“Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!”
David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its prey.
“Too late, agin!” said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
“Noo,” said he, “man to man!”
“Ay,” cried the other, “father to son!”
The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from his numbed fingers.
Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam M'Adam's courage.
He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with the other, entirely unafraid.
“Mind, David,” he said, quite calm, “murder 'twill be, not manslaughter.”