y, and
entered the stable. Then he did a very cruel thing. He cut every horse,
except three, on one of its hind legs, "tied it with St Mary's knot," as
it was called; so that he made them all lame. Then he hastily drew the
spurs and the new bridle out of his breeches pocket. He buckled on the
spurs, and began to examine the three horses which he had not lamed. He
knew to whom they belonged. Two of them, which were standing together,
belonged to Johnie and Willie Armstrong, and were the very horses they
had ridden when they stole the cows. The third, a splendid animal, which
had a stall to itself, plainly belonged to the Laird's Jock.

"I will leave the Laird's Jock's," thought Dick to himself, "for I
cannot take three, and he is a kind man; but Johnie's and Willie's must
go. 'Twill perhaps teach them what comes of dishonest ways."

So saying, he slipped the bridle over the head of one horse, and tied a
rope round the neck of the other, and, opening the stable door, he led
them out quietly, and then, mounting one of them, he galloped away as
fast as he could.

The next morning, when the men went to the stable to see after their
horses, there were shouts of anger and consternation. And no wonder. For
it was easy to be seen that thirty of the horses would never put foot to
the ground again; other two were stolen; and there was only one, the
beautiful bay mare which belonged to the Laird's Jock, which was of any
use at all.

"Now who hath done this cruel thing?" cried the master of the house in
great anger. "Let me know his name, and by my soul, he shall be
punished."

"'Twas the varlet whom we all took to be such a fool," cried Johnie;
"the rascal who came here last night whining for his precious cows. A
thousand pities but we had done as I said, and hanged him on the nearest
tree."

"Hold thy tongue and take blame to thyself," said the Laird's Jock
sharply. "Did I not tell thee, ere thou rode to Carlisle, thou and
Willie and thy thieving band, that the two countries were at peace, and
if thou began this work once more, 'twas hard to say where it would end?
Truly the tables are indeed turned. For this poor fool, as thou callest
him, hath befooled us all, for the men's horses are maimed and useless,
thine own and thy brother's are stolen, and there but remains this good
bay mare of mine. Beshrew me, but it seems as if the fellow had some
gratitude left that he did not touch her, for I love her as I never
loved a hor