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Somewhere between the years 1726 and 1733, the rivalry between the M'Kenzies and the Farquharsons had nearly brought them to hostilities. Both parties levied their fighting men, and met in Corrie Bhu. The sages in both camps wished for a peaceable termination to the affair, and deputies passed backwards and forwards with the view of effecting this object. Among the M'Kenzies, one "voice was still for war." A dark, tall, powerful man, conspicuous among the M'Kenzies from the Farquharson camp, paced up and down exclaiming—

"Blood! blood !"

"Who," demanded Invercauld, who was then at the head of his name, "is that wild fellow ?"

"The Ephiteach," replied a deputy; "and he has sworn that, if a ball be shot to-day, it will be his endeavour to send the second through your heart."

The Ephiteach had the reputation of being a crack shot, and Invercauld felt he was at an unchancy near range; so it was found possible to come to an understanding.

In a short time came the "Forty-five," and, of course, Donald Dubh an t-Ephiteach and Donald Mac Robaidh-Mhoir marched out with the "Bra' lads" under Monaltrie, Auchindryne, and Balmoral. Of their deeds you will hear in due course: suffice it at present to say, that my two heroes distinguished themselves as might have been expected.

In consequence of this, none were more obnoxious than they to the nostrils of the red-coats who garrisoned Braemar Castle, after the suppression of this last Jacobite rising. Various schemes were resorted to without avail for their capture. One sergeant in particular, distinguished himself by his vexatious pursuit. He frequently broke in on the Ephiteach's mother, a fone widow, living as I have said in Auchindryne, where he continually boasted how he would serve her son could he only meet in with him alone. The widow, instructed by her son, at last informed the sergeant, that in a certain place in Coirenam-muc he would meet the Ephiteach, provided he went alone and without fire-arms. That moment the sergeant threw down his gun and set off. The Ephiteach, perched up on the top of the box bed, had heard all their conversation, and, quickly descending from his hiding place, was in time to keep the redcoat from waiting at the rendezvous. There was no need of words. Both silently drew their swords and fell to with heart and soul. You will have already heard enough not to wonder that our hero was victor. He first disarmed the sergeant, then brought him to the ground with a blow of the pommel of his sword, and, before he had recovered his senses, had his hands tightly bound behind his back.

"Now, sergeant," asked the Ephiteach, "suppose you had me as I have you, what would you do?"

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Indeed," replied he, “I should kill you."

Well, as you have been so candid, I will spare your life ; but you shall remember the Ephiteach to the latest day of

it."

So saying, he undid the sergeant's clothing, not leaving a stitch on his back, fastened them in a bundle, hung them round his neck, cut a number of supple birch-twigs, and wonderfully accelerated his return to the castle by a plentiful administration of birch-oil, through the Corrie, through Auchindryne, through Castletown, even on to the Castle Park gate. That sergeant never after shone in attempts at the capture of Domhnul Dubh an t-Ephiteach, though the efforts of the garrison were redoubled. Donald was vexed beyond endurance. Not only would the soldiers put down the "forty-five" men, but they had orders to deprive the Highlanders of their arms, their immemorial right to hunt and fish, aye, even of the liberty to wear their ancient costume. These tyrannical measures the men of the Braes o' Mar of all the highland districts, resisted most stoutly. Their costume they did not and would not throw aside. Time alone, and the influx of Saxons and Lowlanders wrought this change. So as the redcoats kept no measures with him, Donald would keep none with them. A little below Auchindryne, he fixed into the ground of a dusky evening, a torch on a long pole. This was on the Castletown side of the Cluny. With five or six loaded guns, he kept watch on the opposite side himself. As soon as the blaze of the torch was perceived from the castle, a party was ordered out to catch the supposed poachers. In a short time, they came streaming down the bank of the river to the spot where the torch was set up. Then, with sure aimevery shot telling the Ephiteach discharged gun after gun so rapidly, that the Saxons, believing a party of insurgents had laid an ambush for them, fled back in disorder to their quarters, leaving a number dead on the bank, which, in remembrance, still bears the name of "Putan Sassenich." This exasperated the English to still more unceasing and determined pursuit, and this again raised the Ephiteach's ire to indiscriminate vengeance. Now, it happened that the wife of one of the officers, near her confinement, required to be sent south to have, when necessary, the benefit of medical skill, a thing not to be thought of in Braemar. Her husband-Captain Miller-Muckle Miller, he was called-determined to convey her through Glenshee to the outposts of civilisation. The Ephiteach got notice of the intended journey, and lay in wait on the Cairnwall. Captain Miller duly made his appearance, mounted on a garron, his wife

en croupe. All at once, up started the Ephiteach in their path, with levelled gun.

"Swords and fair play!" cried Miller, who was a handsome, gallant soldier, perhaps even a match at that weapon for his terrible adversary.

"Such play," replied the exasperated Ephiteach, "as you order your men to give me and my countrymen, and that is, 'shoot them down, bayonet them, shoot them down!'

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And he fired. Owing to the plunging and curvetting of the horse, the captain was only wounded. The Ephiteach, therefore, re-loaded, and coming up again, shot him dead. The countryguide who shows you over the Cairnwall, will point out among the red heather the grave of Muckle Miller.

Donald seized the bridlereins warm from the dead man's hands, and, mounting in his place, desired to know whither his lady-who had not been in the least injured-wished to be conducted. To Ridorrach: very well, they jogged on, and by and by became quite friendly, so much so, indeed, that, before they reached their destination, the lady proposed to become the Ephiteach's wife. On his expressing himself shocked at such an unnatural proposal,

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Oh," replied she, "there is nothing very strange about it. Captain Miller killed my first husband."

The Ephiteach, however, did not think proper to be the third, and, having left the gallant widow at Ridorrach, set off on foot for his home, and that night slept in Glen Lui. There he fixed his headquarters for a time, and was only induced to change by a midnight call from the Redcoats, whose clutches he, with the greatest difficulty, escaped by flying naked to the Dee, clearing the Linn at a leap, and retreating into the wilds of Upper Glen Eye. It was suspected that the farmer with whom he lived, had betrayed him, and the man, though supported by all the garrisons of the Braes of Mar, found it necessary to depart to some far-off country.

It is an old saying, and it is true, "the piggie aye gangs to the wall till ae day;" and the "ae day" that the Ephiteach was not to escape, arrived. He and his cousin, Mac Robaidh Mhoir, were brought in chains to Invercauld. Some ceremony, it appears, had to be gone through before they could be shot, for, the head officer of the garrison happening to be in Aberdeen, they were thrust into the donjon till he should return. Invercauld was in no ways fond of having his countrymen treated after this fashion, though he might have been excused for bearing the Ephiteach a grudge, on account of the affair of Corrie Bhu. He caused the two prisoners in his donjon to be warned that, in the evening, and through the night, there would be

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revelry and rioting, feasting, dancing, and drinking, to celebrate the king's accession. In effect, they did keep it up, in style, and Invercauld, who then, like other lairds, had a still" of his own, made the waters of life abound. Coggie after coggie, bumpers you may be sure, were served round and round—aye, round about, till not only the coggies, but all the sky, and the whole earth, went round about and round about. The sentinels carried on the waltz as well, and all was maudlin mirth and madness. Then, with a kick, the Ephiteach split the dungeon door; then, with another, Mac Robaidh Mhoir "in splinders gart it flee." Then they both burst out. Then the commandant's secretary, who had avoided joining in the debauch, suspicious of treason, on hearing the fracas, rushed down the stairs. Then he wrenched a gun from a sentinel, prostrate over his bottle, who was gloriously singing,

"George is a merry boy,
Long may he reign."

Then, as the secretary made a charge down the corridor at our two hand-cuffed heroes, with the bayonet, to drive them back into prison, Invercauld's butler tripped him up (by mistake, of course). Then Mac Robaidh Mhoir and the Ephiteach jumped over him, and away to the hills, manacled as they were, where friends stood awaiting them. Then, once at a safe distance, the blacksmith of Auchindryne seized upon Black Donald the Egyptian, and set upon him with a file; and he of Castletown leaped upon Donald, the son of Robert the Mighty, and thundered at him with a hammer. Then their fetters fell on the ground like pieces of broken glass, and they stood once more free.

As they were receiving the congratulations of their friends, a messenger, in hot haste from Invercauld, arrived to say that the secretary had taken horse, and was gone for Aberdeen to his commandant, and that Invercauld was afraid a serious charge might be made out against him.

Let us go after him, Mac Robaidh Mhoir," said the Ephiteach. "We will surely be able to catch him before he reaches Aberdeen."

"Before he reaches Aboyne, you mean," replied Mac Robaidh Mhoir, striding away with his gun, brought by one of his friends, out of whose belt he took a dirk on loan.

"Messenger, tell Invercauld, if he see a bonfire on the top of Craig Chliny on the coming night, he may be sure we have stopped the Secretary ;" and the Ephiteach, helping himself to a sword, strode after his cousin.

Down through Philagie and Aberairder, down through Crathie

and Micras, and passing through foot of Gairn, the Donalds spied the Secretary riding hard before them, and just entering the pass of Ballater.

"Haste," said MacRobaidh Mhoir.

"On, then," replied Black Donald.

And on they went. It is not in the men of our days to equal their forefathers in agility and speed. Who now could, like William Auchindryne, of whom you will soon hear, walk to Edinburgh from his own home in one day, and come back the next? Who, like the old laird of Abergeldie, could thence go to and return from Aberdeen on the same day? Who will undertake the feat of the piper of Corgarff Castle, to walk thence to Aberdeen in eight hours, playing on his bag-pipes the whole way?

Mac Robaidh Mhoir and the Ephiteach could hear the clatter of the horse's hoofs as they rushed out of the pass, and bore forward on Tullich. On they sped. When they left Tullich behind them, the Secretary, in the grey light of morning, looking back from Tomnakiest, saw the Highlanders hurrying after him. He knew that the sight boded him no good, and so hurried at the utmost speed of his horse forward to Culbleen.

"Forward!" cried MacRobaidh Mhoir, waving his gun. Forward, forward ! As the two Donalds came down the height behind Camus O'May, the Secretary was careering only a gun-shot ahead. Down went MacRobaidh Mhoir on his knee; he levelled his gun, and fired. The horse rolled on the road, but the redcoat disengaged himself, and started on foot. Alas, the race must be short now! The Ephiteach is at last blown, but the terrible MacRobaidh Mhoir flies forward like the wind. In ten minutes he is on his victim.

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Spare a defenceless man!" cried the Ephiteach from behind. MacRobaidh Mhoir heard him, but he heeded not. Pity never entered the breast of MacRobaidh Mhoir, and he hewed the Secretary down with one blow. He was deaf to the Ephiteach's reproaches, and simply replied that "Dead men told no tales."

That evening, according to promise, the two worthies lit a bonfire on Craig Chliny, that warmed the blood of Invercauld in his chamber where he lay.

When the commandant returned to Invercauld, the soldiers, who had been all too jolly, could give but a very confused report of the escape of the two prisoners. Invercauld could not make the matter a whit plainer. The death of the Secretary was naturally enough laid to the hatred entertained by the country people towards the redcoats. Still the officer had his suspicions, and from quartering on Invercauld went to the castle, now re

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