'That gallows-bird's skull,' said Fergus, 'must be harder than marble:
the lock of the pistol was actually broken.'
'How could you strike so young a lad so hard?' said Waverley, with some
interest.
'Why, if I did not strike hard sometimes, the rascals would forget
themselves.'
They were now in full march, every caution being taken to prevent
surprise. Fergus's people, and a fine clan regiment from Badenoch,
commanded by Cluny Mac-Pherson, had the rear. They had passed a large
open moor, and were entering into the enclosures which surround a small
village called Clifton. The winter sun had set, and Edward began to
rally Fergus upon the false predictions of the Grey Spirit. 'The Ides of
March are not past,' said Mac-Ivor, with a smile; when, suddenly casting
his eyes back on the moor, a large body of cavalry was indistinctly seen
to hover upon its brown and dark surface. To line the enclosures facing
the open ground, and the road by which the enemy must move from it upon
the village, was the work of a short time. While these manoeuvres were
accomplishing, night sunk down, dark and gloomy, though the moon was
at full. Sometimes, however, she gleamed forth a dubious light upon the
scene of action.
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