CHAPTER XLIX.
THE BATTLE WITH THE WERE-WOLVES "Let us get out of this hellish place," cried James Douglas so soon as he had seen with his eyes that which lay within the bedchamber of the witch woman, and made certain that it was all over with Caesar Martin.
So the three men issued out into the gloom of the night, and made their way to the stable wherein they had disposed their horses so carefully the night before.
The door lay on the ground smashed and broken.

It had been driven to kindling wood from within.

Its inner surface was dinted and riven by the iron shoes of the frightened steeds, but the horses themselves were nowhere to be found.

They had broken their halters and vanished.
The three Scots were left in the heart of the enemy's country without means of escape save upon their own feet.
But the horror which lay behind them in the house of La Meffraye drove them on.
Almost without knowing whither they went, they turned their faces towards the west, in the direction in which lay Machecoul, the castle of the dread Lord of all the Pays de Retz.

Malise, as was his custom, walked in front, Sholto and the Lord James Douglas a step behind.
A chill wind from the sea blew through the forest.