nd crush his bones like those of a chicken.

"Stand off," I said, as he came nearer with the Galloway flail in his
hand; "we want not to company with you, neither to share in your
iniquity."

"I daresay no," he said, frowning on us; "but ye will hae enough o' your
ain. But I'll e'en follow on for a' that. Ye may be braw an' glad o' the
MacMichael yet, considering the errand ye are on."

Nor had we gone far when his words proved true enough.

We went down the cleuch, and were just coming out upon the wider strath,
when a party of Lag's men, for whom no doubt the dead spy had been
gathering information, beset us. There were only half a dozen of them,
but had MacMichael not been at hand with his terrible weapon, it had
certainly gone hard with us, if indeed we had not been slain or
captured. With a shout they set themselves at us with sword and pistol;
but since only one of them was mounted, the odds were not so great as at
first they seemed. Wat was ready with his blade as ever, and he had not
made three passes before he had his sword through his man's shoulder.
But it was otherwise with me. A hulking fellow sprang on me with a roar
like a wild beast, and I gave myself up for lost. Yet I engaged him as I
best could, giving ground a little, yet ever keeping the upper hand of
him. But as we fought, what was our astonishment to see MacMichael,
whose company we had rejected, whirl his iron flail above his head and
attack the mounted man, whose sword cracked as though it had been made
of pottery, and flew into a hundred fragments, jingling to the ground
like broken glass. The next stroke fell ere the man on horseback could
draw a pistol. And we could hear in the midst of our warding and
striking the bones crack as the iron links of the flail settled about
his body. The next moment the man on horseback pitched heavily forward
and fell to the ground. MacMichael turned with a yell of victory, and
rushed upon the others. One stroke only he got as he passed at the dark,
savage-like man who was pressing me--a stroke which snapped his sword
arm like a pipe staple, so that he fell writhing.

"Stripe your sword through him! I'll run and do another!" cried the
Black MacMichael.

But the others did not stand to be done (small blame to them), and soon
all three were running what they could over the level holms of the Ken.
One caught the riderless horse, running alongside till he could get a
chance to spring upon the back of it, and