Sholto dropped instantly back to the ground.  He was somewhat stunned by the blow, but the sight of his brother triumphantly splashing through the shallows aroused him.  He arose, and seizing the first stone that came to hand hurled it after Laurence, swearing fraternally that he would smite him in the brisket with a dirk as soon as he caught him for that dastard blow.  The first stone flew wide, though the splash caused the mule to shy into deeper water, to the damping of his rider’s legs.  But the second, being better aimed, took the animal fairly on the rump, and, fetching up on a fly-galled spot, frightened it with bumping bags and loud squeals into the woods of Glen Lochar, which come down close to the fords on every side.  Here presently Laurence found himself, like Absalom, caught in the branches of a beech, and left hanging between heaven and earth.  A rider in complete plate of black mail caught him down, still holding on to his bow, and, placing him across the saddle, brought down the flat of his gauntleted hand upon a spot of the lad’s person which, being uncovered by mail, responded with a resounding smack.  Then, amid the boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, he let Laurence slip to the ground.

But the younger son of Brawny Kim, master armourer of Carlinwark, was not the lad to take such an insult meekly, even from a man-at-arms riding on horseback.  He threw his bow into the nearest thicket, and seizing the most convenient ammunition, which chanced to be in great plenty that day upon the braes of Balmaghie, pursued his insulter along the glade with such excellent aim and good effect that the black unadorned armour of the horseman showed disks of defilement all over, like a tree trunk covered with toadstool growths.

“Shoot down the intolerable young rascal!  Shall he thus beard my Lord Maxwell?” cried a voice from the troop which witnessed the chase.  And more than one bow was bent, and several hand-fusils levelled from the company which followed behind.

But the injured knight threw up his visor.

“Hold, there!” he cried, “the boy is right.  It was I who insulted him, and he did right to be revenged, though the rogue’s aim is more to be admired than his choice of weapons.  Come hither, lad.  Tell me who thou art, and what is thy father’s quality?”

“I am Laurence MacKim, an archer of my lord’s guard, and the younger son of Malise MacKim, master armourer to the Douglas.”

Laurence, being still angry, rang out his titles as if they had been inscribed in the book of the Lion-King-at-Arms.

“Saints save us,” cried the knight in swart armour, “all that!”

Then, seeing the boy ready to answer back still more fiercely, he continued with a courteous wave of the hand.

“I humbly ask your pardon, Master Laurence.  I am glad the son of Brawny Kim hath no small part of his father’s spirit.  Will you take service and be my esquire, as becomes well a lad of parts who desires to win his way to a knighthood?”