Sholto MacKim was at the fords waiting the chance of crossing and the
pleasure of the surly keeper of the bridge, Elson A'Cormack, who sat
in his wheelhouse, grunting curses on all who passed that way.

"Foul feet, slow bellies, fushionless and slack ye are to run my
lord's errands! But quick enow to return home upon your trampling
clattering ruck of horses, and every rascal of you expecting to ride
over my bridge of good pine planking instead of washing the dirt from
your hoofs in honest Dee water."

The long files of horsemen threaded their way across the green plain
of the isle towards the open space in front of Thrieve Castle, the
points of their spears shining high in the air, and the shafts so
thick underneath that, seen from a distance, they made a network of
slender lines reticulated against the brightness of the sun.

The great island strength of the Douglases was then in its highest
state of perfection as a fortress and of dignity as a residence.
Archibald the Grim, who built the keep, could not have foreseen the
wondrous beauty and strength to which Thrieve would attain under his
successors. This night of the wappenshaw the lofty grey walls were
hung with gaily coloured tapestries draped from the overhanging
gallery of wood which ran round the top of the castle. From the four
corners of the roof flew the banners of four provinces which owned the
sway of the mighty house,--Galloway, Annandale, Lanark, and the
Marches,--while from the centre, on a flagstaff taller than any, flew
their standard royal, for so it might be called, the heart and stars
of the Douglases' more than royal house.

While the outer walls thus blazed with colour, the woods around gave