. The violence of his onslaught turned the
tide. Those whom Harden drove up were caught in a vice, and squeezed
out, wounded and dying and mad with fear, on to the hill above the
burn. Both sides were weary men, or there would have been a grim
slaughter. As it was, none followed the runners, and every now and
again a Scot would drop like a log, not from wounds but from dead
weariness.

Harden's flare was dying down. Dawn was breaking and Sim's wild eyes
cleared. Here a press of cattle, dazed with fright, and the red and
miry heather. Queer black things were curled and stretched athwart it.
He noticed a dead man beside him, perhaps of his own slaying. It was a
shabby fellow, in a jacket that gaped like Sim's. His face was thin
and patient, and his eyes, even in death, looked puzzled and
reproachful. He would be one of the plain folk who had to ride,
willy-nilly, on bigger men's quarrels. Sim found himself wondering if
he, also, had a famished wife and child at home. The fury of the night
had gone, and Sim began to sob from utter tiredness.

He slept in what was half a swoon. When he woke the sun was well up in
the sky and the Scots were cooking food. His arm irked him, and his
head burned like fire. He felt his body and found nothing worse than
bruises, and one long shallow scar where his jacket was torn.

A Teviotdale man brought him a cog of brose. Sim stared at it and
sickened: he was too far gone for food. Young Harden passed, and
looked curiously at him. "Here's a man that has na spared himsel'," he
said. "A drop o' French cordial is the thing for you, Sim." And out
of a leathern flask he poured a little draught which he bade Sim
swallow.

The liquor ran through his veins and lightened the ache of his head.
He found strength to rise and look round. Surely they were short of
men. If these were all that were left Bewcastle had been well avenged.

Jamie Telfer enlightened him. "When we had gotten the victory, there
were some o' the lads thocht that Bewcastle sud pay scot in beasts as
weel as men. Sae Wat and a score mair rade off to lowse Geordie
Musgrave's kye. The road's clear, and they'll be back ower Liddell by
this time. Dod, there'll be walth o' plenishin' at the Ninemileburn."

Sim was cheered by the news. If Wat got back more than his own he
might be generous. They were cooking meat round the fire, the flesh of
the cattle killed in the fight. He went down to the nearest blaze