"See what an ugly fellow is
beside the window now! Truth, I never saw so many ugly men together. Let
me pass!"
"Peace, Martin, I am all right!" Barbara called from the window, fearful
that these men might do him an injury.
"Take that idiot further back!" roared the voice of the man in command
of the troop. "He does naught but frighten the lady."
Martin received a cuff on the head, and was hustled to the rear, a man
riding on either side of him.
"Who was the gentleman who struck me?" whined Martin, rubbing his head.
"Sayers. His is a good hand for dusting off flies," laughed one of the
men beside him, willing to get some sport out of this madman.
"Flies! To judge by my head he must have fancied he saw a bullock before
him. Lucky I dodged somewhat, or I'd have no head for flies to settle
on. And who is the gentleman with the voice of thunder?"
"That's Watson."
"It's a good voice, but there's no music in it. You have never heard him
sing, eh?"
"Aye, but I have. He can roar a fine stave about wine and women."
"I'll go and ask him to favour us," said Martin, jerking his horse
forward.
"Stay where you are," and the man's hand shot out to the horse's bridle.
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