He had no fear of the track being
noticed, for the surface of the snow was everywhere marked by
parties going and returning to the main body. He kept on until he
saw a small shed. The door was unfastened; opening it he found that
the place was empty, though there were signs that it was usually
used as a shelter for cattle.
A rough ladder led to a loft. This was nearly full of hay. Malcolm
threw himself down on this, and covering himself up thickly, felt
the blood again begin to circulate in his limbs. It brought,
however, such a renewal of his pain, that it was not until morning
that fatigue overpowered his sufferings and he fell asleep.
It was late in the afternoon when he woke at the sound of shouts and
holloaing. Springing to his feet he looked out between the cracks
in the boards and saw a party of forty or fifty peasants passing
close by the shed. They were armed with hatchets, scythes, and
pikes. On the heads of four of the pikes were stuck gory heads,
and in the centre of the party were three prisoners, two Swedes
and a Scot. These were covered with blood, and were scarcely able
to walk, but were being urged forward with blows and pike thrusts
amid the brutal laughter of their captors.
Malcolm retired to his bed full of rage and sorrow. It would have
been madness to have followed his first impulse to sally out sword
in hand and fall upon the ruffians, as such a step would only have
ensured his own death without assisting the captives.
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