Four of them
grunted and complained of the flare of the light in their eyes, like
men imperfectly roused from sleep.
"Thae loons will be round in half an hour," said Malise, confidently.
"But they will hae richt sair heads the morn, I'se warrant, and some
o' them may be marked aboot the chafts for a Sabbath or twa!"
But the swarthy youth whom the others called De Sille, he who had been
spokesman and who had fallen first, was more seriously injured. He had
worn a thin steel cap on his head, which had been cracked by the
buffet he had received from the mighty fist of the master armourer.
The broken pieces had made a wound in the skull, from which blood
flowed freely. And in the uncertain light of the torch Malise could
not make any prolonged examination.
"Let us tak' the callant up to the tap o' the hoose," he said at
last; "we can put him in the far ben garret till we see if he is gaun
to turn up his braw silver-taed shoon."
Without waiting for any permission or dissent, the smith of Carlinwark
tucked his late opponent under his arm as easily as an ordinary man
might carry a puppy.
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