"It was his duty to capture a poacher!--But you did not know he was
deaf and dumb!" Alister added, as some excuse.

"The deaf makes no difference!" protested Bob. "Hector of the
Stags does not fight with his hands like a woman!"

"Well, what's done is done!" laughed Sercombe. "It wasn't a bad shot
anyhow!"

"You have little to plume yourself upon, Mr. Sercombe!" said the
chief. "You are a good shot, but you need not have been so
frightened at an old man as to knock him down!"

"Come, come, Macruadh! enough's enough! It's time to drop this!"
returned Sercombe. "I can't stand much more of it!--Take ten pounds
for the head!--Come!"

The chief made one great stride towards him, but turned away, and
said,

"Come along, Rob! Tell your father you must not go up the hill again
to-night."

"No, sir," answered Bob; "there's nothing now to go up the hill for!
Poor old Buadh! God rest his soul!"

"Amen!" responded the chief; "but say rather, 'God give him room to
run!'"

"Amen! It is better.--But," added Kob, "we must watch by the body.