"Come, Janet, woman," she said again.

"It's no job for a decent lass to be wandering at the tail of a crazy warlock." The word roused Muckle John to fury.

He sprang forward, caught the sorrel's bridle, and swung it round.

The girl did not move, but looked him square in the face, the young eyes fronting his demoniac glower.
Then very swiftly her arm rose, and she laid the lash of her whip roundly over his shoulders.
The man snarled like a beast, leaped back and plucked from his seaman's belt a great horse-pistol.

I heard the click of it cocking, and the next I knew it was levelled at the girl's breast.