as if from the earth there sprang up three men. Even in the mist I saw the red Cameron tartan, and my heart leapt to my mouth. Two were great stalwart men, their clothes drenched and ragged, and the rust on their weapons. But the third was clearly the gentleman—of the middle size, slim, dressed well though also in some raggedness. At the sight the six of us stopped short and gazed dumbly at the three on the path.
I rushed forward and gripped my cousin’s hand. “Ewan,” I cried, “I am your cousin Townshend come north to put his back to yours. Thank God you are still unharmed;” and what with weariness and anxiety I had almost wept on his neck.
At my first step my cousin had raised his pistol, but when he saw my friendliness he put it back in his belt. When he heard of my cousinship his eyes shone with kindliness, and he bade me welcome to his own sorry country. “My dear cousin,” he said, “you have found me in a perilous case and ill-fitted to play the host. But I bid you welcome for a most honest gentleman and kinsman to these few acres of heather that are all now left to me.”
And then before the gaping faces of my comrades I stammered out my story. “Oh, Ewan, there’s death before and behind you and on all sides. There’s a troop waiting down the road and there are dragoons coming at your back. You cannot escape, and these men with me are Whigs and Glasgow traders, and no friends to
