"Do you call yourself a man," said the interrogator, "who have done the deeds of a wolf?"
"I do," answered the outlaw; "I am a man like my forefathers—while wrapt in the mantle of peace, we were lambs—it was rent from us, and ye now call us wolves. Give us the huts ye have burned, our children whom ye have murdered, our widows whom ye have starved—collect from the gibbet and the pole the mangled carcases, and whitened sculls of our kinsmen—bid them live and bless us, and we will be your vassals and brothers—till then, let death, and blood, and mutual wrong, draw a dark veil of division between us."
"You will then do nothing for your liberty," said the Campbell.
"Any thing—but call myself the friend of your tribe," answered MacEagh.
"We scorn the friendship of banditti and Caterans," retorted Murdoch, "and would not stoop to accept it.—What I demand to know from you, in exchange for
