ail of esquires and
men-at-arms; behind these dense clusters of heavily armed spearmen
marched steadily along the easiest paths by the waterside and over the
lower hill passes. Light running footmen slung their swords over their
backs by leathern bandoliers and pricked it briskly southwards over
the bent so brown. Archers there were from the border towards the
Solway side--lithe men, accustomed to spring from tussock to tuft of
shaking grass, whose long strides and odd spasmodic side leapings
betrayed even on the plain and unyielding pasture lands the place of
their amphibious nativity.

"The Jack herons of Lochar," these were named by the men of Galloway.
But there was no jeering to their faces, for not one of those
Maxwells, Sims, Patersons, and Dicksons would have thought twice of
leaping behind a tree stump to wing a cloth-yard shaft into a
scoffer's ribs at thirty yards, taking his chance of the dule tree and
the hempen cord thereafter for the honour of Lochar.

CHAPTER VIII

THE CROSSING OF THE FORD

It was still early morning of the great day, when Sholto and Laurence
MacKim, leaving their mother in the kitchen, and their young sister
Magdalen trying a yet prettier knot to her kerchief, took their way by
the fords of Glen Lochar to an eminence then denominated plainly the
Whinny Knowe, the same which afterwards gained and has kept to this
day the more fatal designation of Knock Cannon. The lads were dressed
as became the sons of so prosperous a craftsman (and master armourer
to boot) as Malise MacKim of the Carlinwark.

Laurence, the younger, wore his archer's jack over the suit of purple
velvet, high boots of yellow leather, and, withal, a dainty cap set
far back on his head, from which sprouted the wing of a blackcock in
as close imitation as Master Laurence dared compass of the Earl
Douglas himself. His bow was slung at his back all ready for the
inspection. A sash of orange silk was twisted about his slim waist,
and in this he would set his thumb knowingly, and stare boldly as
often as the pair of brothers overtook a pretty girl. For Master
Laurence loved beauty, and thought not lightly of his own.

Sholto, though, as we shall soon see, despised not love, had eyes more
for the knights and men-at-arms, and considered that his heaven would
be fully attained as soon as he should ride one of those great
prancing horses, and carry a lance with the pennon of the Douglas upon
it.

Meanwhile he wore