Robert's heart gave a bound of hope.
'Hoo 'ill ye get them, Shargar?' he asked eagerly.
'Steal them,' answered Shargar, struggling to get away from the grasp still upon his collar.
'We micht be hanged for that.'
'Weel, Robert, I'll tak a' the wyte o' 't. Gin it hadna been for you, I micht ha' been hangt by this time for ill doin': for your sake I'll be hangt for weel doin', an' welcome. Come awa'. To steal a mairch upo' brither Sandy wi' aucht (eight) horse-huves o' 's ain! Ha! ha! ha!'
They sped along, now running themselves out of breath, now walking themselves into it again, until they reached a retired hostelry between the two towns. Warning Robert not to show himself, Shargar disappeared round the corner of the house.
Robert grew weary, and then anxious. At length Shargar's face came through the darkness.
'Robert,' he whispered, 'gie 's yer bonnet. I'll be wi' ye in a moment noo.'
Robert obeyed, too anxious to question him. In about three minutes more Shargar reappeared, leading what seemed the ghost of a black horse; for Robert could see only his eyes, and his hoofs made scarcely any noise. How he had managed it with a horse of Black Geordie's temper, I do not know, but some horses will let some persons do anything with them: he had drawn his own stockings over his fore feet, and tied their two caps upon his hind hoofs.
'Lead him awa' quaietly up the road till I come to ye,' said Shargar, as he took the mufflings off the horse's feet. 'An' min' 'at he doesna tak a nip o' ye. He's some ill for bitin'. I'll be efter ye direckly. Rorie's saiddlet an' bridled. He only wants his carpet-shune.'