"If you are what you say, sir," observed the other dragoon, with a singular hauteur in his tone and manner, "a justice of the peace, you should not be brawling thus with people on the king's highway." "Rascal, to whom do you presume to give advice, eh?" roared Tony, choking with passion. "Double rascal, to you!" thundered out the soldier, as he wrenched away by a single twitch of his right hand one of the valets' whips, and lashed Tony and his fellows so soundly, and with such rapidity, that they scarcely knew whether they were on the highway or in the air. He fairly drove them off, while his comrade, who had now sheathed his sword, sat in his saddle and laughed heartily as he looked on. "Come with us, my lad," said he, "lest those cowardly curs return and fall on you again. There is an inn somewhere near this, I believe--or at least there was when last we marched into England." "Yes, you mean the 'Marquis of Granby,'" said I, while applying my handkerchief to a cut on my left temple, which bled profusely. "Ah! that is the place I mean; we must find our quarters there for the night. You will share a glass with us and tell us how this battle came to pass?" And to this invitation I assented. CHAPTER V. THE INN. My protectors proved to be two of the Second Dragoons, or Scots Greys--a corporal and a private--who had been escorting a couple of prisoners, captured smugglers, to the Tolbooth of Dunbar, and who were proceeding to rejoin their regiment, which was then quartered at the nearest market town on the English side of the Border. "Kirkton, what did that fellow with the jockey cap call himself?" asked the corporal. "I scarcely heard; but he said he was a justice of the peace." "A rare one, certainly! But he cannot meddle with us, Tom, for we are on duty until we rejoin. Why did he attack you, my lad?" asked the corporal, turning to me; "were you poaching?" "No," said I, angrily, though the state of my attire perfectly warranted the inference; "but here is the inn." It was a common wayside hostelry, where the Berwick stages changed horses in those days--a two-storied house, with a large stable-yard behind and an ivy-clad porch in front; over the latter hung a square signboard that creaked in the wind on an iron rod, and bore a profile of the Marquis of Granby in a bright red coat and white brigadier wig, with the information beneath, that within was "good entertainment for man and beast." The landlord knit his brows and muttered something surly, under his breath however, on seeing the two dragoons approach; but Jack Charters, the corporal, presented a slip of printed paper, saying-- "How are you, old boy? Here is our billet order." "From whom?" growled Boniface. "The billet master. To-morrow it will be from a constable, but then we shall be in England." Perceiving that the host scowled at the document--