"Ay," said Metcalf, with a dalesman's wariness. "Is there aught stirring there, Demaine?"
"Nay, nowt so much—not enough to bring all your Nappa men with you, Squire. Maybe it's men you're seeking, instead of ewes and cattle."
"Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't."
"Well, if it's men you're seeking, you'll find 'em. I overtook three hundred of Fairfax's soldiery just setting out from Otley."
"Oh, you did? Were they horsed?"
"No, they were going at a sharp marching pace. They were a likely set o' lads to look at—thick in the beam, but varry dour of face. I take no sides myself in this business of King and Parliament. I only say, Squire, that a nod's as good as a wink in troubled times."
"Thanks, Demaine," said the Squire of Nappa.
"Nay, no need. Neighbour knows neighbour, and good day to ye."
The whole intimacy of the dales was in that brief greeting—the freemasonry that ran like quicksilver in between the well-laid plans of ambitious generals. Fairfax had sent three hundred of his men to strengthen Lambert's attack on Skipton Castle. A country squire and a yeoman met on the highway and talked a while, and there was an ambush in the making.
"Hi, Christopher!" said the Squire, beckoning the lad to his side. "Ride forward on the Otley road till you see those men of Fairfax's. Then turn about and gallop."