But even as the crusty old soldier spoke these words, the white anxiety in Sholto’s face struck through his half-humorous complaint, and the words died on his lips in a perturbed “What is’t—­what is’t ava, laddie?”

Sholto told him in the fewest words.

“The Yerl and Dawvid in the power o’ their hoose’s enemies.  Blessed Saint Anthony, and here was I flighterin’ and ragin’ aboot my naethings.  Here, lads, blaw the horn and cry the slogan.  Fetch the horses frae the stall and stand ready in your war gear within ten minutes by the knock.  Aye, faith, will we raise Douglasdale!  Gang your ways to Gallowa’—­there shall not a man bide at hame this day.  Certes, we wull that!  Ca’ in the by-gaun at Lanark—­aye, lad, and, gin the rascals are no willing or no ready, we will hang the provost and magistrates at their ain door-cheeks to learn them to bide frae the cried assembly o’ their liege lord!”

Sholto had done enough in Douglasdale.  He turned north again on a yet more important errand.  It was forenoon full and broad when he halted before the little town of Strathaven, upon which the Castle of Avondale looks down.  It seemed of the greatest moment that the Avondale Douglases should know that which had befallen their cousin.  For no suspicion of treachery within the house and name of Douglas itself touched with a shade of shadow the mind of Sholto MacKim.

He thundered at the town-ward port of the castle (to which a steep ascent led up from a narrow vennel), where presently the outer guard soon crowded about him, listening to his story and already fingering bowstring and examining rope-matches preparatory to the expected march upon Edinburgh.

“I have not time to waste, comrades; I would see my lords,” said Sholto.  “I must see them instantly.”

And even as he spoke there on the steps before him appeared the dark, handsome face and tall but slightly stooping figure of William Douglas of Avondale.  He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and his serious thought-weighted brow bent upon the concourse about Sholto.

With a push of his elbows this way and that, the young captain of the Earl’s guard opened a road through the press.

In short, emphatic sentences he told his tale, and at the name of prisonment and treachery to his cousins the countenance of William Douglas grew stern and hard.  His face twitched as if the news came very near to him.  He did not answer for a moment, but stood biting his lips and glooming upon Sholto, as though the young man had been a prisoner waiting sentence of pit or gallows for evil doing.

“I must see James concerning this ill news,” he said when Sholto had finished telling him of the Black Bull’s Head at the Chancellor’s banquet-table.

He turned to go within.

“My lord,” said Sholto, “will you give me another horse, and let Darnaway rest in your stables?  I must instantly ride south again to raise Galloway.”