"God's blood," said Hugh in a white rage, "do you let any drunken rogue blackguard a lady?"
"I am not to be touching that man," said Bryde, and his face was dark red.
"Have I to live to see one of my name a coward—a bastard and a coward?"
"By the living God, you lie, Hugh McBride," said Bryde through his teeth, and struck Hugh on the mouth with the back of his hand.
"That will be all that is needful," says Hugh with a bow; "there's a yard outside, and maybe McKelvie will be giving us a couple of lanthorns."
Never a word said Bryde, but the breath whistled through his nostrils, and we made our way through the kitchen, for it was easier to stop the big burn in spate than these two. There were cutlasses on the wall crossed like the sign of a battle on a map, and Hugh had them down.
"I think they are marrows," says he, trying to be calm, but his very voice shook with rage.
"Outside," said Bryde.
There was a puddly yard, squelched with the feet of cow beasts. The scad of light from the door and the two lanterns lit up the yellow trampled glaur, and both the boys stripped in silence and stood on guard, and then started.
McGilp and McKinnon and the McKelvies were there only, and if these had not been my own boys I could have enjoyed the business, for they were matched to a hair, and tireless as tigers.