“Why, I thought those Scots were very devils to fight,” one of the men said, “and this is but a boy.  How comes he here?”

“He told the captain his story, and he believed it,” Carl said carelessly, “and the captain is not easily taken in.  He was captured by Tilly at New Brandenburg, which town we heard yesterday he assaulted and sacked, killing every man of the garrison; but it seems this boy put on a disguise, and being but a boy I suppose passed unnoticed, and was taken off as a teamster with Tilly’s army.  He gave them the slip, but as he has managed to fall into our hands I don’t know that he has gained much by the exchange.  Now, youngster, go up to the castle.”

Having picketed his horse the man led the way up the steep hill.  When they reached the castle Malcolm saw that it was less ruined than it had appeared to be from below.  The battlements had indeed crumbled away, and there were cracks and fissures in the upper parts of the walls, but below the walls were still solid and unbroken, and as the rock was almost precipitous, save at the point at which a narrow path wound up to the entrance, it was still capable of making a stout defence against attack.

A strong but roughly made gate, evidently of quite recent make, hung on the hinges, and passing through it Malcolm found himself in the courtyard of the castle.  Crossing this he entered with his guide what had once been the principal room of the castle.  A good fire blazed in the centre; around this half a dozen men were lying on a thick couch of straw.  Malcolm’s guide repeated the history of the newcomer, and then passed through with him into a smaller apartment, where a man was attending to several sauce pans over a fire.

“Rollo,” he said, “I bring you a substitute.  You have been always grumbling about being told off for the cooking, just because you happened to be the oldest of the band.  Here is a lad who will take your place, and tomorrow you can mount your horse and ride with the rest of us.”

“And be poisoned, I suppose, with bad food when I return,” the man grumbled —­ “a nice lookout truly.”

“There’s one thing, you old grumbler, it is quite certain he cannot do worse than you do.  My jaws ache now with trying to eat the food you gave us this morning.  Another week and you would have starved the whole band to death.”

“Very well,” the man said surlily; “we will see whether you have gained by the exchange.  What does this boy know about cooking?”

“Very little, I am afraid,” Malcolm said cheerfully; “but at least I can try.  If I must be a cook I will at least do my best to be a good one.  Now, what have you got in these pots?”

Rollo grumblingly enumerated their contents, and then putting on his doublet went out to join his comrades in the hall, leaving Malcolm to his new duties.