“Donald dear, don’t you think it will be more comfortable for Mr Fletcher and Duncan if these questions are discussed indoors? Poor Mr Fletcher must be famished. He was expecting dinner over two hours ago when he so kindly offered to attend to the hikers. Come along, Mr Fletcher. Dinner’s waiting for you. Catriona! Mary! I’m glad you were able to be of little some assistance to poor Mr Fletcher, but I think you ought to go in now and tidy yourselves. In fact I think the sooner we all go indoors the better. You agree, don’t you, Donald?”

The Chieftain led the way back to the Great Hall, where long after the rest of the party had gone off to bed tired out by exercise, excitement and the strong air of Glenbogle he and the laird of Kilwhillie sat with their whisky, going over the events of this great day.

“By the way, Hugh,” he said as he poured out the deoch an doruis or drink at the door to speed Kilwhillie on the road to bed, “I don’t know if you heard Iain saying at dinner that he had seen two Scottish Nationalists in Glenbogle the day before yesterday.”

Kilwhillie tugged at the ends of his long moustache, which by this time of the day met in a droop over his chin.

“No, I didn’t hear that,” he said gravely.

“I wouldn’t bet much they aren’t camping somewhere around,” Ben Nevis went on.

“Oh, they’d hardly have the impudence to do that, Donald.”

“Wouldn’t they? Hugh, my boy, these Scottish Nationalists have impudence enough for anything. They’re worse than hikers. They’re worse than Bolshies. In fact they are Bolshies, only worse, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said Kilwhillie, disentangling the ends of his moustache which showed signs of twining round one another like two strands of badly-trained honeysuckle. “Well, we don’t want these fellows upsetting people in Inverness-shire. It’s difficult enough to keep the rates within reasonable bounds as it is without a lot of Bolshie agitators from Glasgow.”

“Quite,” Ben Nevis agreed. “Well, I’ve discovered a way to deal with hikers and I’m not going to be defied by Scottish Nationalists. Look here, you’d better have another jockendorrus.”

“Well, perhaps one more.”

Mac ’ic Eachainn raised his glass solemnly.

“If I find these Scottish Nationalists have been camping on my land, Hugh, I’ll tell you what I shall do. I shall have them thrown into the nearest loch.”

“Suppose they were drowned?”

Mac ’ic Eachainn drank down his second deoch an doruis.

“Well, that’s that, if you see what I mean.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Kilwhillie admitted, swallowing his second deoch an doruis. “But I think Beatrice mightn’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, she spoke to me after dinner while you were superintending that door business …”