glas!"

"Fower o' the morning! Lord, what's a' the steer? In the name o' the
Yerl o' Douglas! But wha kens that it isna the English? Na, na, Grice
Elshioner opens not to every night-raking loon that likes to cry the
name o' the Yerl o' Douglas ower oor toon wa'!"

And Grice the valorous would have taken him off with a fresh,
sleep-dispelling bellow had it not been that he heard himself summoned
in a voice that brooked no delay.

"Open, varlet of a watchman, or by Saint Bride I will have you
swinging in half an hour from the bars of your own portcullis. I who
speak am Sholto MacKim, captain of the Earl's guard. Every liegeman in
the town must arm, mount, and ride this instant to Edinburgh. I give
you fair warning. You hear my words, I will not enter your rascal
town. But if so much as one be wanting at the muster, I swear in the
name of my master that his house shall be burned with fire and razed
to the ground, and his wife be a widow or ever the cock craw on
another Sabbath morn!"

And without waiting for a reply Sholto laid the reins upon the neck of
Black Darnaway and rode on southward up Douglas Water to the home nest
of the lordly race.

And behind him, with a wail in it, blared through the narrow streets
the stormy voice of Grice Elshioner, watchman of Lanark, "Wauken ye,
wauken ye, burgesses a'! The Douglas hath sent to bid ye mount and
ride."

The _birr_ of the war drum saluted Sholto's ears ere he had turned the
corner of the town parks. Then came the answering shouts of the
burghers who thrust inquiring and indignant heads out of gable windows
and turret speering-holes.

"_Birr!_" continued the undaunted and insistent town drum.

"Harness your backs! Fill your bellies, and stand ready! The Douglas
has need o' ye, lieges a'!" cried the sonorous voice of the watch.
Sholto smiled as he listened.

"I have at least set them on the alert. They will join the Douglasdale
men as they pass by, or we will show them reason why. But they of
Lanark are ill-set town-ward men, and of no true leal heart, save an
it be to their own coffers. Yet will they march with us for fear of
the harrying hand and the burning roof tree."

The sun rose fair on the battlements of Douglas Castle as Sholto rode
up to the level mead, whereon a little company of men was exercising.
He could hear the words of command cried gruffly in the broad Galloway
speech. Landless Jock was drilling his spearmen, and as the shining
triple line of