“Oh, just to let the farmer know we’re coming. Always give friendly warning in these parts, and then you may not get something in your inside that’s hard to digest. That’s a fool’s advice, and costs you nothing.” “Your cry meets with no response,” said Armstrong, laughing at the shallow cunning of his treacherous guide, for his keen eyes noted crouching figures making way along the other side of a hedge, and he knew that if he went down the lane, at whose junction with the road the beggar stood with repressed eagerness, he would find himself surrounded. Nevertheless he followed without betraying any knowledge of the trap he was entering. As they neared the farmhouse a voice cried sharply, “Halt!” and an armed man sprang up from behind the hedge, cutting off retreat, if such had been attempted. While the others made through the hedge to the lane, the tattered man as nimbly put the hedge between himself and his victim, as if fearing a reprisal, laughing boisterously but rather nervously. “Brave Captain, I’ve brought you a fine horse and a gay gentleman, and the two are for sale.” The man who had cried “Halt!” stepped forth from the shelter of the nearest outbuilding, a drawn sword in his hand, followed by two others with primed matchlocks, stolidly ready for any emergency. Four others closed up the rear coming down the lane. There was no mistaking the fact that the man with the drawn sword was an officer, even if the object had not addressed him as Captain, a salutation to which he paid no attention; for although his uniform showed little difference from that of his men, he had in his stern face the look of one accustomed to obedience. The horseman had drawn up at the word, and sat quite nonchalantly on his steed, as if this were an affair of no particular concern to himself. “Who are you?” asked the captain. “My name is William Armstrong,” replied the rider simply. In spite of himself, the stolid face of the leader showed some surprise at this announcement, as if he knew the name and had not expected to hear it so frankly acknowledged. “Where are you from?” “I came across the Border this morning. I am a Scotsman.” “Why are you here?” “I am a cattle-dealer, and as there is little doing in my own country I thought I would just see if business was better on this side of the line. This amusing lunatic said there was cattle for sale in the valley, and led me hither, for which service I paid him a trifle.” “And so there is, and so there is,” cried the lunatic; “but the price was for my advice, not for the leading hither. I must get my pay for that yet. Aye, there’s cattle for sale here, and I’m the marketman.” “Peace to your folly,” said the captain, scowling. Then curtly to the horseman, “Dismount.” Armstrong sprang to the ground. “Your sword,” demanded the officer. The weapon was handed to him. “Do cattle-dealers in your country carry arms?”