Their beef-tubs were empty. The Borders were evidently going to the
dogs. It was no longer possible for any hard-working reiver to make a
living on them. Percival Reed would have to get his leave, or it was all
up with reiving in Redesdale. To all of these complaints Hall lent a
willing ear; nay, more, to their surprise, a sympathetic one. Apparently
he, too, had some little schemes afoot, with which the keeper's
over-vigilance had seriously interfered. What a merry jest it would be,
next time the Croziers crossed the Border by moonlight, if the keeper's
plans for that night were known to them, and if, instead of finding in
the clan Hall enemies, they found them allies. The Croziers might have
all the spoil, but the Halls would share the joke, and Percival Reed
would crow less crouse for the future.
It was a quite simply arranged affair. The Halls entered with zest into
the plot. Second place was not good enough for them, and the Reeds had
boasted long enough.
And Percival Reed, in all innocence, soon heard rumour of a foray by
the Croziers, and confided in his friend Girsonfield exactly how he
meant to meet it. This information speedily found its way to the
Scottish side of the Border, and in Hall of Girsonfield Reed found a
more than usually willing supporter.
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