At that he dashed the flag upon the road and shook his naked sword at me.
"Your blood be on your heads!" he bawled. "I can not hold my Indians if you defy them longer!"
"Well, then, Jock," said I, "I'll hold 'em for you, never fear!"
He strode to the fence and grasped it.
"Will you march out? Shame on you, Stormont, who are seduced by this Yankee rabble o' rebels when your place is with Sir John and with the loyal gentlemen of Tryon!
"For the last time, then, will you parley and march out? Or shall I give you and your Caughnawaga wench to my Indians?"
I walked out from behind my tree and drew near the fence, where he was standing, his sword hanging from one wrist by the leather knot.
"Jock Campbell," said I, "you are a great villain. Do you lay aside your hanger and your pistols, and I will set my rifle here, and we shall soon see what your bragging words are worth."
At that he drove his sword into the earth, but, as I set my rifle against a tree, he lifted his pistol and fired at me, and I felt the wind of the bullet on my right cheek.
Then he snatched his sword and was already vaulting the gate, when my Saguenay's bullet caught him in mid-air, and he fell across the top rail and slid down on the muddy road outside.