Yet, in the present pacified state of the country, these were doubtless troopers in the service of King William, and the old bad, days gone forever—that is, from the point of view of the good-man of Mossdale. Nevertheless, with such a pig, that worthy man considered that it was well to run no risks.
But it was otherwise with Wat Gordon of Lochinvar. He had fought at Killiekrankie, and had twice been outlawed by the government of King William.
"Halt!" cried the officer in command to him; "whither away, riding so gayly, young sir?"
"To the wedding at Balmaghie," Wat replied, tossing his lace kerchief, as if he had been a gallant shedding perfume over the Mall under the eyes of the maids-in-waiting.
"Your name and possessions?" continued the officer, noways inclined to be impressed by butterfly graces.
"I am Gordon of Gordonstoun—a kinsman of Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, to whose house I presume you are going," replied Wat, subtly. "This is, indeed, my cousin's war-horse on which I ride, if so be any of you are acquainted with him."
"Aye, by my faith, that do I all too well," said one of the troopers; "the uncanny devil came nigh to taking my arm off the other morning between his teeth, when I would have shifted him out of his stall to make room for the horse of your honor."
"Well done, Drumclog!" said Wat, leaning over and patting his neck, as easily as if he had been a councillor of the king himself, instead of a rebel twice attainted and mansworn.
"A good Cameronian horse," smiled the officer. "I thank you, laird of Gordonstoun, for your courteous answers. I would not keep you a moment from the bridal to which you go. Gay footing to you! I would it were mine to lead the dance this night with the maids of Balmaghie, and to drink the bride's stirrup-cup this morning."
"Aye," said Wat, "it is indeed good to drink the loving-cup from the bride's fair hands. 'Tis to taste it that I go. I have risen from a sick bed to do it."