This gave a chance to the Muirburn men. Their next player placed his stone a long way from the tee, but right in front of Alec’s, so that it was impossible, or almost impossible, to dislodge the latter without first getting rid of the former. To him succeeded Johnnie Fergus; and he, preferring his own judgment before that of the official guide, played the guard full on, with the result that he sent it well into the inner circle, while his own stone formed a very efficient guard for that of his enemy. As every stone which, at the end of the round, is found nearer the tee than anyone belonging to a player of the opposite side counts for one point, the Muirburn men had now two stones in a position to score; and they patiently surrounded them with guards, which the Auchinbyres players knocked away whenever they could. So the game went with varying success, till only one pair of players was left for that round--Hamilton, playing for Muirburn, and Lord Bantock, who belonged to the enemy. Things at that moment were very bad for the Muirburn men. Four stones belonging to the opposite side were nearer the tee than any one of their own; while a formidable array of guards lined the ice in front of them. Hamilton went and studied the situation carefully. Then he went back, and played his first shot. ‘Soop it! Soop it! Soop it!’ roared the schoolmaster, flourishing his broom, and dancing like a maniac. He alone, of the Auchinbyres players, understood the object of the shot, and saw that it could only be defeated, if at all, by giving it a little extra impetus. But the advice came too late. The brooms were plied before it like lightning, but the stone came stealing up like a live thing, and just avoiding an outlying guard, gave a knock to one stone at such an angle that the impetus was communicated to a second and from it to a third, while it took the third place, thus cutting off two of the adversaries’ points. ‘Noo, m’ lord, a wee thocht tae the richt o’ this,’ said Johnnie Fergus, as he stooped down and held his broom over the spot where he desired Lord Bantock’s stone should come in. But Lord Bantock had been given the place of honour as last player more out of consideration for his rank than for his skill. He played with far too much force, and sent his stone smashing on one of the outside guards, from which it rushed to the side of the rink and disappeared. ‘Did I no tell ye no to pit that sumph at the tail?’ quoth Johnnie in an undertone of deep disgust, as he rose from his stooping posture. ‘Haud your tongue, man! I’ve seen his lordship play as weel as ony deacon amang ye,’ said the leader, angry at being suspected of unduly favouring the great man.