casion. He was deeply engrossed in studies that had no
bearing upon Border affairs when an officer came to announce the
capture of some Scottish moss-troopers, and to ask for the Warden's
commands with regard to them. The interruption was untimely, and Lord
Howard was exasperated. "Hang them, in the devil's name!" he said
angrily, and went on with his studies. A little later he felt he could
better give his mind to the consideration of the case, and sent for his
officer. "Touching the prisoners," said he, "what have you done with
them?"

Proud of being one of those who did not let the grass grow beneath their
feet, the officer beamingly responded: "Everyone o' them's hangit, my
lord!"

It was a March day in 1596, when a Wardens' meeting took place at
Dayholm, near Kershopefoot. The snow was still lying in the hollows of
the Cheviots, the trees were bare, the Liddel and the Esk swollen by
thaws and winter rains; but weather was a thing that came but little
into the reckoning of the men of the Marches unless some foray was
afoot. They got through the business more or less satisfactorily, and
proceeded to ride home before the day of truce should be ended. From
sunrise on the one day until sunset on the next, so the Border law
ordained, all Scots and Englishmen who were present at the Wardens'
meeting should be free of scathe. Now the Warden of Liddesdale at that
time was Sir Walter Scott of Branxholme, laird of Buccleuch. He was one
of the greatest men of his century; a "fyrebrande," according to Queen
Elizabeth, and a fierce enemy according to those who incurred his
enmity; but, according to all others, a man of perfect courage,
stainless loyalty and honour, charming wit, and great culture. He never
spared an enemy nor turned his back on a friend, and he was a born
winner of hearts and leader of men. Amongst his retainers was Kinmont
Willie, and as Willie rode from the Wardens' meeting, along the banks of
the Liddel, in company with only three or four men, a body of two
hundred English horsemen, commanded by Salkeld, Warden of the Eastern
March, marked him from across the water. Truce or no truce, the chance
seemed to them one that was too good to lose. Speedily some of them
pushed on ahead, and an ambush was laid for Kinmont Willie. He and his
friends were naturally totally unprepared for such a dastardly attack,
but it took them but little time to gather their wits, and Willie gave
them a good run for their money. For