He took a clean aim with a great potato; and the bailiff had to dodge the shot very sharply, to avoid receiving the blow on his cheek.

But the shot was not wasted, for a man behind had it full in the chest, and a shout arose.

"That will do!" cried the bailiff. "You've struck a blow, so you must put up with the consequences. Noo, my lads, come on!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

HOW DONALD PLAYED THE WAR MARCH.

The bailiff turned to his men and gave them an order, whose effect was to make them shuffle together.

"You hear me, sir!" cried the bailiff. "You struck the first blow."

"You lie, you bun-faced Southroner!" cried Kenneth. "You made the first blow in that old pocket-handkerchief."

"Will you surrender?"

"No!"

"Then come on, my lads. Forward!"

"Hurray! hurray!" shouted Ken, pointing upwards; and the bailiff and his men stopped and stared with open mouths at the scene.

"Look, Max! Look, Scoody! Hurray! Mackhai! Mackhai!"

A shrill, piercing, cracked old voice echoed the cry from above, and the lads on the crumbling battlements over the gateway, where they stood ready with pails of water for sending down through the machicolations, stood gazing at a tall weird figure in full war-paint, with the front of his bonnet c.o.c.ked up with its eagle pinion feathers, his grey hair flying in the breeze, his eyes flashing, tartan scarf buckled with his great cairngorm brooch, as old Tonal' climbed slowly into sight, and stood on the narrow ledge of battlement at the very top of the right-hand tower.

"Ta Mackhai!" he yelled. "Ta Mackhai!" and, as he stood there, with scarf and kilt fluttering about his tall, lean old figure, he looked like one of the ancient fighting men of the clan come back from the Middle Ages to battle in defence of his chief.

"Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!" he yelled again, in answer to a tremendous cheer from the party within.

"Come doon, ye auld idgit!" shouted the bailiff.

"Ta Mackhai! Ta Mackhai!" yelled Tonal'; and, raising an old claymore in one hand, his dirk in the other, to the full stretch of his long arms, he shrieked out,--

"Doon wi' ta caterans! Doon wi' ta Lowland loons! Mackhai! Mackhai!

Fecht, laddies! fecht! Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!"

"Hech! hech! hech! Hurray!" shouted Kenneth, roaring with laughter.

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!"

The weird-looking old piper waved his claymore wildly about his head, and it flashed in the sun; but in his efforts he nearly toppled off the tower headlong down to the front of the castle. He made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the ancient crenelation, and, to the horror of all, a quant.i.ty of the crumbling stone fell with a crash, and, but for a rapid dash backward, two of the bailiffs men would have been crushed.

But, active still as a wild cat, the old man saved himself; and, though one of his legs came right over the front, and he lay on his face for a few moments, he climbed back, stood erect again, planted one foot on the remaining crenele, and raised his flashing broadsword, tore off his bonnet, dashed it down, and, as his thin long grey hair streamed out in the sea breeze, he yelled once more,--

"Mackhai! Mackhai! Fecht, laddies, fecht!"

Then he disappeared.

"He's coming down with his old carving-knife, Maxy," cried Kenneth, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I shall have to go and lock the old chap up, or he'll do some one a mischief."

"Hi, there!" shouted the bailiff; and his voice was the signal for the three dogs to burst into a tremendous trio of barking. "Look here, I give you fair warning. You're resisting the law, and it'll be the worse for you if any one of my men is hurt."

"Come roond and we'll pitch ye all into ta watter!" shouted Scoodrach.

"Yes, come round the other side, you bun-faced looking bailiff!" cried Kenneth; and the defenders uttered a fresh cheer, while Grant in his excitement took off his black coat and white cravat, and rolled up his sleeves, before putting on an ap.r.o.n one of the maids had fetched.

"Hurray, Grant! you look as if you were going to clean the plate," cried Max excitedly.

"I'm going to take care, sir, that that sc.u.m does not touch it," said Grant, with dignity. "Well done, laddie!" he added to himself. "I'm beginning to like him after a'."

"Are you going to open this gate?" cried the bailiff, waving his piece of blue paper.

"Yes, when you are gone," cried Kenneth, stooping quickly, picking a potato out of the basket at his feet, and throwing it with such good aim that it struck the bailiff in the chest.

This was the signal for a general discharge, Max and Scoodrach hurling potatoes with all their might at the attacking party, and with more or less good aim.

"Oh, if they'd only come close in ready for the boiling lead!" cried Kenneth.

"Here, Shon!" shouted Max, whose face was crimson with excitement; "more potatoes--I mean cannon b.a.l.l.s. Bring up a sack."

"It'll be the worse for you," shouted the bailiff. "Come on, my lads, in with you!"

There was a rush made for the gateway, but a shower of vegetable bullets came now from the whole force of defenders, Tavish throwing two at a time, and Long Shon hitting every shot.

This checked the advance for a moment, and just then old Tonal'

reappeared at the front of the tower, with his hair streaming out like the tail of a silvery comet. The old man's face was puffed out and red, for now, in place of his claymore and dirk, he had his pipes in hand.

"Fecht, laddies, fecht!" he yelled; and, in spite of his being such an anachronism, there was something grand now in the wild old figure, as he stood there in full view, from crown to buckled shoon, claymore sheathed, the jewels in his dirk sparkling, and the sun flashing from his eyes as he yelled out, "Ta slogan of ta Mackhai! Mackhai!

Mackhai!"

"Oh, do hold me, Maxy, or I shall go overboard," cried Kenneth, as he held his sides and roared with laughter, for the old retainer sent forth a tremendous blast from his pipes, which came echoing back from the walls within, as he marched up and down at the front of the crumbling tower about eight steps each way, blowing with all his might, his efforts being responded to by fresh cheers from the little garrison.

"Hurrah! Hech! Hurrah!" cried Tavish, who was infected by the excitement and the national music. "Hey, but we will fecht, Maister Ken! we'll die for ye. Oh, it's crand--it's crand!"

"Fecht, then, all o' ye," cried Kenneth, taking up the broad dialect; and then roaring to those in the yard, "You girls, bring up everything you can. Never mind what it is--anything we can throw."

A shrill scream of delight came from within, and, as the dogs barked furiously, the old piper still stamped up and down and played the war march of the Clan Mackhai.

"Don't stand glowering at that owd gowk," cried the bailiff. "Come on!"

The men murmured, and held back, as the ammunition kept flying, and they had to dodge the missiles, some of the younger men catching the potatoes and throwing them back.

"Stop that, some of ye," cried the bailiff. "Ye're no' playing crecket.

Noo then, forward!"