“No, by heaven!”
“Johnnie man—loose me! My place is beside the poor lads yonder.”
“And I say ’tis here——”
“By God, John—must I knock ye down?” Sir Hector’s threatening fist was seized and held for a moment in the Corporal’s powerful grasp, while they reeled to and fro, all three locked in desperate grapple. Then Sir Hector, exerting his giant strength, hurled the Corporal into the ditch, swung Sir John violently aloft, and as suddenly set him back upon his feet, for from the gloom before them rose a sound very awful to hear, the shrill screaming of a man in the direst extremity of agony or fear.
“Guid save ’s a’—what’s yon?” gasped Sir Hector, as the dreadful sound shuddered to silence. “O man, what awfu’ thing is chancin’?”
A sudden shot, followed by three or four in rapid succession; a confusion of shrieks and hoarse outcries, a wild, rapidly growing hubbub.
“They’re running, sir!” quoth the Corporal.
“They’re comin’ back!” cried Sir Hector. “D’ye no’ hear ’em, Johnnie—d’ye no’ hear ’em?”
“Aye, Hector. And, by heaven, they run like madmen! Quick ... behind this tree! Robert, are ye there?”
“On your honour’s left flank!”