The path being now clear they speedily made their way to the prison, where they found their friend groaning under fifteen stones of Spanish iron (nothing short of this would have availed to keep a stark Scottish reiver, fed on oatmeal, within the confines of a prison cell), carried him off, irons and all, set him on a horse, with both feet on one side, and rode off with the fleetness of the wind in the direction of Liddesdale: "The night tho' wat, they didna mind, But hied them on fu' merrilie, Until they cam' to Cholerford brae, Where the water ran like mountains hie." Dashing into the stream they soon reached the opposite bank. The English, who were in hot pursuit, when they reached the Tyne, which was rolling along in glorious flood, durst not venture further. They were filled with chagrin when they saw the prisoner, loaded as he was with fifteen stones of good Spanish iron, safe on the other side. They had sustained a double loss. The prisoner was gone, and he had taken his valuable iron chains with him. The land-sergeant, or warden's officer, taking in the situation at a glance, cried aloud-- "The prisoner take, But leave the fetters, I pray, to me." To which polite request the Laird's ain Jock replied-- "I wat weel no, I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be, My gude bay mare--for I am sure, She bought them a' right dear frae thee." No Liddesdale reiver was ever likely to part with anything in a hurry, least of all to give it up to an Englishman.