“Well, that is the practice of the hangman at Jedburgh,” replied Traquair, laughing. “But go thy ways. Will shall not hang yet. He hath a job to do for me. There’s a ‘lurdon’[D] of the north he must steal for me. I’ll take thy bond.”
“Gie me your hand then, my Lord,” said the determined dame; “and the richest lurdon o’ the land he’ll bring to your Lordship, as surely as he ever took a Cumberland cow—whilk, as your Lordship kens, is nae rieving.”
Traquair gave the good dame his hand, and she departed, wondering, as she went, what the Lord Warden was to do with a stolen lurdon. A young damsel might have been a fair prize for the handsome baron; but an “auld wife,” as she muttered to herself, was the most extraordinary object of rieving she had ever heard of, amidst all the varieties of a Borderer’s prey. Next day Traquair mounted his horse, and—
“Traquair has riden up Chaplehope,
An’ sae has he doun by the Grey-Mare’s-Tail;
He never stinted the light gallop,
Until he speered for Christie’s Will.”
Having arrived at Jedburgh, he repaired direct to the jail, where Margaret had been before him, to inform her husband that the great Lord Warden was to visit him, and get him released; but upon the condition of stealing away a lurdon in the north—a performance, the singularity of which was much greater than the apparent difficulty, unless, indeed, as Will said, she was a bedridden lurdon, in which case, it would be no easy matter to get her conveyed, as horses were the only carriers of stolen goods in those days. But the wonder why Traquair should wish to steal away an old woman had perplexed the wits of Will and his wife to such an extent, that they had recourse to the most extraordinary hypotheses; supposing at one time that she was some coy heiress of seventy summers, who had determined to be carried off after the form of young damsels in the times of chivalry; at another, that she was the parent of some lord, who could only be brought to concede something to the Warden by the force of the impledgment of his mother; and, again, that she was the duenna of an heiress, who could only be got through the confinement of the old hag. Be who she might, however, Christie’s Will declared, upon the faith of the long shablas of Johnny Armstrong, that he would carry her off through fire and water, as sure as ever Kinmont Willie was carried away by old Wat of Buccleuch from the Castle of Carlisle.
“Oh, was it war-wolf in the wood,
Or was it mermaid in the sea,
Or was it maid or lurdon auld,
He’d carry an’ bring her bodilie.”
Such was the heroic determination to which Christie’s Will had come, when the jailor came and whispered in his ear, that the Lord Warden was in the passage on the way to see him. Starting to his feet, the riever was prepared to meet the baron, of whom he generally stood in so much awe in his old tower of Gilnockie, but who came to him now on a visit of peace.
“Thou’lt hang, Will, this time,” said the Warden, with an affectation of gruffness, as he stepped forward. “It is not in the power of man to save ye!”
“Begging yer Lordship’s pardon,” replied Will, “I believe it, however, to be in the power o’ a woman. The auld lurdon will be in Gilnockie tower at yer Lordship’s ain time.”
“And who is the ‘auld lurdon?’” replied the Warden, trying to repress a laugh, which forced its way in spite of his efforts.