"Na, na," he said, with conviction, "nae fear. Thae things dinna come to the lugs o’ the law. We didna dae ony hairm except to oorsels, and there’s nane o’ us killed save Kennedy whae dee’d a naitural death, so there can be nae word aboot that. Forbye, how’s the law to grip us?" And he turned on me a face full of roguish mirth which looked oddly between the bandages. "If they heard we were at Biggar Moss yae day and cam after us, afore the morn we wad be in the Douglas Muirs or the Ettrick Hills. We’re kittle cattle to fash wi’. We gang slow for ordinar, but when aucht presses we can flee like a flock o’ stirlins." "Then where are you going?" I asked. "Where, but to Lancrick," he said. "There’s a fair comes on there Monday three days, and the muir is grand beddin’. I didna ask your will on the maitter, for I kenned a’ places the noo were muckle the same to ye, provided they were safe and no ower far away frae the wast country." "That’s true enough," I said, thinking sadly of Marjory and my miserable plight. I had not told Baillie anything of my story, for I did not care to commit it to such ears. But I was glad that we travelled in this airt, for I had still in my heart a wild hope that by some fortunate chance I should be in time to save my love. About midday we came to Lanark Moor, where the baggage and shelties, as well as most of the women and children, were left behind to find an encampment. As for us, we pushed on to the town to see what was doing and hear some news of the countryside. I had no fear of detection, for in my new guise I passed for the veriest gipsy in the land. I was still clothed in my suit of crimson, but the fight had made it torn in many places, and all smirched with mire and bog-water. Also, my face was not only stained with the captain’s dye, but the storms and dust of the encounter had deepened its colour to the likeness of an Ethiop. I had not a rag left of gentility, save maybe the sword which still swung at my side. In this fashion I rode by Baillie’s elbow in a mood neither glad nor sad, but sunk in a sort of dogged carelessness. The entrance to the town was down a steep path from the moor, for the place is built above the gorge of Clyde, yet something lower than the surrounding moorlands. Far on all sides I had a view of the wide landscape, from the rugged high hills of Tweeddale and the upper Clyde to the lowlands in the west which stretch to Glasgow and the sea.