"The prisoner, Rob Fraser, your Highness, is riding away up the hill with another man."
"Then after 'im, Strange!" roared the Duke. "Ten pounds to the man who catches 'im. Open the gates; I vill take 'orse myself!"
With a rattle the gates rolled back. The soldiers galloped through, Strange at their head. A few moments later and troopers were spurring up the hill-side—the whole fort was deserted for such a steeplechase. Ten pounds seemed within the grasp of many that day.
The last trooper had hardly dashed away before a man came quickly across the courtyard leading a heavy horse. With swift hands he hitched it to the wagon, and, swinging himself up on the side with his feet upon Rob, he started towards the gates.
A solitary soldier challenged him with a broad grin.
"No rebels in that cart?" he said, peeping over the top.
The man in the cart laughed heartily.
"He was more than a match for you," he replied.
"That 'e was," agreed the soldier. "But 'ow anyone can get out of this fort beats me. Somebody will look foolish over this."
"Be glad it is not you," returned the man in the cart.