Sir Walter's, a man very ready with the pistol, the last, as was
commonly said, of the Highland chiefs, was of the name and blood of
Pickle, and would have taken up Pickle's feud. Sir Walter was not to
be moved by pistols, but not even for the sake of a good story would
he hurt the sensibilities of a friend, or tarnish the justly
celebrated loyalty of the Highlands.

Now the friend of Scott, the representative of Pickle in Scott's
generation, was a Highlander, and Pickle was not only a traitor, a
profligate, an oppressor of his tenantry, and a liar, but (according
to Jacobite gossip which reached 'King James') a forger of the King's
name! Moreover he was, in all probability, one fountain of that
reproach, true or false, which still clings to the name of the brave
and gentle Archibald Cameron, the brother of Lochiel, whom Pickle
brought to the gallows. If we add that, when last we hear of Pickle,
he is probably engaged in a double treason, and certainly meditates
selling a regiment of his clan, like Hessians, to the Hanoverian
Government, it will be plain that his was no story for Scott to tell.

Pickle had, at least, the attraction of being eminently handsome. No
statelier gentleman than Pickle, as his faded portrait shows him in
full Highland costume, ever trod a measure at Holyrood. Tall,
athletic, with a frank and pleasing face, Pickle could never be taken
for a traitor and a spy. He seemed the fitting lord of that
castellated palace of his race, which, beautiful and majestic in
decay, mirrors itself in Loch Oich. Again, the man was brave; for he
moved freely in France, England, and Scotland, well knowing that the
skian was sharpened for his throat if he were detected. And the most
extraordinary fact in an extraordinary story is that Pickle WAS
detected, and denounced to the King over the water by Mrs. Archibald