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familiarly known in the district as "the Communion stones ofIrongray."

  CHAPTER TWO.

  THE "FANATIC" AND THE "SPY."

  The night was dark and threatening when Andrew Black and his shepherdleft their cottage, and quickly but quietly made for the neighbouringhill. The weather was well suited for deeds of secrecy, for gusts ofwind, with an occasional spattering of rain, swept along the hill-face,and driving clouds obscured the moon, which was then in its firstquarter.

  At first the two men were obliged to walk with care, for the light wasbarely sufficient to enable them to distinguish the sheep-track whichthey followed, and the few words they found it necessary to speak wereuttered in subdued tones. Jean Black and her cousin Aggie Wilson hadreported their _rencontre_ with the two dragoons, and Quentin Dick hadhimself seen the main body of the troops from behind a heather bush onhis way back to the farm, therefore caution was advisable. But as theyclimbed Skeoch Hill, and the moon shed a few feeble rays on their path,they began to converse more freely. For a few minutes their intercourserelated chiefly to sheep and the work of the farm, for both Andrew andhis man were of that sedate, imperturbable nature which is not easilythrown off its balance by excitement or danger. Then their thoughtsturned to the business in hand.

  "Nae fear o' the sodgers comin' here on a nicht like this," remarkedAndrew, as a squall nearly swept the blue bonnet off his head.

  "Maybe no," growled Quentin Dick sternly, "but I've heard frae TamChanter that servants o' that Papist Earl o' Nithsdale, an' o' thescoondrel Sir Robert Dalziel, hae been seen pokin' their noses aboot atIrongray. If they git wund o' the place, we're no likely to hae a quiettime o't. Did ye say that the sodgers ill-used the bairns?"

  "Na!--ane o' them was inclined to be impident, but the ither, aguid-lookin' young felly, accordin' to Jean, took their pairt an'quarrelled wi' his comrade, sae that they cam to loggerheeds at last,but what was the upshot naebody kens, for the bairns took to their heelsan' left them fechtin'."

  "An' what if they sud fin' yer hoose an' the bairns unproteckit?" askedthe shepherd.

  "They're no likely to fin' the hoose in a nicht like this, man; an' ifthey do, they'll fin' naebody but Ramblin' Peter there, for I gied thelassies an' the women strick orders to tak' to the hidy-hole at thefirst soond o' horses' feet."

  By this time the men had reached a secluded hollow in the hill, socompletely enclosed as to be screened from observation on all sides.They halted here a few moments, for two dark forms were seen in theuncertain light to be moving about just in front of them.

  "It's them," whispered Andrew.

  "Whae?" asked the shepherd.

  "Alexander McCubine an' Edward Gordon."

  "Guid an' safe men baith," responded Quentin; "ye better gie them acry."

  Andrew did so by imitating the cry of a plover. It was replied to atonce.

  "The stanes are big, ye see," explained Andrew, while the two men wereapproaching. "It'll tak' the strength o' the fowr o' us to lift some o'them."

  "We've got the cairn aboot finished," said McCubine as he came up. Hespoke in a low voice, for although there was no probability of any onebeing near, they were so accustomed to expect danger because of theinnumerable enemies who swarmed about the country, that caution hadalmost become a second nature.

  Without further converse the four men set to work in silence. Theycompleted a circular heap, or cairn, of stones three or four feet high,and levelled the top thereof to serve as a table or a pulpit at theapproaching assembly. In front of this, and stretching towards asloping brae, they arranged four rows of very large stones to serve asseats for the communicants, with a few larger stones between them, as iffor the support of rude tables of plank. It took several hours tocomplete the work. When it was done Andrew Black surveyed it withcomplacency, and gave it as his opinion that it was a "braw kirk,capable o' accommodatin' a congregation o' some thoosands, mair orless." Then the two men, Gordon and McCubine, bidding him and theshepherd good-night, went away into the darkness from which they hademerged.

  "Whar'll they be sleepin' the nicht?" asked the shepherd, as he andAndrew turned homeward.

  "I' the peat-bog, I doot, for I daurna tak' them hame whan the dragoonsis likely to gie us a ca'; besides, the hidy-hole wull be ower fu' soon.Noo, lad," he added, as they surmounted a hillock, from which they hada dim view of the surrounding country, "gang ye doon an' see if ye canfin' oot onything mair aboot thae sodgers. I'll awa' hame an see thata's right there."

  They parted, the shepherd turning sharp off to the right, while thefarmer descended towards his cottage. He had not advanced above halfthe distance when an object a little to the left of his path induced himto stop. It resembled a round stone, and was too small to haveattracted the attention of any eye save one which was familiar withevery bush and stone on the ground. Grasping a stout thorn stick whichhe carried, Andrew advanced towards the object in question with catlikecaution until quite close to it, when he discovered that it was the headof a man who was sleeping soundly under a whin-bush. A closerinspection showed that the man wore an iron headpiece, a soldier's coat,and huge jack-boots.

  "A dragoon and a spy!" thought Andrew, while he raised his cudgel, theonly weapon he carried, and frowned. But Andrew was a merciful man; hecould not bring himself to strike a sleeping man, even though waking himmight entail a doubtful conflict, for he could see that the trooper'shand grasped the hilt of his naked sword. For a few moments he surveyedthe sleeper, as if calculating his chances, then he quietly dropped hisplaid, took off his coat, and untying his neckcloth, laid it carefullyon one side over a bush. Having made these preparations, he kneltbeside Will Wallace--for it was he--and grasped him firmly by the throatwith both hands.

  As might have been expected, the young trooper attempted to spring up,and tried to use his weapon; but, finding this to be impossible at suchclose quarters, he dropped it, and grappled the farmer with all hismight; but Andrew, holding on to him like a vice, placed his knee uponhis chest and held him firmly down.

  "It's o' nae manner o' use to strive, ye see," said Andrew, relaxing hisgrip a little; "I've gotten ye, an' if ye like to do my biddin' I'll nobe hard on ye."

  "If you will let me rise and stand before me in fair fight, I'll do yourbusiness if not your bidding," returned Wallace in a tone of what may betermed stern sulkiness.

  "Div ye think it's likely I'll staund before you in fair fecht, as youca'd--you wi' a swurd, and me wi' a bit stick, my lad? Na, na, ye'llhae to submit, little though ye like it."

  "Give me the stick, then, and take you the sword, I shall be content,"said the indignant trooper, making another violent but unsuccessfuleffort to free himself.

  "It's a fair offer," said Andrew, when he had subdued the poor youth asecond time, "an' reflec's favourably on yer courage, but I'm a man o'peace, an' have no thirst for bloodshed--whilk is more than ye can say,young man; but if ye'll let me tie yer hands thegither, an' gangpeaceably hame wi' me, I's promise that nae mischief'll befa' ye."

  "No man shall ever tie my hands together as long as there is life in mybody," replied the youth.

  "Stop, stop, callant!" exclaimed Andrew, as Will was about to renew thestruggle. "The pride o' youth is awful. Hear what I've gotten to sayto ye, man, or I'll hae to throttle ye ootright. It'll come to the samething if ye'll alloo me to tie ane o' _my_ hands to ane o' yours. Yecanna objec' to that, surely, for I'll be your prisoner as muckle asyou'll be mine--and that'll be fair play, for we'll leave the swurdlyin' on the brae to keep the bit stick company."

  "Well, I agree to that," said Wallace, in a tone that indicated surprisewith a dash of amusement.

  "An' ye promise no' to try to get away when you're tied to--when _I'm_tied to _you_?"

  "I promise."

  Hereupon the farmer, reaching out his hand, picked up the black silkneckcloth which he had laid aside, and with it firmly bound his own leftwrist to the right wrist of his captive, talking in a grave, subduedtone as he did so.

  "Nae d
oot the promise o' a spy is hardly to be lippened to, but if Ifind that ye're a dishonourable man, ye'll find that I'm anuncomfortable prisoner to be tied to. Noo, git up, lad, an' we'll ganghame thegither."

  On rising, the first thing the trooper did was to turn and take a steadylook at the man who had