After a hurried consultation, they agreed to ride steadily forward to the pass, at a good round pace, yet not fast enough to convey the idea of flight. If their enemies were there before them, they must charge without hesitation and try to cut their way through, the Englishman remarking with grim sarcasm, that ‘the Warden was likely to have a good appetite if he waited supper until his guests arrived.’ As the three wayfarers neared the pass, the dusky forms of their enemies were already drawn up in its shadow; and a shot, fired at Maxwell, which cut the ribbon from his sleeve, sufficiently denoted their intentions. A voice, too, from the midst of the little black mass was heard to exclaim, in more polished language than might have been expected-- ‘Dead or alive, Rough Rob! take the man in the centre, and let the others go free!’ ‘Thank you,’ observed the Englishman, who occupied that position between his servant and Maxwell, adding, through his set teeth, ‘I shall owe you one, whoever you are, and pay it before I’ve done with you, or my name is not Thomas Randolph!’ Maxwell heard the promise, but had no time for astonishment at thus finding himself the companion of Elizabeth’s ambassador to the Scotch court under such uncomfortable circumstances, inasmuch as a grim borderer, on a tall bay horse, was already within lance’s length of him, and in another stride his own tired animal was rolling on the heather, and he was defending himself as well as he could on his feet. Two or three shots were fired, the flashes from the pistols and musquetoons lighting up the faces of the combatants, as they rode to and fro through the skirmish. With the exception, however, of Mr Randolph’s first shot, which made ‘Rough Rob’s’ good gray mare masterless, the fire-arms did little damage, save rendering three or four of the horses perfectly unmanageable. As Maxwell shifted his ground, and traversed here and there, parrying with his sword the thrusts of his adversary’s long lance, a tall man rode up to him, and shouting, ‘A Carmichael!’ seemed about to cut him down; then, as if perceiving his mistake, he checked his raised arm, and turned upon Mr Randolph, whom he attacked with considerable energy, shouting his war-cry, as though from the force of habit, once more. The latter defended himself valiantly, but notwithstanding the assistance of his servant who fought with the cool intrepidity of an Englishman in a difficulty, he had too great odds to contend with, and must have fared badly, had not assistance come from an unexpected quarter at the very moment when honest Jenkin fell from the saddle with an awkward knock on his pate from the back of a Jedwood axe, running his assailant through the arm, however, as he went down.