“My name is William Armstrong,” replied the rider simply. In spite of himself, the stolid face of the leader showed some surprise at this announcement, as if he knew the name and had not expected to hear it so frankly acknowledged.
“Where are you from?”
“I came across the Border this morning. I am a Scotsman.”
“Why are you here?”
“I am a cattle-dealer, and as there is little doing in my own country I thought I would just see if business was better on this side of the line. This amusing lunatic said there was cattle for sale in the valley, and led me hither, for which service I paid him a trifle.”
“And so there is, and so there is,” cried the lunatic; “but the price was for my advice, not for the leading hither. I must get my pay for that yet. Aye, there’s cattle for sale here, and I’m the marketman.”
“Peace to your folly,” said the captain, scowling. Then curtly to the horseman, “Dismount.”
Armstrong sprang to the ground.
“Your sword,” demanded the officer.
The weapon was handed to him.