"Ye clumsy lout!" he cried, as he rose in drunken fury, and as Sandy lay motionless he kicked him savagely with his heavy boots in the chest.
The kitchen door opened softly, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of the woman's frightened face: then she withdrew.
"Get up--I tell ye," roared the giant, kicking the recumbent figure again.
My blow could have caused him only temporary damage--but this savagery of the giant would kill him.
My eyes were on Sandy. His pallid face grew ashen: his chest was raised from the ground in a curve like a bow as he took a convulsive breath: blood and froth bubbled at his lips--and he lay still, his ashen pallor deepening.
Fear seized the giant. He dropped on his knees beside the body. "Get up, Sandy my lammie"--he said, drunken tears falling down his cheeks. "Ye're no' deid. Ye'll be a' richt in a meenute. Get up, lad. Say ye're no' deid."
But Sandy lay motionless.
"You have killed him," I said.
"You lie," roared the trooper, springing to his feet and facing me. "You did it--an' ye'll pey for 't."
He seized me by the throat, and readjusted my fastenings--binding me cruelly tight. Then he took a long draught from the bottle, and sat down. I watched him as he took a knife from his pocket, and ran his thumb along its edge.