"
"Our business is with the Scots," quoth the elder; "for it was
the Scots who cut off daddy's string fingers and his thumbs."
"Aye, lads, it was that," said a deep voice from behind Alleyne's
shoulder. Looking round, the wayfarers saw a gaunt, big-boned
man, with sunken cheeks and a sallow face, who had come up behind
them. He held up his two hands as he spoke, and showed that the
thumbs and two first fingers had been torn away from each of
them.
"Ma foi, camarade!" cried Aylward. "Who hath served thee in so
shameful a fashion?"
"It is easy to see, friend, that you were born far from the
marches of Scotland," quoth the stranger, with a bitter smile.
"North of Humber there is no man who would not know the handiwork
of Devil Douglas, the black Lord James."
"And how fell you into his hands?" asked John.
"I am a man of the north country, from the town of Beverley and
the wapentake of Holderness," he answered. "There was a day
when, from Trent to Tweed, there was no better marksman than
Robin Heathcot. Yet, as you see, he hath left me, as he hath
left many another poor border archer, with no grip for bill or
bow.
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