The air groaned and whistled as the mass flew through it.

Down at length it came, and the iron head sunk a foot into the earth, a full yard beyond the cast of Norman.
The Highlander, defeated and mortified, went to the spot where the weapon lay, lifted it, poised it in his hand with great wonder, and examined it closely, as if he expected to discover more in it than a common hammer.

He at length returned it to the owner with a melancholy smile, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head as the smith asked him whether he would not mend his cast.
"Norman has lost too much at the sport already," he replied.

"She has lost her own name of the Hammerer.

But does her own self, the Gow Chrom, work at the anvil with that horse's load of iron ?" "You shall see, brother," said Henry, leading the way to the smithy.
"Dunter," he said, "rax me that bar from the furnace"; and uplifting Sampson, as he called the monstrous hammer, he plied the metal with a hundred strokes from right to left--now with the right hand, now with the left, now with both, with so much strength at once and dexterity, that he worked off a small but beautifully proportioned horseshoe in half the time that an ordinary smith would have taken for the same purpose, using a more manageable implement.
"Oigh--oigh!" said the Highlander, "and what for would you be fighting with our young chief, who is far above your standard, though you were the best smith ever wrought with wind and fire ?" "Hark you!" said Henry; "you seem a good fellow, and I'll tell you the truth.