The Rogues by Jane Yolen and Robert J. Harris

reacted to this.
    â€œThat’s as may be,” said Colin, “but what can we do about it?”
    Suddenly my hammering heart went quiet, my voice grew firmer. “If ye’ve given up already, what have ye come here for?” I felt a growing strength, as if the Rogue had left a part of his courage behind for me.
    â€œTell them,” Lachlan whispered. Then louder, he said, “Roddy, tell them about the sheep.”
    I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say, but I began anyway, looking at the men one at a time as I spoke, every one of them but Da. “My brother, Lachlan, and I were in the glen when the Cheviot sheep arrived. I admit when I first saw them pouring over the hillside, I was afraid. But then, when they were all about us, I could see they were just dumb animals. And so we started to chase them off.”
    â€œAye, and ye took a knock from Willie Rood for yer trouble,” said Colin.
    I glanced at Da, but he had fallen silent. I couldn’t tell if he approved of my words or if he was leaving me to make a fool of myself and face my punishment later.
    â€œThe point is …,” I said, “that everybody is acting like those sheep are something to be scared of, like they canna be stopped any more than a flood or a storm. At Culloden our grandfathers charged the English cannon. Bravely right into the fire. We’ve heard that tale over and over. My da told me of their courage many times. Are we all too soft now to shake our fists at some English sheep when our grandas took on the English cannon?”
    â€œAt Culloden they all died,” somebody called out.
    â€œAye, but like men,” Tam said, loudly and with feeling.
    â€œThis is nae battle,” Da objected at last. “It’s farming and business. There’s nowt to charge.”
    â€œIf we let the sheep in here as they are in Glendoun,” I told him, “it willna be long before there’s no place for any of us on Kindarry land. There’ll be nothing but sheep and a laird growing fat on the profit he takes from them.” I bit my lower lip, then charged ahead. “Lachlan and I chased the sheep as a game. But if we all worked together, we could drive them back to their English homes.”
    â€œDrive them all the way back to England?” asked Colin. “We could never make it that far. And what would become of our farms while we were gone?”
    â€œNo all the way to England,” I said carefully. “Just to Kindarry House. If the laird loves the sheep so much, let him take care of them himself and give us our cattle back.”
    There was some laughter at this foolish talk, but I heard a voice say, “There’s some point to this laddie’s words.” I tried to see who it was, but the kirk was too dark for that.
    â€œHe’s said what many a man here was feerd to,” added another from out of the dark congregation.
    â€œDo ye want to go up against the law?” Colin asked, wagging a bony finger. “Do ye want to end up a fugitive like Alan Dunbar?”
    â€œThe laird’s bent on making us that, if we let him,” I answered. “Isn’t it better to make a fight of it?”
    â€œAye,” Lachlan piped up, holding up a fist, “let’s make a fight of it.”
    Tam turned to Da. “Roddy’s yer boy, Murdo. What do ye say? Is he daft?”
    â€œHe’s daft most of the time,” said Da, and the men laughed. “But …” He hesitated and I felt my heart pause too. “But maybe no today. As I now see it, we would still only be bringing our grievances before the laird, which is our right. But we’d be bringing the cause of our grievances there as well. We willna be fighting the laird, but asking his aid. And offering our own.”
    â€œBringing our grievances …” The phrase went around the men.
    â€œAye,” said Tam, “it could work.” He rubbed his hand against his