The Devil’s Stones stood at Myrekirk, the one-time site of a church in an area of bogland, a few hundred yards west of Lochee. Generations of boys had played there, and people attached vague legends to the ancient stone circle, although an archaeological dig had found nothing significant. The stones lay or stood in slumbering repose with their original use long forgotten, objects of mild curiosity rather than religious awe.
A small crowd of gambling men and dog fanciers gathered in the grey pre-dawn light. Tobacco smoke clouded above them, and the murmur of voices rose around the weathered grey stones, with the yelping and barking of dogs. Three carts stood outside the Stones, each containing dogs in cramped cages, while a tall man gripped a length of rope with a mastiff on the other end.
