“Whaur are ye goin’?” he said, “and who’s that for?” pointin’ to the necklace that hung on my fingers.
“I’m no here to answer questions,” answered I; “but ye can know for a’ that, or ye can turn back, and see for yoursel’.”
“Go, if ye daur!” he shrieked; “for it shall be but one o’ us, if ye’ll no turn about the way I’m walkin’. It’s through you, is it, that Maggie flouts me, an’ throws back my gifts, that are o’ mair cost than ye can earn, ye loupin’ beggar?”
“Hand off!” I shouted; “or I’ll no answer for mysel’,” for he was pressin’ on, an’ there was no room for a struggle between the rock an’ the road’s edge. “Haud off, or not one, but baith, may make a turn too many.”
“Gie me that trash,” he said, making a snatch toward the necklace. “Gie it me, and go no more to Maggie’s house—you nor your baby cousin Rab. Gie it me, I say!”
He was upon me before I could answer him, mad wi’ passion and wi’ whisky, and dealt me a heavy blow upon the head; but I was quicker and stronger than he, and, before he could repeat it, had him by wrist and shoulder. As I’ve said, ’twas no place to wrestle in, and when we both came to grips, we had but one scuffle, and then our footing was gone, and I lost him and myself, too—lost sense, and hearing, and a’ things.
The sun was high in the sky, when I came to myself—shining like a golden shield over the blue sea, and the wavin’ grass and heather; and I could just see the ripple o’ the waves and the fleece o’ white clouds far away, but naething else.
It was a while before I could do that, for I seemed to be covered wi’ dried grass and leaves above my chin as I lay there in a deep cleft in the cliff side, mid a tangle of stalks an’ roots, and dry driftsand, that had got into my claes, and tilled my ears and eyes. I was like a man paralysed, too; and had to move an inch at a time, till I could rub, first my arms, an’ then, when I had got upon one elbow, give my legs a turn, and then my back. The first thing I did was to feel if the necklace was on my wrist still; but it had gone; dropped off and lost in the scuffle. Next I crawled to the edge of the hole, and peered down the cliff side, and all round, as far as I could see, to look for the body of Rory Smith, living or dead.
I could not tell how he had fallen; but unless he had clutched at the long weed, or reached a cliff lower down, he’d hardly be alive after a whole night; for, had he fallen on the beach, and been disabled, his body was now under the water, above which the sea-birds wheeled and piped in the bright morning air.