The man replaced his pistol.

“You are an outspoken lad,” he said laughing, “and a fearless one.  I believe that your story is true, for no German boor would have looked me in the face and answered so quietly; but I have heard that the Scotch scarce know what danger is, though they will find Tilly and Pappenheim very different customers to the Poles.”

“Which side do you fight on?” Malcolm asked.

“A frank question and a bold one!” the leader laughed.  “What say you, men?  Whom are we for just at present?  We were for the Imperialists the other day, but now they have marched away, and as it may be the Swedes will be coming in this direction, I fancy that we shall soon find ourselves on the side of the new religion.”

The men laughed.  “What shall we do with this boy?  To begin with, if he is what he says, no doubt he has some money with him.”

Malcolm at once drew out his purse.  “Here are nine gold pieces,” he said.  “They are all I have, save some small change.”

“That is better than nothing,” the leader said, pocketing the purse.  “And now what shall we do with him?”

“He is a Protestant,” one of the men replied; “best shoot him.”

“I should say,” another said, “that we had best make him our cook.  Old Rollo is always grumbling at being kept at the work, and his cooking gets worse and worse.  I could not get my jaws into the meat this morning.”

A murmur of agreement was raised by the other horsemen.

“So be it,” the leader said.  “Dost hear, lad?  You have the choice whether you will be cook to a band of honourable gentlemen or be shot at once.”

“The choice pleases me not,” Malcolm replied.  “Still, if it must needs be, I would prefer for a time the post of cook to the other alternative.”

“And mind you,” the leader said sharply, “at the first attempt to escape we string you up to the nearest bough.  Carl, do you lead him back and set him to work, and tell the men there to keep a sharp watch upon him.”

One of the men turned his horse, and, with Malcolm walking by his side, left the party.  They soon turned aside from the road, and after a ride of five miles across a rough and broken country entered a wood.  Another half mile and they reached the foot of an eminence, on the summit of which stood a ruined castle.  Several horses were picketed among the trees at the foot of the hill, and two men were sitting near them cleaning their arms.  The sight of these deterred Malcolm from carrying into execution the plan which he had formed —­ namely, to strike down his guard with his club as he dismounted, to leap on his horse, and ride off.

“Who have you there, Carl?” one of the men asked as they rose and approached the newcomers.

“A prisoner,” Carl said, “whom the captain has appointed to the honourable office of cook instead of old Rollo, whose food gets harder and tougher every day.  You are to keep a sharp eye over the lad, who says he is a Scotch officer of the Swedes, and to shoot him down if he attempts to escape.”