The Battle for Duncragglin by Andrew H. Vanderwal Page A

hit the dirt with a thud. But Alex knew it would come down again at any second. He desperately tried to squirm out from under the man's foot, tensing for a blow that would end it all.
    Alex heard a short gasp. A heavy weight fell across his back. There was a gurgling sound. He wriggled out from under the twitching weight and scrambled to his feet. One of the men was sprinting away. The other was on the ground, a look of amazement in his eyes as he stared down at an arrow protruding from his chest. The man made another gurgling noise, and bubbles of blood appeared in his gaping mouth. Then he lay still, his unblinking eyes staring blankly at Alex.
    “Craig!” Alex dropped to his knees and put a hand on Craig's shoulder. “Are you okay?”
    Craig slowly rolled his head to one side. “Are they gone?” He looked up at Alex. Under his puffy eye was a nasty black bruise.
    “Sort of.” Alex spoke as calmly as he could. “But don't worry. They won't hurt us anymore.”
    Off to one side, Alex noticed a movement. A tall lean man with dark hair stood quietly watching them, his head tilted quizzically. The longbow tucked under his arm had an arrow loosely notched in position. Alex eyed him warily, wondering if he was another thief, perhaps a rival of those who attacked them. The man dressed strangely: his jacket and trousers looked like they were made of green-dyed deerskin, vaguely similar to the deerskin jackets Alex had seen in the United States – except there, the jackets had fringes under each arm to shoo away mosquitoes and blackflies, and had buttons or zippers. This man's jacket was closed by laces, which crisscrossed up the front. He also wore a peculiar cap with flaps that hung loosely down the sides, looking like they could be tied under his chin if his ears got cold.
    Alex helped Craig to his feet. The boys edged away from the body. Alex stared at it in morbid fascination. It was un settling that the thief, who just a few moments ago was so full of life, was now some inert thing. This was not one of the casual deaths of his daydreams; this one gave him a queasy sensation, and he had to breathe deeply to keep it down. There was a curious buzzing in his ears. Feeling dizzy, Alex put a hand on a tree for support and gulped in air.
    The deerskin-clad man bent over the body and abruptly yanked out his arrow. “I don't like killin' these rogues,” he said, casually wiping the blood from his arrow onto the dead man's clothes. “Most of them are doing no more than trying to feed their own bairns the only way they know how. God knows it's hard enough to make an honest living without the likes of Hesselrigge making it damn near impossible.”
    Alex's nausea rose each time he looked at the dead thief, so he turned to face the other way. “Thank you for saving us, sir,” he said timidly.
    The man looked sharply at Alex, his eyes dwelling briefly on his clothes and shoes. “Ye speak strangely, m'lad, and your garments are unlike any I've seen. Where are ye from?”
    “Canada.”
    The man stared at him blankly.
    “I'm here to spend the summer with my aunt, but she's sick so I'm staying with the McRaes.”
    “McRaes, ye say? And what's your name?”
    “Alex Macpherson, sir. And this is my friend, Craig McRae.”
    “Very good.” The man nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Sir Ellerslie's my name. I'll send some men out to your clans. They'll be glad, I'm sure, to learn that ye two are safe. Now, tell me, what brings ye boys here wandering about these woods?”
    “My mother disappeared,” Craig said. “And, long ago, Alex's parents disappeared too. We're looking for them.”
    “Disappeared, ye say?” Sir Ellerslie clicked his tongue sympathetically. “I'll no be surprised if Hesselrigge's behind it. Has there been a demand for ransom?”
    Alex and Craig glanced at each other. It had never occurred to Alex that his parents might have been kidnapped. And there was that name – Hesselrigge – again. Where, oh where,