And thus ran the comment.  Sholto being cumbered with his armour, Laurence might in time have gotten the upper grip.  But at this moment a diversion occurred which completely altered the character of the conflict.  A stout, reddish young man came up, holding in his hand a staff painted with twining stripes of white and red, which showed him to be the marshal of that part of the camp which pertained to the Earl of Angus.  He looked on for a moment from the skirts of the crowd, and then elbowed his way self-importantly into the centre, till he stood immediately above Laurence and Sholto.

“What means this hubbub, I say?  Quit your hold there and come with me; my Lord of Angus will settle this dispute.”

He had come up just when the young men were in the final grips, when Sholto had at last gotten his will of his brother’s head, and was, as the saying is, giving him “Dutch spice” in no very knightly fashion.

The Angus marshal, seeing this, seized Sholto by the collar of his mailed shirt, and drawing him suddenly back, caused him to lose hold of his brother, who as quickly rose to his feet.  The red man began to beat Sholto about the headpiece right heartily with his staff, which exercise made a great ringing noise, though naturally, the skull cap being the work of Malise MacKim, little harm ensued to the head enclosed therein.

But Master Laurence was instantly on fire.

“Here, Foxy-face,” he cried, “let my brother a-be!  What business is it of yours if two gentlemen have a difference?  Go back to your Angus kernes and ragged craw-bogle Highland folk!”

Meanwhile Sholto had recovered from his surprise, and the crowd of varlets was melting apace, thinking the Angus marshal some one of consequence.  But the brothers MacKim were not the lads to take beating with a stick meekly, and the provost, who indeed had nothing to do with the Galloway part of the encampment, had far better have confined his officiousness to his own quarters.

“Take him on the right, Sholto,” cried Laurence, “and I will have at him from this side.”  The Red Angus drew his sword and threatened forthwith to slay the lads if they came near him.  But with a spring like that of a grey Grimalkin of the woods, Sholto leapt within his guard ere he had time to draw back his arm for thrust or parry, and at the same moment Laurence, snatching the red and white staff out of his hand, dealt him so sturdy a clout between the shoulders that, though he was of weight equal to both of his opponents taken together, he was knocked breathless at the first blow and went down beneath the impetus of Sholto’s attack.

Laurence coolly disengaged his brother, and began to thrash the Angus man with his own staff upon all exposed parts, till the dry wood broke.  Then he threw the pieces at his head, and the two brothers went off arm in arm to find a woody covert in which to repair damages against the weapon-showing, and the inspection of their lord and his keen-eyed master armourer.