“I’m nae mis-sworn villain,” retorted Johnston: “and were you and me here alane, wi’ only the broom-bushes around us, I wad gar you eat back your foul words. I ha’e seen your back before this day, and I may see it again.”
Altoncroft, stung by the retort, thrust his spear at the speaker’s body, piercing the iron-plated jack. Johnston uttered a yell of mingled rage and pain, and staggering back under the shock, vainly attempted to unsheath his sword, and then dropped to the ground at full length. An applauding cheer from one party of the spectators, and a vengeful cry from another, boded a general conflict. Swords were drawn, and spears lowered, and warlike slogans arose amidst the tumult. Altoncroft, having withdrawn his lance, would have repeated his thrust, had not Ruthven Somervil, on the impulse of the moment, started forward, and baring his blade, strode across the prostrate man to save him from further assault. A dozen spears were levelled at the youth’s breast, and as many advanced to protect him. The Sheriff spurred his horse into the press, and commanded all to keep the peace. His command had the effect of enforcing a pause.
[Chapter VII.]
Aft trifles big mishanters bring,
Frae whilk a hunder mair may spring;
An’ some, wha thrawart tempers ha’e,
Aft stand unkent in their ain way;
But aye, to guard against a coup,