the way he handled it that it was unprimed. I was most afraid of the
women, who with their long claws would have scratched my eyes out, and
I knew they would not spare the girl. To her I turned anxiously, and,
to my amazement, she was laughing. She recognized me, for she cried
out, "Is this the way to Kirknewton, sir?" And all the time she
shook with merriment. In that hour I thought her as daft as the
Sweet-Singers, whose nails were uncommonly near my cheek.

I got her bridle, tumbled over the countryman with a kick, and forced
her to the edge of the sheepfold. But she wheeled round again, crying,
"I must have Janet," and faced the crowd with her whip. That was well
enough, but I saw Muckle John staggering to his feet, and I feared
desperately for his next move. The girl was either mad or
extraordinarily brave.

"Get back, you pitiful knaves," she cried. "Lay a hand on me, and I
will cut you to ribbons. Make haste, Janet, and quit this folly."

It was gallant talk, but there was no sense in it. Muckle John was on
his feet, half the clan had gone round to our rear, and in a second or
two she would have been torn from the saddle. A headstrong girl was
beyond my management, and my words of entreaty were lost in the babel
of cries.

But just then there came another sound. From the four quarters of the
moor there closed in upon us horsemen. They came silently and were
about us before I had a hint of their presence. It was a troop of
dragoons in the king's buff and scarlet, and they rode us down as if we
had been hares in a field. The next I knew of it I was sprawling on the
ground with a dizzy head, and horses trampling around me, I had a