“Did Edie Johnston perish in the struggle?” asked Ruthven.
“Not that I can tell,” said the retainer. “When the enemy brak’ in, we lowered Edie into the subterranean passage that leads frae the ha’ to the middle o’ the garden; but if the villains discovered his hiding place, they would gi’e him but short shrift.”
Note.—A parallel to the catastrophe of the arbitration is recorded in Sir John Sinclair’s “Statistical Account of Scotland” (Vol. V., 153), as having occurred in the parish of Menmuir, in the county of Forfar:—
“Two lairds quarrelled about their marches, and witnesses were brought to swear to the old boundaries. One of these chieftains, provoked to hear his opponent’s servant declare, on oath, that he then stood on his master’s ground, pulled a pistol from his belt, and shot him dead on the spot. It was found that to save his conscience he had earth in his shoes brought from his laird’s lands.”
“A’ my strength is blasted like a flower o’ the field, and a’ my gear gane like snaw aff a dyke,” moaned Ballinshaw, again wringing his hands. “But the enemy may be hard ahint us, and we maun on and awa’—on and awa’.”
“Our horses are blawn, and we maun gi’e them some minutes’ rest,” said the retainer, languidly laying himself on a heap of rubbish.
Scarcely had they thought of rest when the clatter of hoofs sounded in the glen below. Ballinshaw started in affright, and the next moment had fallen from his steed, a victim of apoplexy.
“’Tis Royston Scott!” exclaimed one of his retainers. “We are but dead men!”
The pursuers, headed by Altoncroft, rapidly began to ascend the hill. Leading his followers, Scott encouraged them in their work with promise of reward. Ruthven Somervil watched their movements, and, lifting a large stone, cast it down upon Altoncroft with so sure an aim that it struck horse and man to the earth. For the moment there was panic among Scott’s supporters, but an instant later, having left their leader to recover as best he might, they made for the crest of the hill, all eyes ablaze with vengeance against the youth who had thrown their master.
Ruthven wisely decided on flight. Entering the ruined fort, he dragged himself up on the broad sill of one of the windows, and leapt upon the soft, boggy ground beneath, seized one of the horses, and galloped away. Shouts and cries were behind him; he pricked his horse with his dagger for want of spurs, and dashed among the mountains, never drawing rein until he considered himself safe from the reach of the anger of the house of Altoncroft.