"'Tis border fashion," another put in. "There is no law on the border, and we fight in our own fashion. Today it is our turn, tomorrow it may be someone else's. We follow our chiefs, just as the northern clansmen do; and whether it is a Musgrave or a Baird, a Fenwick or an Armstrong, he is chief in his own hold, and cares neither for king nor earl, but fights out his quarrel as it may please him. I am one of William Baird's men, and his quarrel is mine; and whether we ride against the King of Scotland or the King of England, against a Douglas or a Percy, an Armstrong or a Musgrave, it matters not the value of a stoup of ale." "That is so, Nigel, and so say we all. But methinks that one may have a preference for one sort of fighting over another; and I, myself, would rather fight a matter out, man against man, than fall suddenly on a hold, where none are ready to encounter us." Roger, during a pause in the conversation at the other table, got up from his seat and stretched himself. "Well, friend," he said to Oswald, "I will go up and see if they will make me welcome, at the hold. If they do, I may see you no more. If not, I shall return here to sleep. Therefore I bid you good day, and hope that you may find such service as will suit you. Benedicite!" And, paying for his refreshment, Roger took his staff from the corner, and went out. "A hearty fellow, and a stalwart one," the man who had spoken to him said. "I should not care to have a crack over the crown, with that staff of his. You met him coming down from the north, comrade?" "Yes, some twenty miles away. It was near Moffat that I overtook him. I would rather drink with him than fight with him. Seldom have I seen a stronger-looking man." "I am of your opinion, comrade; and some of these monks are not bad fighters, either. There have been bishops who have led the monks to battle, before now, and they proved themselves stout men-at-arms." After the others had gone out, Oswald strolled through the village, and then mounted an eminence whence he could take a view across the valley, and of some of the hilltops to the northeast. On one of these, two miles away, he could make out a man standing by a horse. He watched him for some little time, but beyond taking a few steps backwards and forwards, the man did not move. "He is a lookout," he said to himself, "and is no doubt watching some road from Kelso and Jedburgh. Baird will hardly think that the Armstrongs can have so soon gathered a force sufficient to attack him, but he may have thought it as well to place one of his men on the watch. "I wonder how Roger is getting on! I think they must have taken him in, or he would have been back before this." Roger had walked quietly up the hill on which the Bairds' hold was perched. A man stepped forward from the gate, as he neared it. "None enter here," he said, "without permission from the master."