“Now, David Blair,” said Kenric with tremulous voice, “repeat your accusation, and woe betide you if in malice you say aught but the holy truth.”

“My lord!” said the farmer in surprise.  “Am I then to be doubted?  And is my word less to be trusted than that of any other honest man of Bute?  I repeat that it was Allan Redmain who slew my dog out of mere boyish sport.”

Allan looked at his accuser with frowning brows.

“Allan Redmain, are you guilty or innocent of this offence?” asked the young judge.

“In that I slew the dog, my lord, I am guilty,” said Allan.  “But in that the act was not without just cause, I am innocent.  It was in the hay field of Scalpsie, where with a companion I was walking.  The dog ran up to us as it were to attack us.  My comrade shook his fist at the dog, and thereupon it sprang at his throat, and I took out my dirk and slew the brute.”

“Brute, say you?” exclaimed the farmer.  “My lord, the dog meant no manner of harm, and it was a cruel thing to kill him so.  I am now without a watchdog, and must I needs suffer my sheep to be devoured by the wolves because, forsooth, a hot-headed lad would use his knife upon my poor dumb friend?  I ask for redress, and redress I shall have.”

“Who was the comrade of whom you speak?” asked Kenric of Allan.

“I refuse to say, my lord,” said Allan firmly.

“It was your own brother Alpin who is dead, my lord,” said David Blair.

“What! and you would have me punish one who so defended my own brother?” cried Kenric.  “No, David Blair, I cannot do it.”

But at that the farmer protested warmly, and declared that he would have justice done him, and that it was his lord’s duty to deal fairly by all men, notwithstanding that Allan Redmain was the son of the steward.  So there was nothing for it but for Kenric to pronounce the penalty.

“It is an old law, held sacred by custom,” he falteringly said, “that if one slays another man’s watchdog, the slayer must himself protect for a year and a day the unwatched homestead.  And he is accountable to the owner for any scathe that may befall within that period after the slaying of the dog.  This, Allan Redmain, is the penalty you must pay, and less than this it is not in my power to impose, for law is law, and I am but its instrument.”

Then after the assize was over, Allan went to Kenric and asked him what was now to be done concerning their projected journey into Scotland, for that now he was condemned to act for twelve long months as a miserable watchdog, it was no longer possible for him to leave the island, and be absent for a night.

The same difficulty had already presented itself to Kenric, who felt indeed that he would rather have cut off his own hand than pass that sentence upon his friend.  He looked at Allan with pleading eyes.

“Allan,” he said, “how can you forgive me for this that I have done?  And how can I now help you out of this miserable dog’s work?  Methinks that on the cold frosty nights when you are out there, minding this churlish farmer’s sheep, it will not be easily that I shall lie in my warm bed.  But how to help it, I do not know.  Haply the law was made for vagabond thieves and cattle lifters, but it still is law, and in my place I could not well evade the judgment.”