Davie kept calling, "Run,
Ranald!--here they come!" and jumping so, half in fear, half in
pleasure, that I found it very hard work indeed.
Their taunting voices reached me at length, loaded with all sorts of
taunting and opprobrious words--some of them, I dare say, deserved,
but not all. Next a stone struck me, but not in a dangerous place,
though it crippled my running still more. The bridge was now in sight,
however, and there I could get rid of Davie and turn at bay, for it
was a small wooden bridge, with rails and a narrow gate at the end to
keep horsemen from riding over it. The foremost of our pursuers were
within a few yards of my heels, when, with a last effort, I bounded on
it; and I had just time to set Davie down and turn and bar their way
by shutting the gate, before they reached it. I had no breath left but
just enough to cry, "Run, Davie!" Davie, however, had no notion of the
state of affairs, and did not run, but stood behind me staring. So I
was not much better off yet. If he had only run, and I had seen him
far enough on the way home, I would have taken to the water, which was
here pretty deep, before I would have run any further risk of their
getting hold of me. If I could have reached the mill on the opposite
bank, a shout would have brought the miller to my aid. But so long as
I could prevent them from opening the gate, I thought I could hold the
position.
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