As they did so a loud crack was heard, and a great tree came crashing down, falling directly upon them, striking them and their horses to the ground.  A loud cry of astonishment and alarm rose from those behind, followed by curses and exclamations of rage.  A few seconds after the fall of the tree there was a crash in the rear of the party, and to their astonishment the freebooters saw that another tree had fallen there, and that a barricade of boughs and leaves closed their way behind as in front.  Deprived of their leaders, bewildered and alarmed at this strange and unexpected occurrence, the marauders remained irresolute.  Two or three of those in front got off their horses and tried to make their way to the assistance of their comrades who were lying crushed under the mass of foliage, and of their leaders in the pit beyond.

But now almost simultaneously two more crashes were heard, and a tree from each side fell upon them.  Panic stricken now the horsemen strove to dash through the underwood, but their progress was arrested, for among the bushes ropes had been fastened from tree to tree; stakes had been driven in, and the bushes interlaced with cords.  The trees continued to fall till the portion of the road occupied by the troop was covered by a heap of fallen wood and leaf.  Then for the first time the silence in the wood beyond them was broken, the flashes of firearms darted out from the brushwood, and then with a shout a number of men armed with pikes and axes sprang forward to the attack.

A few only of the marauders were in a position to offer any resistance whatever.  The greater portion were buried under the mass of foliage.  Many had been struck down by the trunks or heavy arms of the trees.  All were hampered and confused by the situation in which they found themselves.  Under such circumstances it was a massacre rather than a fight.  Malcolm, seeing the inability of the freebooters to oppose any formidable resistance, sheathed his sword, and left it to the peasants to avenge the countless murders which the band had committed, and the ruin and misery which they had inflicted upon the country.

In a few minutes all was over.  The brigands were shot down, piked, or slain by the heavy axes through the openings in their leafy prison.  Quarter was neither asked for nor given.  The freebooters knew that it would be useless, and died cursing their foes and their own fate in being thus slaughtered like rats in a trap.  Two or three of the peasants were wounded by pistol shots, but this was all the injury that their success cost them.

“The wicked have digged a pit, and they have fallen into it themselves,” the farmer said as he approached the spot where Malcolm was standing, some little distance from the scene of slaughter.  “Verily the Lord hath delivered them into our hands.  I understand, my young friend, why you as a soldier did not aid in the slaughter of these villains.  It is your trade to fight in open battle, and you care not to slay your enemies when helpless; but with us it is different.  We regard them as wild beasts, without heart or pity, as scourges to be annihilated when we have the chance; just as in winter we slay the wolves who come down to attack our herds.”