But ere I could see more, I was in the thick of the murderers with my sword. I struck and warded, not knowing what I did, but only striking, with the anger of blood in my eye, till I gave Drummurchie a cut on the shoulder, which made him fain to shift his sword arm. Then I wheeled and attacked Cloncaird as furiously, who was a great mountain of a fellow, red of face and brutal of heart. And I had readily enough done for him, too, had he been alone, for he was no man of his weapons. But I could see plainly enough three or four others charging pistols and training of hackbutts, making ready to take an aim at me. Whereupon I knew that there was no use of spending my life for naught. So, with my sword red in my hand, I rode over the sandhills straight at the tall man in the grey cloak; but such was the effect of an ill conscience that he took his mantle about his mouth as one that fears being known, and set spurs to his horse. I had not pursued far when I came to the top of a dune and saw a little cloud of citizens that played at the clubs beneath me. To them I rode as hard as I could, with the murderers’ bullets splattering here and there and throwing up little spirts of sand about me. ’Murder! Foul murder!’ I cried. ’Come hastily, for the Tutor of Cassillis is done to death!’ One of the citizens held up his hand to me as if to bid me be silent, for it was the putting stroke which his neighbour played, and of its kind difficult, so that men held their breath. But when it was made and the ball holed, they ran to me quickly enough, for, alas! murder was so common in those days, that men took little notice unless he that fell was one who was some kin to themselves. Nevertheless, they hasted when I cried who was my master, and who were the villains that beset him. For the players were all burghers of Ayr and feared that they should underlie the angers of the Earl and of the King, if they gave not ready help when this slaughter was done, as it were, at their very gates. Thus very quickly we came to my dear master. He was lying alone on his back quietly gazing up to the sky, the red blood welling from many ghastly wounds. All his rich plain Flanders cleading was torn and disarranged by the villains, who had not disdained to despoil after that they had murdered him. Yet there was some life left in him, and he turned his head, smiling as if thankful (after the hateful faces of his cruel enemies) to gaze at the last upon the countenances of friends. He was, as I thought, past speech; but he looked about him in a certain curious way he had when he had lost something, and, being absent-minded, knew not for the moment what. I showed him his empty purse; but it was not that. So I looked round and saw nothing but some discharged pistols lying with broken lingels abroad upon the sand, and the little book he had been reading as his palfrey paced along.