"I thought you would tell it," laughed Niall Mor. "There was never one of your clan but had a tight grip of his little life."
"Ay!" said Calum Dubh; "but it's _my_ secret. I had it from one who made me swear on the holy steel to keep it; but take me to Carnus, and I'll make you the heather-ale."
"But there's this in it, I can look no clansmen nor kin in the face after telling it, so Art and Uileam must be out of the way first."
Uileam shook like a leaf, and Art laughed, with his face still to Shira, for he had guessed his father's mind.
"Faith!" said Niall Mor, "and that's an easy thing enough," and he nodded to John-Without-Asking.
The man made stay nor tarry. He put a hand on each son's back and pushed them over the edge to their death below. One cry came up to the listening Diarmaids, one cry and no more--the last gasp of a craven.
"Now we'll take you to Camus, and you'll make us the ale, the fine ale, the cream of rich heather-ale," said Niall Mor, putting a knife to the thongs that tied MacKellar's arms to his side.
With a laugh and a fast leap Calum Dubh stood back on the edge of the rock again.
"Crook-mouths, fools, pigs' sons! did ye think it?" he cried. "Come with me and my sons and ye'll get ale, ay, and death's black wine, at the foot of Scaurnoch." He caught fast and firm at John-Without-Asking, and threw himself over the rock-face. They fell as the scart dives, straight to the dim sea of mist and pine-tip, and the Diarmaids threw themselves on their breasts to look over. There was nothing to see of life but the crows swinging on black feathers; there was nothing to hear but the crows scolding.
Niall Mor put the bonnet on his head and said his first and last friendly thing of a foe.
"Yon," said he, "had the heart of a man!"
FROM Knapdale to Lorn three wandering clans share the country between them, and of the three the oldest and the greatest are the swart Macdonalds, children of the Old Boboon.
You will come on them on Wade's roads,--jaunty fellows, a bit dour in the look, and braggart; or girls with sloe-eyes, tall and supple, not with a flat slouching foot on the soil, but high in the instep, bounding and stag-sure. At their head will be a long lean old man on crutches--John Fine Macdonald--