I looked at my pistols to see if the damp woods had spoiled the
priming.

"Well, here's for fortune," said Ringan, and we scrambled off the
ridge, and plunged into the lush grasses of the meadow.

Had we kept our heads and crossed as prudently as we had made the
morning's journey, all might have been well. But a madcap haste seemed
to possess us. We tore through the herbage as if we had been running a
race in the yard of a peaceful manor. The stream stayed us a little,
for it could not be forded without a wetting, and I went in up to the
waist. As we scrambled up the far bank some impulse made me turn my
head.

There, coming down the water, was a band of Indians.

They were still some distance off, but they saw us, and put their
horses to the gallop. I cried to Ringan to run for the shelter of the
woods, for in the open we were at their mercy. He cast one glance over
his shoulder, and set a pace which came near to foundering me.

We got what we wanted earlier than we had hoped. The woods in front
rose in a high bluff, and down a little ravine a burn trickled. The
sides were too steep and matted for horses to travel, and he who stood
in the ravine had his back and flanks defended.

"Now for a fight, Andrew lad," cried Ringan, his eyes dancing. "Stick
you to the pistols, and I'll show them something in the way of
sword-play."