The captain smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. “Here, let’s get all the beasts into the enclosure,” he said. “We do not want any more to be speared;” and sending two of the boys forward to open the rails, the cow was gently driven in, the rest of the stock following patiently enough to the very last.
“Well,” said Uncle Jack, emphatically, “I don’t think I’m a vicious man, but I honestly wish that the vile wretch who threw that spear had been well gored by the animal in return.”
“So do I, uncle,” cried Rifle, warmly, “for I’m sure it wasn’t Shanter.—What do you think, Tim?”
“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “I hope it wasn’t; but as Uncle Edward says, it does look very black.”
“Bah! You’re black,” cried Rifle, fiercely.—“You don’t think it was Shanter, do you, Man?”
“I don’t want to think it was,” replied his brother, thoughtfully, “but it does look very bad.”
This was while the captain had walked up to the house to order the ladies to stay within doors, promising in return that he would be very careful, and not run into any danger.
“Looks very bad!” cried Rifle, contemptuously. “I only wish I knew where old Shanter was. I’d go and fetch him to make him tell you that you ought all to be ashamed of yourselves.”
“You need not trouble,” said Uncle Jack, quietly, “for here he comes;” and as the captain’s brother spoke he cocked his double gun.
“And here comes father,” cried Norman, excitedly. “Don’t fire, uncle, pray.”