Far up the long Highlands the Campbells were on their way. Loch Sloy and Glen Falloch, Rannoch's bleakness and Ben Alder's steepness, and each morning its own wet grass and misty brae, and each night its dreams on the springy heather.
A woman was weeping on Achadunan because that her man was gone and her chimney stone was cold, and Rob Donn's sporran was emptied at her feet, though he knew not so much as the name of her. But he took a thought and said, "I'll keep the half, for long's the way before us, and ill is travelling among strangers without a round-piece in the purse." That was but a day's march from Jean Rob, and she was making a supper of crowdie that was the first meal of the day.
On Spey-side was the camp of the Argylls, and card-play round the fires, with the muskets shining, and the pipes playing sweeter for slumber than for rouse.
"I will put my watch on this turn," said a black Lowlander in the heat of the game.
"Rob Donn's watch is the sun on Toman-uardar," said our hero, "but here are ten yellow Geordies," and out went his fortune among the roots of the gall.
"_Troosh! beannachd leat!_" and the coin was a jingle in the other one's pouch.
"I have plenty more where it came from, and cattle enough forbye," said our braggart, and he turned on his elbow whistling "Crodh Chailein."
But let them follow the drum who will, for us the story's beside the hearth. It is not a clatter of steel and the tulzies of Chevaliers, but the death of an only bairn.
In her house on the Lowlands road Jean Rob starved with the true Highland pride, that sets a face content against the world at kirk or market. Between her and a craving stomach lay but shell-fish and herbs, for she had not a plack to spend, and the little one got all the milk that came from Mally, the dappled one, drying up for calving. Break of day would see the woman, white, thin, keen-eyed, out on the ebb before the fishing-boats were in, splashing in the pools in the sand for partans and clabbie-doos, or with two ready fingers piercing the sand to pull the long spout-fish from his hiding. Or she would put little stakes in the sand, and between them a taut line with baited hooks to coax the fish at high tide. But ill was her luck, indeed, for few were the fish that came to the lure to be lifted again at ebb.