The chauffeur, Carfrae, was in the Yeomanry, and lost half a foot;
and there's myself, as lame as a duck. The herds on the home farm
are no good, for one's seventy and the other is in bed with jaundice.
The Mains can produce four men, but they're rather a job lot."

"They'll do fine," said Dickson heartily. "All sodgers, and no
doubt all good shots. Have you plenty guns?"

Sir Archie burst into uproarious laughter. "Mr. McCunn, you're a man
after my own heart. I'm under your orders. If I had a boy I'd put
him into the provision trade, for it's the place to see fightin'.
Yes, we've no end of guns. I advise shot-guns, for they've more
stoppin' power in a rush than a rifle, and I take it it's a
rough-and-tumble we're lookin' for."

"Right," said Dickson. "I saw a bicycle in the hall. I want you to
lend it me, for I must be getting back. You'll take the Princess
and do the best you can with the Chief Constable."

"And then?"

"Then you'll load up your car with your folk, and come down the
hill to Dalquharter. There'll be a laddie, or maybe more than one,
waiting for you on this side the village to give you instructions.
Take your orders from them. If it's a red-haired ruffian called
Dougal you'll be wise to heed what he says, for he has a grand
head for battles."

Five minutes later Dickson was pursuing a quavering course like a
snipe down the avenue. He was a miserable performer on a bicycle.