He ceased to speak. Davidson looked anxiously into his face, and saw that he had already begun to give way to irresistible drowsiness. Without a moment’s hesitation he seized the Highlander by the throat, and shook him as if he had been a mere baby.
“Iss it for fightin’ ye are?” said Fergus, whose good-nature was not proof against such rough and unexpected treatment.
“Yes, my boy, that’s just what I am for, and I think you’ll get the worst of it too.”
“What iss that you say? Ay, ay! You will hev to bend your back then, Taniel, for it iss not every wan that can give Fergus McKay the worst of it!”
Davidson made no reply, but gave his comrade a shake so violent that it put to flight the last vestige of his good-humour and induced him to struggle so fiercely that in a few minutes the drowsiness was also, and effectually, driven away.
“You’ll do now,” said Davidson, relaxing his grip and panting somewhat.
“Ay, Taniel, I will be doin’ now. An’ you’re a frund in need whatever,” returned the restored Highlander with a smile of appreciation.
About an hour later the travellers again stopped. This time it was Davidson who called a halt.
“Fergus,” he said, “we have been successful so far, thank God. But we must part here. Half-an-hour will take me to my father’s house, and I want you to go down to the hut of François La Certe; it is nearer than our house, you know—and get him to help you.”
“Surely, Tan, that will be wasted time,” objected the Highlander. “Of all the lazy useless scamps in Rud Ruver, François La Certe iss the laziest an’ most useless.”