All round the camp there was every precaution taken against surprise; but in the interior of the tented space there seemed to be none to interrupt.
“Bridles, saddles?” whispered Fred.
“If we can’t do what we want without them, sir, we shan’t do it at all,” said Samson. “Tie your halter to his head, and leave the horses alone. The two beasts ’ll follow us like dogs, and it’s all right so long as they don’t whinny.”
Samson was correct. The two horses followed them like dogs, their hoof tramp being almost inaudible, and they went on through the darkness at a pace which seemed terrible to Fred in its sluggishness, nearly down to the lake, and then round its western end, and in front of the ruined Hall.
“We shall never get them there.”
“Oh yes, we shall, if we can get them through the lines, and it’s so dark that I don’t feel no fear of that. Now, sir, we’ll tether them to these two trees, and then get to work.”
Fred followed his companion’s example, glancing round from time to time, and listening as every sigh of the wind seemed to be the breath of a watcher; and then, tethering his steed, which calmly began to crop the luxuriant grass, Fred started for the wilderness, his sword drawn to feel his way beneath the trees, and at last contrived to reach the spot where they had entered from time to time.
“Shall I go first, Master Fred?” whispered Samson.
“No, no.”
“Better let me. I’m thicker-skinned, and it’s going to be all feeling, sir.”