"Jesu! Mary!" he said angrily.

"Angus, what is it?" his brother asked.

"Look, Jamie-boy! The herd is short by eight head. God's boots! The son of a bitch doubled back!" Then comprehension dawned in his eyes. "No wonder we could not find a trace of him. He hid himself up in the trees. That great branch over the water! Of course! He went into the stream, throwing the dogs off, and swung himself up into the trees. That's why there was no trace of him, the clever devil. I have been a ruddy fool! We have been neatly diddled." He turned to his head herdsman. "How many does that make in the last twelve-month, Donal?"

"An even dozen, my lord," the herdsman answered. "Four last autumn, and now eight today. 'Tis bold, our thief is."

"Aye," the laird agreed grimly. "Bold as newly polished brass and a wee bit too clever for my taste, but mayhap not clever enough. The ground is yet damp from yesterday's rain. Not wet enough to betray our fleet-footed robber, but certainly damp enough for the heavy-footed beasties he'll be driving to make their mark in the earth. I'll wager we can track my cattle now. We'll give our thief a good bit of time to believe he has managed to outfox us; then we'll see if we can find his trail and follow it to his lair. I want him to have time to reach his destination. I don't want my cows stampeding among the trees and doing themselves an injury."

The laird, his brother, and their men settled themselves down to wait for a time. Pipes were lit. Oatcakes and flasks of cider were pulled forth and consumed. The talk was low. Finally Angus Gordon rose to his feet. He stretched his length in leisurely fashion.

" 'Tis time," he told the others, and they all got to their feet obediently, pipes knocked free of ash, flasks empty. "All right now, laddies, let's go!" the laird said. "A silver piece to the man who first finds the trail!" The clansmen spread out and shortly found the track of the laird's pilfered cattle.