Kenneth pulled, laughing more than ever, as Scoodrach held on by his jacket; and just then the gillie managed to get a foot in a hole whence a stone had been dislodged. Raising himself up a little, Kenneth now began to pull in earnest; but it was too late. Old Donald had struggled up and seized Scoodrach once more, giving so heavy a drag upon him that down came the young gillie, and not alone, for he dragged Kenneth with him; and all three lay together in a struggling heap upon the floor.
“Rin, Maister Ken! Rin, young chentleman! Doon wi’ ye! She’ll be like a daft quey the noo. I can haud her till ye get doon.”
“No, no, Scood, I won’t run!” cried Kenneth. “You run, Max. Get down with you.”
Max obeyed, glad of the opportunity for escape; but as soon as he had passed through the door he turned, and looked in at the struggle going on.
To his horror, they more than once drew so near to the hole in the floor that it seemed as if they must go through; but they all wrenched themselves clear, and Scoodrach suddenly got free, leaped up, and drew his dirk.
“Oh!” cried Max in horror.
“Put away that knife, Scood, and run!” cried Kenneth.
“She’ll niver rin frae ta auld piper!” cried Scoodrach; and, turning to the box on which lay the pipes, he caught them up, and held them with the point of his keen knife close to the skin bag.
“Noo,” he shouted, “haud off an’ let the young maister go, or I’ll slit the bag’s weam.”
“Ah!” shouted old Donald.