t heavy steps approaching. At
once Robert divined the truth, and a great wrath banished rheumatism
and age together. Like a boy he sprang to the crap o' the wa',
whence his yet powerful hand came back armed with a huge rusty old
broad-sword that had seen service in its day. Two or three fierce
tugs at the hilt proving the blade immovable in the sheath, and the
steps being now almost at the door, he clubbed the weapon, grasping
it by the sheathed blade, and holding it with the edge downward, so
that the blow he meant to deal should fall from the round of the
basket hilt. As he heaved it aloft, the gray old shepherd seemed
inspired by the god of battles; the rage of a hundred ancestors was
welling up in his peaceful breast. His red eye flashed, and the few
hairs that were left him stood erect on his head like the mane of a
roused lion. Ere Angus had his second foot over the threshold, down
came the helmet-like hilt with a dull crash on his head, and he
staggered against the wall.

"Tak ye that, Angus Mac Pholp!" panted Robert through his clenched
teeth, following the blow with another from his fist, that
prostrated the enemy. Again he heaved his weapon, and standing over
him where he lay, more than half-stunned, said in a hoarse voice,

"By the great God my maker, Angus Mac Pholp, gien ye seek to rise,
I'll come doon on ye again as ye lie!--Here, Oscar!--He's no ane to
haud ony fair play wi', mair nor a brute beast.--Watch him, Oscar,
and tak him by the thro't gien he muv a finger."

The gun had dropped from Angus's hand, and Robert, keeping his eye
on him, secured it.

"She's lodd," muttered Angus.

"Lie still than," returned Robert, pointing the weapon at his head.

"It'll be murder," said Angus, and made a movement to lay hold of
the barrel.

"Haud him doon, Oscar," cried Robert. The dog's paws were instantly
on his chest, and his teeth grinning within an inch of his face.
Angus vowed in his heart he would kill the beast on the first
chance. "It wad be but blude for blude, Angus Mac Pholp," he went
on. "Yer hoor's come, my man. That bairn's is no the first blude o'
man ye hae shed, an' it's time the Scripture was fulfillt, an' the
han' o' man shed yours."

"Ye're no gauin to kill me, Rob Grant?" growled the fellow in
growing fright.

"I'm gauin to see whether the shirra winna be perswaudit to hang
ye," answered the shepherd. "This maun be putten a stap
till.--Quaiet! or I'll brain ye, an' sa