Then, throwing the saddle across his arm, and picking up the bridle, he turned to the nearest sentinel, asked a question, had the low archway pointed out which led into the basement used for stabling, and disappeared down the slope.
“Oh, my lad, my lad,” said Ben, softly; “what a chance if we’d got anything ready!”
“What—to surprise?” said Roy, as he watched the portcullis re-descending, and saw the drawbridge begin to glide up directly after.
“That’s it, sir. They’re as weak as weak here now, with all them gone, and we’re nine strong men, for Sam Donny could fight in spite of his twissen foot.”
“There’s nothing the matter with Sam’s foot, Ben; it’s all sham; I’ve known it from the first.”
“What?—So much the better, then.”
“So much the worse, because we can do nothing. They are still a hundred strong.”
“Nay, sir—not above eighty.”
“Ten to one, Ben. I’d do anything, but we have no arms.”
“Take ’em from them, sir.”