venture.
But we had little time, and so we set off to travel by the road the
weary miles to Wigtown. We hid all the afternoon in a wood at
Machermore, and laid our plans. It was about eleven of the clock that we
went down into Wigtown, with the breaking tools which Thomas had gotten
from his father's farm, as we passed down through Peninghame.

At the door of the little hostelry in the town we heard a great rioting
and crying, which was, as we understood, the soldiers of Winram and some
of Strachan's officers drinking late with the Wigtown lawyers, as was
their custom. A big, important-looking man went by us, swaying a little
unsteadily. He made a great work with his elbows as he went, working
them backward and forward at his sides as though he was oaring a boat.
This, Thomas Wilson whispered, was Provost Coltran, going home to his
town house, after he and David Graham had had their nightcap together.
Very evidently the Provost was carrying his full load. For in the midst
of the ill-kept square of Wigtown, where certain tall trees grow, he
paused and looked upward among the leaves to where the crows were
chattering late among their younglings.

"Crawin' and splartin' deils," he said, shaking one fist up at them, and
holding to a tree with the other. "I'll hae ye brocht afore the Toon
Cooncil and fined--aye, an' a' your goods and gear shall be escheat to
the Crown. Blood me gin I dinna, or my name is no Provost Cowtran! David
Graham will be glad to hear o' this!"

So saying, he staggered away homeward, there to underlie the ill tongue
of his wife for coming home in such a condition--albeit not much worse
than was usual with him.

About the Tolbooth it was very quiet, and all was still also in Lag's
lodging, whose windows looked down upon it. We got close to the window
of the Hole, and crouched to wait for the deepest darkening behind some
low ill-smelling sheds, in which pigs were grunting and snoring.

But even at this time of year it is very light at night, and especially
in such a place as Wigtown--which sits not among the hills, but as it
were on a knowe under a wide arch of sky, making it little and lonely
under all that vastness.

Thomas Wilson was to gather a few trusty lads (for there were still such
about the place), who should attempt to burn down the door of the Hole.
While Wat and I with our crowbars or gellecks, our mallets and chisels,
were to try our best with the window. What galled us most was the