"Well, what's your news?" Dickson asked. He noticed that the
Chieftain seemed to have been comprehensively in the wars, for apart
from the bandage on his jaw, he had numerous small cuts on his brow,
and a great rent in one of his shirt sleeves. Also he appeared
to be going lame, and when he spoke a new gap was revealed in
his large teeth.

"Things," said Dougal solemnly, "has come to a bonny cripus.
This very night we've been in a battle."

He spat fiercely, and the light of war burned in his eyes.

"It was the tinklers from the Garple Dean. They yokit on us about
seven o'clock, just at the darkenin'. First they tried to bounce us.
We weren't wanted here, they said, so we'd better clear. I telled
them that it was them that wasn't wanted. 'Awa' to Finnick,' says I.
'D'ye think we take our orders from dirty ne'er-do-weels like you?'
'By God,' says they, 'we'll cut your lights out,' and then the
battle started."

"What happened?' Dickson asked excitedly.

"They were four muckle men against six laddies, and they thought
they had an easy job! Little they kenned the Gorbals Die-Hards!
I had been expectin' something of the kind, and had made my plans.
They first tried to pu' down our tents and burn them. I let them get
within five yards, reservin' my fire. The first volley--stones from
our hands and our catties--halted them, and before they could recover
three of us had got hold o' burnin' sticks frae the fire and were
lammin' into them. We kinnled their claes, and they fell back