That was enough for the Marquess; he had got the old man in the wrong
now. Off he went at once and lodged with the Sheriff of Roxburghshire a
complaint against Ringan, and a summons was issued. Ringan refused to
appear in court.
"Na!" he said. "I've done nae wrong. I daur them to lay a hand on me."
But the Law was not to be thus flouted. If he wouldn't come freely, then
he must be made to come, said the sheriff. Here a difficulty arose.
Ringan's reputation for gigantic strength and utter fearlessness still
survived, and no one dared even attempt to apprehend the old man. In
such circumstances the sheriff pressed into his service the Marquess
and his men, and this party set off for Smailcleuchfoot. Friends warned
Ringan of their coming and counselled him to fly. But the dour old
Cameronian's spirit refused to let him do aught that might even remotely
suggest a doubt as to his being absolutely in the right. He only retired
into his house, and resolutely set about barring doors and windows; and
when that was done--
"Let them touch me that daur," he cried, taking up and carefully loading
the same old musket with which he had shot the dog.
Soon came the sheriff's summons, to which Ringan paid no heed, beyond
letting the party know that he was at home, and had no intention of
surrendering.
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