orse forward to
force Lochinvar's black down the hill. But featly and gracefully the lad
wheeled and turned, keeping ever his hand in tierce and his blade across
his body, slipping and parrying with the utmost calm and ease.

"Click, click!" came the noise of the clashing sword-blades, flickering
so swiftly that the eye could not follow them. In time Lochinvar found
out his opponent's disadvantage, which was in the slower movement of his
horse, but to this Inglis responded like a man. He kept his beast
turning about within his own length, so that come where he would Wat had
no advantage. Yet gradually and surely the dragoon was being tired out.
From attacking he fell to guarding, and at last even his parry grew
lifeless and feeble. Wat, on the other hand, kept his enemy's blade
constantly engaged. He struck with certainty and parried with a light
hammering movement that was pretty to watch, even to one who had no
skill of the weapon.

At last, wearied with continual check, Inglis leaned too far over his
horse's head in a fierce thrust. The beast slipped with the sudden
weight, and the dragoon's steel cap went nearly to his charger's neck.

In a moment, seeing his disadvantage, Inglis attempted to recover; but
Wat's lighter weapon slid under his guard as he threw his sword hand
involuntarily up. It pierced his shoulder, and a darker red followed the
steel upon his horseman's coat, as Wat withdrew his blade to be ready
for the return. But of this there was no need, for Inglis instantly
dropped his hand to his side and another sword suddenly struck up that
of Wat Gordon, as the dragoon's heavy weapon clattered upon the stones.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FIELD OF BOTHWELL BRIG.

"Gentlemen," cried a stern, calm voice, "gentlemen, is it thus that ye
amuse yourselves when ye are upon the King's service?"

I turned about, and lo! it was the voice of John Graham of Claverhouse,
high-pitched to the carrying note of command--of the man whom all the
South and West knew then as the great persecutor, and all the North
afterwards as the great captain who stood for his master when all the
others forsook him and fled. I admit that my heart beat suddenly feeble
before him, and as for my lads who were with me, I think they gave
themselves up for dead men. Though slender and not tall, Clavers
nevertheless looked noble upon the black horse which had carried him at
a gallop down the burnside from Garryhorn. His eyes were full of fire