Over the rest of the field the fortune of war had been somewhat
various. William of Douglas had unhorsed his brother Hugh at the first
shock, but immediately foregoing his advantage with the most
chivalrous courtesy, he leaped from his own horse and drew his sword.

On the right Alan Fleming, being by the marshal's action suddenly
deprived of his opponent, had wheeled his charger and borne down
sideways upon James of Douglas, and that doughty champion, not having
fully recovered from the shock of his encounter with the Earl, and
being taken from an unexpected quarter, went down as much to his own
surprise as to that of the people at the barriers, who had looked upon
him as the strongest champion on the field.

It was evident, therefore, that, in spite of the loss of their leader,
the Earl's party stood every chance to win the field. For not only was
Alan Fleming the only knight left on horseback, but Malise MacKim had
disposed of the laird of Stra'ven, squire to William of Avondale,
having by one mighty axe stroke beaten the Lanarkshire man down to his
knees.

"A Douglas! A Douglas!" shouted the populace; "now let them have it!"

And the adherents of the Earl were proceeding to carry out this
intent, when my Lord Maxwell unexpectedly put an end to the combat by
throwing down his truncheon and proclaiming a drawn battle.

"False loon!" cried Sholto, shaking his axe at him in the extremity of
his anger, "we have beaten them fairly. Would that I could get at
thee! Come down and fight an encounter to the end. I will take any
Maxwell here in my shirt!"