Henderson was rising at once; but his friend Wattie laid his hand upon his arm, saying, "Just write me those few lines to Sir George Murray first. It will not take you a minute, Andrew."
"Hold your tongue, you little stupid pock-pudding!" cried David Drummond, in an insulting tone; "do you think he's going to neglect his natural lord and master, to attend to such a thing as you are, Wat Matthison?"
"Ah, David Drummond, David Drummond," said the other man, with his eyes flashing fire; "you killed my niece's husband, and you'll come to be hanged by the neck, for all you think yourself so safe."
"It shall be for killing you, then," said Drummond, who was a very powerful man; and he struck him a violent blow with his fist.
The other, though not so strongly made, instantly returned it; and a regular battle would have ensued between them, had not the master of the inn and all the other persons present interfered, and pushed them by main force into the street. There they kept them apart for a moment, and tried to pacify them; but soon getting tired of the task of peacemaking, they left them to themselves, and Drummond rushed upon Walter Matthison again. The two grappled with each other, and struggled vehemently for a moment, the spirit and resolution of Matthison supplying the want of physical strength.
"Call the bailie! call the bailie!" cried Henderson, loudly. "De'il's in it, Jock, can you not part them? Here, Murray, help us."
But at that moment Drummond was seen to put his hand to his girdle, and the next moment Matthison loosed his hold and reeled back with a sharp cry, exclaiming, "Oh! the man's killed me!" and before any one could reach him, he fell back on the pavement with the blood pouring in torrents from his side.
David Drummond, without staying to take his horse, or to look what he had done, ran off as hard as his legs would carry him in the direction of the Great House, pursued by a number of the people. He reached it before them, however, rushed through the iron gates, which were open, into the court, where several horses and men were standing, and then flinging-to the gates in the face of the pursuers, turned the key in the lock. This done, he attempted to rush into the house, but was suddenly met by the Earl of Gowrie himself, who was seen to seize him by the collar, and point with his hand to what was probably a mark of blood upon his arm. The next instant, the people who were gazing through the gates saw the murderer handed over to two of the other servants, who at once proceeded to strap his arms together with one of the stirrup leathers, while Gowrie, advancing to the gate, said to the people near, "I wish, my good friends, some of you would call one of the bailies to me, and ask him to bring the guard. I have a prisoner here who must be handed over to his custody."
"Long live the Earl of Gowrie!--Long live the great earl!--Long live our noble provost! He will do justice," cried a dozen voices, while two or three men ran off to bring the bailie.
"Ah, my lord, this is a sad business," cried Henderson, coming up. "I'm glad to see your lordship returned safely to your own place; but it's awful to think that one of our people should shed blood in the streets before he's been ten minutes in St. Johnstone. It's that wild beast Drummond has done it, and it seems he has fled hither."