“Come doon, ye auld idgit!” shouted the bailiff.
“Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!” yelled Tonal’; and, raising an old claymore in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long arms, he shrieked out,—
“Doon wi’ ta caterans! Doon wi’ ta Lowland loons! Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies! fecht! Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!”
“Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!” shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter. “Fecht, laddies, fecht!”
The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head, and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the tower headlong down to the front of the castle. He made a snatch at the ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quantity of the crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward, two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed.
But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in the sea breeze, he yelled once more,—
“Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies, fecht!”
Then he disappeared.
“He’s coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy,” cried Kenneth, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I shall have to go and lock the old chap up, or he’ll do some one a mischief.”
“Hi, there!” shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking. “Look here, I give you fair warning. You’re resisting the law, and it’ll be the worse for you if any one of my men is hurt.”