(He sides up to Lazarus, fixing him with his eye, and then he begins to speak, quietly and quickly, as if the word are a stream he cannot control, nor would he dare to.)

The Clan MacLeod lives on the isle of Lewis. Though there were plenty of them there in Skye when Charlie tried to raise the Clans. We were painted with that brush right then, and the color will not was away, not even with our blood it seems.

A justice in Edinburgh found little humor in my stopping the coaches to chat up the King's good citizens. True, I kept a bit of coin I took, but hardly enough to mater. Still, he hung paper on me. There was little to be done then.

Three years I went to ground. No one cared then, I was told. So I takes the chance and goes to the town to do a bit of business. It's not three months past that, I was pulled before a magistrate given sentence. Take the King's shilling and sail to Canada, or cool my heels in some rotting hulk off the coast, with a hundred or so pirates and thieves.

So, I came here with a musket and a fine red coat. Then they tell us to "pacify" the French in the Province. I will not tell you what that meant! So I found a Frenchie who would give me a coat and a good set of pistols, I set upon the pay-sergeant on the road not far from Quebec, and now I am here.

"There's brandy in Quebec at ten cents a quart, boys, The ale in New Brunswick's a penny a glass, There's rum in that sweet town they call Montreal, boys, At inn after inn we will drink as we pass, We'll call for a bumper of ale, wine and brandy, And we'll drink to the health of those far away; Our hearts will all warm at the thought of old Ireland While we're in the green fields of Americay."

So I am wanted. Me or the Frenchie there. If it's me they come for, I'll not bring trouble on you. I'll beg your leave to run out that hatch you have behind the tub…Yes, I know a bolt hole when I see one. A man would be a fool not to have one out here in this savage land. I'll duck out there and see if I can still take a few more free breaths.

"Now when Donohue made his escape, to the bush he went straight way. The squatters they were all afraid to travel by night and by day And every day in the newspapers, they brought out something new, Concerning that bold bushranger they called Jack Donohue."

I'll trouble you for a rum, and a fill of my pipe if you've tobacco left…

Mikal