This act of defiance made Ben Nevis more than ever determined to strike a decisive blow at the enemy’s heart, and besides Chester Royde and old Duncan, Iain and a couple of gillies were brought in to strengthen his force. Kilwhillie had gone home two or three days before.

“I’m a little doubtful about that kilt of yours, Royde,” Ben Nevis said when the punitive expedition was mustering after breakfast that Saturday. “I’m afraid it’ll give us away long before we reach the Black Corrie where these brutes are camping.”

“Well, my purple kilt came along from Inverness yesterday. I’ll put that on.”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Ben Nevis decided when he saw it. “You’ll look like a patch of heather, what?”

Duncan was waiting for them where the bridle-path that led to the fastnesses of the Three Sisters of Glenbogle joined the road.

“I did not bring the ponies, Ben Nevis,” he explained. “It’s no more than four miles from here to the Black Corrie.”

“You’d better come back for us at one o’clock, Johnnie,” Ben Nevis said to his chauffeur. “And tell Archie MacColl to bring the lorry for our prisoners.”

Johnnie Macpherson touched his cap and after turning the Daimler with some difficulty drove off.

“Now look here, Iain,” he said to his youngest son, “I want you and Lachy and Roddy to work round to the other side of the corrie and cut off the retreat of any of the hikers who get away from us. How many do you think there are in this camp, Duncan?”

“It was Roddy who saw them on Thursday. How many, Roddy, did you see?”

“I would say there were six of them,” the gillie replied.

“Did they speak to you?”

“There was a fellow with a huge great chin on him asked me was we having trouble at the Castle. ‘What trouble would we be having at the Castle?’ I said. And he just laughed.”

“Come on, Ben Nevis,” Chester Royde urged. “What are we waiting for?”