Chapter XXXII: Killearn Carried Off

Rob Roy turned over leaf after leaf of the ledger, examined the whole of the rental, drew from the farmers those sums which the chamberlain had not yet received, and, pocketing a total of £3,227. 2s. 8d. (Scots), with great formality granted receipts in full.

"I will have a due count and reckoning," said he, "with the Duke of Montrose, when his grace repays me the sum of 3,400 merks Scots----"

"For what?" asked Killearn, gathering courage.

"Dare _you_ ask me for what? For the havoc made on my property by the troops whom Lord Cadogan sent to Craigrostan, and to burn my dwelling-house at Auchinchisallan; to say nothing of the heirship of my lands at Inversnaid. When all these damages have been repaired and repaid, I will then consider the _older_ scores (anent our unlucky cattle speculation) that exist between your master and me."

"Suppose all this were done," said Killearn, "would you give up your predatory habits, which keep the whole Highland border in hot water; and would you teach your people those of industry?"

"Killearn, as for predatory habits, think you a Highlander ever felt his conscience prick him for taking _spreaths_ of cattle from his natural foemen the Lowlanders? And as for habits of industry, a kilted duinewassal at a shop-counter, or seated at the loom, would be like an eagle in a cage, or a red-deer yoked to a plough," said Rob, with an angry laugh.

"How will this wild life of yours end, MacGregor?"

"_Not_ where you anxiously wish it may end--on the gallows-tree; but it shall end when our wrongs are righted."

"At civil law you have----"

"What!" interrupted MacGregor, with a fierce and hollow laugh, "would you have me, upon whose head a price has been set for these nine years past, sneak into the Lawyers' Court at Dunedin, among truculent Whigs and psalm-singing pharisees, to crave and beg the restoration of my patrimony? The hills, with all their woods and waters, were given to the Gael in the days of old, to be their dwelling-place and inheritance, and none but He hath a right to deprive us of them."

"Then we part in peace, MacGregor?" urged Killearn.

"Part--far from it, my good chamberlain," said Rob.

"How?" asked Killearn, uneasily.

"I must have the pleasure of your company with me into the Highlands."

Killearn again grew deadly pale, and faltered out,--

"For what purpose?"

"To be kept as a hostage until Montrose pays me the sum of 3,400 merks which he is justly owing me."

"If he refuses?"

"Then, I will hang you, John Grahame of Killearn, on the highest tree that grows by the banks of Loch Katrine! Away with him, Greumoch. Good night, gentlemen all. Alpine, strike up; the _glomain_ grows apace, and we must begone to the mountains with speed."

In less than an hour after this the unfortunate factor found himself on the march with Rob Roy's men among the hills of Buchanan, from whence the whole clan, with their spoil, departed under cloud of night, by Auchintroig and Gartmore, and through the pass of Aberfoyle towards the Trossachs.

In irony the piper played before him all the way, till, at a place near Loch Ard, Alpine suddenly stopped as they passed a green knoll.

"Why do you pause?" asked MacGregor.

Alpine pointed to the green knoll. It was a haunt of the fairies, who had decoyed therein his own grandfather, also a piper (for he played the clan into the action at Glenfruin), and he was seen no more till on a Halloween night, about fifty years after. His son, then an aged man, on passing, saw the hillock open like a chamber, and his father, still young and beardless, playing vigorously to hundreds of quaint little dancers in green doublets and conical hats.

On finding himself conveyed into that Highland wilderness, whither few Lowlanders dared to venture in those days, all hope for the future died away in the heart of the unhappy Grahame of Killearn.

Chance of escape he had none. He was secured by a rope round his waist, and this was tied to the girdle of Greumoch MacGregor, who, regardless of the failing strength and weak limbs of the dapper little chamberlain, marched sullenly on, with his poleaxe on his shoulder, a short tobacco-pipe in his mouth, and his vast plaid floating behind him, dragging his prisoner over rocks and stones, up steep ascents and down foaming watercourses, without pity or remorse, and without giving him time either to breathe or implore rest and pity.

With growing terror Grahame remembered his treatment of the wife of MacGregor, when he pillaged Inversnaid, though under colour and authority of the civil law; he knew that it was by his counsels that the powerful Duke of Montrose had ruined poor Rob, and driven him to the hillside as an outlaw and reiver; and he gave himself up for utterly lost when the wild pass of Aberfoyle closed upon the rear of the marching band, and the vast spoil of cattle they had collected at the point of the sword.