Now it must have seemed to Hall of Girsonfield, the head of the chief of the northern clans, a very clear error in judgment for any of the powers that existed to pass him over and appoint as keeper of Redesdale his friend and neighbour, Percival Reed.  To have to bow to Reed’s authority, to obey his summons when called on to help to intercept a party of reiving Scots or to pursue them, hot trod, into Scotland, to hear the praises of Percival Reed in all mouths—­these were bitter things to be swallowed by him who has come down to us as “the false-hearted Ha’.”  And so, having opened the door of his heart for the messengers of Satan to come in, Hall of Girsonfield had not long to wait for his tenants.

Clearly Percival Reed had no right to be keeper, but as he did his duties bravely and well, there was no chance of his being deposed, save by death.  Never a day or a night was there when Hall and his friend Reed cantered together to meet some of the Scott or Elliot clan, or to rescue a drove of cattle or sheep from them, or from some of the Croziers or Turnbulls, but what Hall rode with murder in his heart.  Reed was utterly unconscious.  There was no scheme that he did not confide to him whom he took for his loyal friend, no success for which he did not jubilantly claim Hall’s sympathy and congratulations.  He laid bare the whole of his innocent heart, and Hall hated him all the more bitterly because of it.  “If he were not so handy with his Ferrara,” brooded Hall....  “If only he had been a little slower that time in getting out his dag when Nixon had covered him.” ...  “If only his mare had not only stumbled, but had fallen there by the peat hag when Sandy’s Jock so near had him....”

To Hall of Girsonfield Providence seemed to take special care of Percival Reed, for no other reason than to goad him to extremity.  The devils who possessed him were skilfully nursing their prey.

There came at last a day, when no raids were afoot, when Hall met some of the Crozier clan, and opinions were frankly expressed with regard to the keeper of Redesdale.  Things had been going badly with the Croziers.  Their beef-tubs were empty.  The Borders were evidently going to the dogs.  It was no longer possible for any hard-working reiver to make a living on them.  Percival Reed would have to get his leave, or it was all up with reiving in Redesdale.  To all of these complaints Hall lent a willing ear; nay, more, to their surprise, a sympathetic one.  Apparently he, too, had some little schemes afoot, with which the keeper’s over-vigilance had seriously interfered.  What a merry jest it would be, next time the Croziers crossed the Border by moonlight, if the keeper’s plans for that night were known to them, and if, instead of finding in the clan Hall enemies, they found them allies.  The Croziers might have all the spoil, but the Halls would share the joke, and Percival Reed would crow less crouse for the future.

It was a quite simply arranged affair.  The Halls entered with zest into the plot.  Second place was not good enough for them, and the Reeds had boasted long enough.