The sun was shining upon bright steel halberds, and flashed yet brighter on the cuirasses of two musketeers. They were mounted on stout horses in war panoply, and behind them rose a tall officer in sombre uniform—it was the Pursuivant!
Instantly Ralph dived unperceived into the wood, and a low whistle told his men that the moment for action was nigh. The horsemen were approaching at a brisk trot; their arquebuses were attached to their saddles; in their left hands they bore long halberds; they rode as men all unconscious of danger.
Another moment and they were at hand!
Crash! crash! both horses had struck the fatal rope, and their riders were thrown violently upon the track. The Pursuivant, who was riding about three yards in the rear of his men, threw his horse upon its haunches in blank amazement.
Alas for him! he was at that moment exactly under the great oak limb which stretched across the track, and ere he could utter a sound two men dropped upon him, and he was caught in a strong embrace, while Ralph Jefferay stood at his horse's head, his hand on the bridle. Meanwhile the eight rustics had sprung from the wood, and ere the halberdiers could recover from their fall, they were imprisoned by vigorous arms, and stout ropes were being wound round their bodies.
As the fallen horses struggled to their feet, two rustics sprang to their heads and held them fast.
"What means this outrage?" shouted the Pursuivant; then, addressing Ralph, whom he recognized as the leader of the band, he added—
"Do you know, sir, that I am a Queen's officer, and that you stop me at the peril of your life!"
At a signal from Ralph, his two captors dismounted him from his saddle, and he came helplessly to the ground.
"Search him," said Ralph, disdaining to make any reply to the luckless officer.