"Nonsense! we can't slink away and leave them to be robbed." Harry took Sherry by the arm to drag him along.
"What be the good? Fishen-rods bean't no match for pistols, and bein' a man o' peace——"
"Come, I can't wait. I'll go alone, then."
He released the man's arm and stepped into the stream. Sherebiah hesitated for a moment; then, seeing that Harry was in earnest, he dropped his tackle and strode forward, saying:
"Zooks, not if I knows it! I'm a man o' peace, sure enough, but fairplay's a jewel. Have at the villains!"
He followed Harry into the water. Side by side they raced on, dodging the weeds, scrambling over occasional rocks, slipping on the chalky bottom, making at top speed for the bridge. As they approached this they went more slowly, to avoid being heard. Fortunately, at the point where the road crossed the stream there was a line of rocks, over which the water plunged with a rustle and clatter, drowning the sound of their footsteps. They had to stoop low to avoid the moss-grown masonry of the arch; as they emerged on the farther side they heard a muffled exclamation from one of the horsemen, and climbing the steep face of the tree-covered slope towards the wall they heard a shot, then another, mingled with shouts and the dull thuds of horses' hoofs on the turf-covered road.
On the way Harry had explained his plan in panting whispers. Running along now under cover of the wall, they came opposite to the scene of the ambush.
"Now, Sherry, do your best," said Harry, as he prepared to mount the wall.
Instantly a new clamour was added to the uproar in the road.
"This way!"