"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.
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