“Now,” said he, “there is a little clachan” (what is called a hamlet in the English) “not very far from Corrynakiegh, and it has the name of Koalisnacoan.  There there are living many friends of mine whom I could trust with my life, and some that I am no just so sure of.  Ye see, David, there will be money set upon our heads; James himsel’ is to set money on them; and as for the Campbells, they would never spare siller where there was a Stewart to be hurt.  If it was otherwise, I would go down to Koalisnacoan whatever, and trust my life into these people’s hands as lightly as I would trust another with my glove.”

“But being so?” said I.

“Being so,” said he, “I would as lief they didnae see me.  There’s bad folk everywhere, and what’s far worse, weak ones.  So when it comes dark again, I will steal down into that clachan, and set this that I have been making in the window of a good friend of mine, John Breck Maccoll, a bouman* of Appin’s.”

     A bouman is a tenant who takes stock from the landlord and
     shares with him the increase.

“With all my heart,” says I; “and if he finds it, what is he to think?”

“Well,” says Alan, “I wish he was a man of more penetration, for by my troth I am afraid he will make little enough of it!  But this is what I have in my mind.  This cross is something in the nature of the crosstarrie, or fiery cross, which is the signal of gathering in our clans; yet he will know well enough the clan is not to rise, for there it is standing in his window, and no word with it.  So he will say to himsel’, the clan is not to rise, but there is something.  Then he will see my button, and that was Duncan Stewart’s.  And then he will say to himsel’, the son of Duncan is in the heather, and has need of me.”

“Well,” said I, “it may be.  But even supposing so, there is a good deal of heather between here and the Forth.”

“And that is a very true word,” says Alan.  “But then John Breck will see the sprig of birch and the sprig of pine; and he will say to himsel’ (if he is a man of any penetration at all, which I misdoubt), Alan will be lying in A wood which is both of pines and birches.  Then he will think to himsel’, that is not so very rife hereabout; and then he will come and give us a look up in Corrynakiegh.  And if he does not, David, the devil may fly away with him, for what I care; for he will no be worth the salt to his porridge.”

“Eh, man,” said I, drolling with him a little, “you’re very ingenious!  But would it not be simpler for you to write him a few words in black and white?”

“And that is an excellent observe, Mr. Balfour of Shaws,” says Alan, drolling with me; “and it would certainly be much simpler for me to write to him, but it would be a sore job for John Breck to read it.  He would have to go to the school for two-three years; and it’s possible we might be wearied waiting on him.”