Now it chanced that this officious person had lately received sure information of the safe landing of an unusually valuable cargo, large part of which was reported to be stowed somewhere on Stokoe’s premises, and he resolved to pay Jack a surprise visit.  Accordingly, the Preventive man went to the nearest magistrate, demanding a warrant to search.  The magistrate hummed and hawed.  “Did the officer think it necessary to disturb Stokoe, who was really a very honest, douce lad?  Well, well, if he must, he must, and there was an end of it!  He should have the warrant.  But Jack Stokoe was a man, he’d heard say, who had no liking to have his private affairs too closely inquired into, and if ill came of it—­well, the officer must not forget that he had been cautioned.  A nod was as good as a wink.”

Notwithstanding these well-meant hints, the gauger made his way across the hills to Stokoe’s house.  He was alone, but then he was a powerful man, well armed and brave enough, and never in all his experience had a bold front, backed by the majesty of the law, failed to effect its end.  If he found anything contraband there was no doubt in his mind as to the result.  Stokoe should accompany him back as a prisoner.

There was no one at Stokoe’s when the officer arrived, except Jack himself and a little girl, and when the gauger showed his warrant and began his search, Stokoe made no remark whatever, merely sat where he was, smoking.  The gauger’s search was very thorough; everything was topsy-turvy before many minutes had passed, but nothing could he find.  There remained the loft, to which access was given by a ladder somewhat frail and dilapidated.  Up went the gauger, and began tossing down into the room below the hay with which the place was filled.  Quite a good place in which to hide contraband articles, thought he.  And still Stokoe said never a word.  Then, when all the hay was on the floor below and the loft bare, and still nothing compromising had been found, down came the gauger, preparing to depart.

“Hey! lassie,” at length then came the deep voice of Stokoe; “gie me Broon Janet.”

The little girl slipped behind the big box-bed, and handed out a very formidable black-thorn stick.  Up then jumped Stokoe.

“Ye d——­d scoundrel, ye’ve turned an honest man’s hoose upside doon.  Set to, and leave it as ye fand it.  Stow that hay where it was when ye cam’ here; and be quick aboot it, or I’ll break every bane in your d——­d body.”

The gauger backed towards the door, and drew a pistol.  But he was just a fraction of a second too late; “crack” came Stokoe’s cudgel and the pistol flew out of his hand, exploding harmlessly as it fell, and before he could draw another he was at Stokoe’s mercy.  There was no choice for the man; Stokoe took away all his arms, and then compelled him to set to and put back everything as he had found it.  There was nothing to be gained by obstinately refusing.  Stokoe was a man of sixteen or seventeen stone, a giant in every way, and as brave as he was big—­a combination that is not always found.  He could, literally, have broken every bone in the gauger’s body, and the chances in this case were strongly in favour of his doing it if his adversary chose to turn rusty.  Truly “the de’il was awa’ wi’ the exciseman.”