It took us two trips before we were done. The Rogue carried the heavier pieces, and I carried a few of the pipes as well as his tools, though he kept the musket, already primed with its charge, in his hand, the two weapons of the other men stuck down in his belt and his knife in his stocking. Eventually the effort of keeping up with Dunbar’s brisk march started to wear me out. I had fallen a good dozen paces behind when the Rogue paused to look back at me. “Ye’re not at yer full strength yet,” he said, not unkindly. “It willna hurt us to stop and catch a breath.” We were heading back to the cave: I recognized the stone gully. I thought to protest and make a show of courage, but he silenced me with a wave of his hand. “It’s a bad general that marches his men beyond their endurance. It’s nae more than a couple of days ago that ye were pounding at Death’s door like a laird’s factor come for the rent.” I laughed at that, and Dunbar gave a thin smile. “I’m glad Death didna answer,”
