"The deaf makes no difference!" protested Bob. "Hector of the
Stags does not fight with his hands like a woman!"
"Well, what's done is done!" laughed Sercombe. "It wasn't a bad shot anyhow!"
"You have little to plume yourself upon, Mr. Sercombe!" said the chief. "You are a good shot, but you need not have been so frightened at an old man as to knock him down!"
"Come, come, Macruadh! enough's enough! It's time to drop this!" returned Sercombe. "I can't stand much more of it!—Take ten pounds for the head!—Come!"
The chief made one great stride towards him, but turned away, and said,
"Come along, Rob! Tell your father you must not go up the hill again to-night."
"No, sir," answered Bob; "there's nothing now to go up the hill for!
Poor old Buadh! God rest his soul!"
"Amen!" responded the chief; "but say rather, 'God give him room to run!'"
"Amen! It is better.—But," added Kob, "we must watch by the body. The foxes and hooded crows are gathering already—I hear them on the hills; and I saw a sea-eagle as white as silver yesterday! We cannot leave Ruadh till he is under God's plaid!"
"Then one of you come and fetch food and fire," said the chief. "I will be with you early."